8 a.m. – Opening day for my favorite winter – er, spring – sport of snowball – I mean softball. I check the weather. 27 degrees. Ugh. I check email. Game not cancelled. Darn.
11 a.m. – 32 degrees. Check email for the 10th time. Game still not cancelled. I decide we will arrive just 10 minutes before the 12:45 start time, to minimize exposure to the cold.
12:35 p.m. – The warmup turns into a cooldown as we wait. The game shows no signs of starting, because the previous game doesn’t stop. So much for my “minimize exposure” strategy. It’s too cold to get out of the car and find out the reason for the delay.
1:30 p.m. – The game finally begins, 45 minutes late. “C’mon, three quick outs!” I almost yell when our team is at bat. There’s nothing like the cold to make you long for even your own kid to quick strike out or hit a catchable line drive and bring a speedy end to the game.
2:25 p.m. – I decide to try a little cheery optimism about the cold for the beginning of the second game. Did I mention this was a doubleheader? In 37 degree weather? Maybe going to a game at Lambeau in late fall wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe I could even handle snowshoeing. Or walk to the mailbox in the winter without complaining.
2:48 p.m. – The delusions continue: Is that a drone I see in the sky? Is it perchance delivering hot chocolate? With Baileys Irish Cream in it? Does Amazon Prime have instant delivery yet? Or can I ask an Uber driver to go buy some hot chocolate for me?
3:01 p.m. – Daughter is taking a turn on the bench and won’t be at bat again for a while. I seek the refuge of the car. Thanks to a lengthy inning I read at least 50 pages of Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Big Magic: Creating Living Beyond Fear” book. At this point, I’d settle for “Beyond Cold.”
4:00 p.m. – The game ends. We lost but celebrate as if we’ve won, because we no longer have to endure the cold. We set a course for Qdoba in Monona.
7:30 p.m. – I find out that the boys high school baseball games were cancelled this afternoon due to the cold. Does that make the girls’ sacrifice less meaningful? Or does it instead mean that girls are tougher than boys? Conclusion: Can someone please pass the Baileys?
This Humor Me column originally appeared in the Herald-Independent on April 14, 2016.