For those of you who are unfamiliar with the American film adaptation of Fever Pitch, let me give you a little background.
Jimmy Fallon plays Ben, a die-hard Boston Red Sox fan who hasn’t missed a game since his childhood. He’s a school teacher throughout nine months of the year, and the summers are spent at Fenway Park.
Ben meets Lindsey, played by Drew Barrymore, and begins a romantic relationship with her. All is well in the autumn and winter, but their relationship takes a turn with the start to spring training as Lindsey begins to realize the extent of Ben’s commitment to his team.
The movie is the Americanized version of the Nick Hornby novel of the same name in which Hornby tells of his relationship with the Arsenal Football Club.
My family took a trip to Atlanta last week and we were sitting around after a day of sight-seeing and relaxing while this film unfolded. Now, I have seen it before, and I believe my wife has as well, but this time she saw it from a different perspective.
I know most of my wardrobe represents my beloved Spurs, and I happen to work in a high school. But that’s where the comparisons end, or so I thought.
At one point, she began to laugh uncontrollably and from that point on she was ingrained in identification with Lindsey. Between spurts of falling down and literally rolling on the floor, this is what I got:
This scene kicked it off.
“Do you know how many times you’ve come in late and turned the TV on to the game after it’s started and run out of the room hollering for me to go change the channel so you can watch the recording?”
Yeah, I do that. More than once the Spurs are midway through a game when I get home from band practice and I have to make sure it’s safe to enter. I didn’t realize I did it until she pointed out my hollering was essentially the same as Jimmy Fallon singing “help me, help me” to a la-la rhythm.
I’d say, Spurs, sex, and breathing.
Okay, it’s not the order of importance or even the craziness ensuing on Lindsey’s dad’s TV screen. It was that the gang was at Spring Training, where none of the games are official and the season hasn’t started.
“Do you how hard it is to explain why you were gone in July for Summer League?”
I actually do. So many of my friends know, accept, and even validate my Spurs obsession. But treating myself to a “vacation” in Salt Lake City for three days where none of the Spurs stars, or even their head coach, will be has raised many questioning -even concerned- looks regarding my choices.
Uh . . . yeah . . . I gotta be honest, this isn’t the best weekend.
Okay, I didn’t skip a Parisian excursion, but I have hemmed and hawed about social outings in the face of an important Spurs game. On May 2, 2015, some neighbors of mine were hosting a bar-b-cue. They had purchased the Floyd Mayweather, Jr. vs. Manny Pacquiao boxing match, which promised to be epic.
I did not want to record the Spurs vs. Clippers Playoff Game 7 and watch it recorded. My wife did not want our neighbors to know we were home and had turned them down. And I didn’t know them well enough to tell them the Spurs game was a priority.
It all worked out in the end as the host played the Spurs game before the boxing match. Of course, I wasn’t really up for boxing after Chris Paul ruined my evening. I literally don’t remember who won the match, but I forever stuck with an off the backboard shot that basically defied physics.
Eventually, Ben makes some effort and skips one of the most amazing games in Red Sox history. I will say my wife has gone to great lengths to make sure we don’t miss the Spurs games and still have an enjoyable life outside of the AT&T Center.
Right now, I do miss my second home as the suspension has given me more free time to watch old movies, enjoy my wife’s laughter, and then figure out exactly what I liked about them in the first place.
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