by Danielle Friedl

Created on: January 21, 2009   Last Updated: January 28, 2009

I was born into a family of foam finger-waving, TV-shouting, die-hard sports fans. Even my dear old grandmother loves sports and could probably quote off more stats then those super-charged announcers that herald in each and every televised game. The love of the game is in my blood. We all relish in a big win or trip to the Super Bowl and are unapproachable if our team loses. Try talking to me after the Yankees lose a big game and you're taking your life into your own hands. Give me grief about my team and I'm not above sicking my grandmother on you. Every game is pure excitement, every pitch is in agonizing slow motion. Every member of my family perched anxiously on the edge of our seats.

Enter my long-suffering husband. Born into a family who seldom got excited about anything my husband had to get used to me and my pacing, screaming and waving at the television screen. I can't even count how many times I've heard, "You know they can't hear you, right?" Perhaps it was my obvious enthusiasm that drew him toward me in the beginning. He may be rethinking that on those nights that a baseball game goes past midnight and I'm smacking the bed and muttering while he's trying to sleep. His lack of appreciation for any sport is obvious when instead of a high five for a great play I receive a roll of the eyes.

You see my husband's favorite sport is sitting behind his computer. I suppose it would complete the picture if he had a pocket protecter but alas he hasn't yet fulfilled that requirement to obtain his geek card. And it's not as though he's playing games. Not at all! He's either programming or learning some new fascinating aspect of programming. When he's not programming he's playing some tunes. And probably still programming. And while he grew up in a small town where the local high school football team was the biggest news worth reporting every week he was probably up in his room working on a prototype for the world's first mouse.

Luckily for my husband we don't live close enough to my family to spend every big game at each other's houses, throwing popcorn, yelling at coaches and setting a bad example for some of the younger family members. Sadly those days are gone as we've all moved out across the country. I continue to try and teach my girls about baseball and foster a passion for the game. My husband does his best to join in - ok, watch - when we toss around a ball in the backyard using my old catcher's mitt that my dad got me for my 16th birthday. I've even

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