Confessions of a Patient Baseball Fan Husband (Who Secretly Owes His Love of the Game to His Wife)

I have a confession to make.

My wife only watches our favorite baseball team when they’re winning.

 

Not “kind of winning.” I mean division-leader, highlight-reel, six-game win streak kind of winning. If they’re on a losing skid? She’ll fold laundry instead. If they blow a lead in the seventh? She’s suddenly in the mood to rewatch Friends. And if I so much as dare to keep the game on during a slump, she’ll let it rip like a disgruntled radio caller:

“These guys suck.”

“He’s batting .190 and making $12 million? That’s robbery.”

“They couldn’t hit water if they fell out of a boat.”

And here’s the real confession — her comments drive me crazy. They used to drive me insane.

I’m the one who watches every pitch, every inning, even during a 2–1 loss in August when the offense goes cold and the bullpen melts down. I’m the one who follows the stats, the farm system, the trade rumors. I’m the one who defends our struggling shortstop like he’s a member of our family. But my wife? She just waltzes in during the ninth inning when we’re up five runs and suddenly becomes an honorary fan of the week.

I used to stew in quiet resentment when she’d say things like,

“Why do you even watch this garbage?”

Or when she’d snort at our closer blowing a save:

“This is the guy they’re paying how much?”

And when she trashed our $300 million man — yes, the same guy who was the MVP just two seasons ago — I’d go full sports attorney trying to defend his case: “Do you know the pressure he’s under? Do you know what it means to carry a franchise every day under the microscope of fans and media?”

But here’s where the story shifts.

Because somewhere along the way — maybe it was during one of her rants about how the rookie should “stop looking scared and just swing the bat” — I realized something strange was happening.

I started watching the game differently.

I stopped obsessing over WAR and exit velocity and started noticing the in-between moments. The way the veteran DH, long past his All-Star prime, was always the first one to greet the rookie with a fist bump. The subtle shift in the infield when the other team’s fastest guy was on base. The quiet confidence of a backup catcher calling pitches like he was playing chess.

I noticed the pressure in the star player’s eyes when he came up with the bases loaded. I saw the weight he carried in every swing, the burden of that $300 million contract. And yeah, maybe he grounded into a double play. But I also saw the way he hung his head, not out of arrogance, but out of wanting so badly not to let the team down.

I saw the rookie — the same one my wife rolled her eyes at — slowly start to piece it together. A clutch hit here. A perfect relay throw there. Earning nods from the dugout. Earning his place.

I started appreciating the strategy of small ball. The stolen base. The sac bunt. The perfectly executed hit-and-run — the kind of stuff that doesn’t trend on YouTube, but feels like magic when you see it live.

And yes, I still roll my eyes when she says, “This team’s a joke,” in the third inning because we’re down 4-0. But I’ve started to understand what she’s really doing.

She’s pulling me deeper into the game.

Because every sarcastic jab, every frustrated sigh, every “I could do better than that” comment — it’s all sparked something in me. A defense. A deeper love. A loyalty. She pushes back, and I push forward — and in doing so, I’ve discovered parts of the game I didn’t know I cared about.

Like watching the bullpen coach fist bump each reliever as they come off the mound, even after giving up a run. Or seeing the manager leave the dugout to argue a call not because it’ll change anything, but because it shows the team he’s got their back.

And it turns out, watching the game with someone who challenges you — even if they do it with a smirk and a wine glass in hand — is better than watching it alone with a spreadsheet.

So here’s my confession, part two:

I love baseball more because of my wife.

Because every time I defend the players, I remind myself why I care.

Because every time she rolls her eyes, I get to roll mine back, and we laugh.

Because when we do win — and we will — she’s there, jumping off the couch, screaming louder than anyone, like she never doubted them for a second.

And deep down, I know — even if she only watches when they win — she’s watching me all season long.

So to my wife: thank you. Thank you for nagging, for critiquing, for calling our star player overpaid (even if he is). You made me love the game more than ever. And whether we’re up ten or down five, I wouldn’t trade watching baseball with you for anything.

Even if you still say we suck.

- ANONYMOUS