Benny Jay: The Bulls Start Their Season

November 1st, 2009

It’s game one of the season – the first of 82. Bulls at home versus San Antonio. I’m not watching. It’s on cable and I don’t have cable so I can’t watch even if I want to watch and I don’t want to watch. Have to pace myself. Remember, this is the first of 82….

It’s 7:30. The game’s at least twenty minutes old. Things have happened, but what I don’t know. I look at the computer – you can follow a game on the computer. But, nope, I won’t. I’ll do something else.

I know! I’ll watch the World Series. Two great teams – Yankees versus Phillies — a perfect diversion. Sure, I’ll get into that.

I watch an inning. They break for commercial. Curiosity gets the better of me. What the hell — one peek can’t hurt. I walk to the computer. Bulls up six! Wow. Whoa. Whee!

Back to the Series. Ball, strike, foul – boring!. I need someone to watch it with. So I call Big Mike — he loves baseball. He’ll watch it with me.

The phone rings. “Yeah,” says Big Mike, like he’s got a train to catch.

“You watching the World Series?” I ask.

“Should I?”

Should I? Answering a question with a question catches me off guard – what is this a philosophy exam?

“Ugh,” I say, “you’re not watching it?”

“I’m doing something else,” he says.

What else is there to do for a baseball fan? It’s the’ World Series! Has he gone soft on me?

We hang up. I stare at the tube. Without realizing what I’m doing, I walk to the computer and check out the score.

Bulls up 12! Oh, my god. Oh, my goodness….

I start to pace. Then I tell myself – don’t pace. I start to clap. Real thunderous claps. From upstairs comes the sound of my younger daughter yelling: “Stop clapping!”

I sit on the chair with my hands under my legs to keep from clapping. Discipline, focus – conserve energy. One of 82….

My wife comes home. She’s drenched. It’s pouring.

“Hi, honey,” she says.

“Hi,” I say.

She glances at the computer.

“Don’t touch the computer,” I tell her.

“Don’t touch the computer?” she says.

I don’t want her to touch the computer cause I think the Bulls good start is mysteriously linked to the fact that I have the computer set to the game. I know, it’s crazy. And now I realize my odd behavior is calling attention to itself. So I change my approach: “I mean, you can if you want to. But why would you want to? You must be hungry. Yes, you’re hungry. Go, have something to eat….”

“Are you all right?” she asks.

From upstairs comes my daughter’s voice: “He’s watching the Bulls….”

“Oh,” says my wife, as if that explains everything.

She walks into the kitchen and starts eating some cold pasta, while telling me a story about a friend who has a daughter who has a boyfriend who’s a pain in the neck. Or maybe she has a son whose girlfriend’s a pain. I don’t know. It’s a hard story to follow under normal circumstances and damn near impossible with the Bulls on my mind.

I sneak to the computer.

“He doesn’t help with the dishes,” my wife is saying. “You know, the boyfriend….”

“Oh, no,” I exclaim, as the updated score comes on the screen. “Here come the Spurs. The lead’s down to nine. They can’t stop Duncan….”

She takes a bite of pasta and asks: “Are you for the Yankees or Pennsylvania?”

“What?”

“In the World Series?”

“Pennsylvania? It’s Philadelphia….”

“Well, Philadelphia’s in Pennsylvania….”

As always, she has a point — Philadelphia most definitely is in Pennsylvania. For reasons I can’t explain — probably nervousness over the Bulls — I start singing “Cool Jerk. You know, the song that goes: “When you see me walkin’ down the street, hey, hey….”

I pick up a strand of pasta that’s lying on the kitchen table and I wave it in front of my wife’s eyes, like I’m a magician hypnotizing her with a pocket watch. “You are getting sleepy, sleepy,” I tell her.

I go back to the computer. “It’s over,” I exclaim. “Bulls win! Bulls win! Whee. Wow. Whoa….”

From the upstairs comes my daughter’s voice: “Stop clapping!”

Suddenly, I realize I need to hear the post game show. I run to the kitchen to turn on the radio. Then I remember I moved the radio out of the kitchen and into the back porch. I get the radio and plug it into the socket underneath the radiator in the hallway. I sit in the rocking chair, watch the Series with the sound down and listen to the Bulls post game show on the radio. Ah, happiness….

From the upstairs comes my daughter’s voice: “Turn down the radio!”

It’s only one game. The first of 82….