Accessory Before the Fact

Since two of the things I love best are baseball & reading, naturally I love to read about baseball. I know that sounds one-dimensional or even shallow, but there's all kinds of baseball reading out there:

• kids' books
• novels
• mysteries
• nonfiction -- seriously, check this one out; it's not really a 'baseball book' -- part biography, part travelogue, part history lesson, part philosophy, part poetry -- mostly just wonderful reading
• fantasy baseball

And since I also love math & statistics, and I enjoy learning more about how baseball 'works', I've read a lot of what's sometimes called sabermetrics -- baseball research often using statistical analysis. The patron saint of sabermetrics is Bill James, whose work has always been dedicated to the idea you can understand baseball if you find and apply the right tools. But it ain't all square roots and logarithms... he always writes wickedly funny stuff (occasionally more wicked than funny).

One passage I remember vividly (hence, probably, inaccurately) was an analysis of a trade. He pointed out that 'team X' had traded for a pitcher who pitched really poorly, and then almost immediately suffered a career-ending injury. They gave up two players who played well for many years afterwards, and who played positions that 'team X' also then had trouble filling. In other words, basically the Perfect Storm of bad trades... or as Bill put it, "that's what I call hanging yourself with a custom-fit noose."

This weekend, it was my turn to measure out the rope.

For years upon years, my wife has regaled me with tales of her childhood dirt-bike adventures. And the stories always seemed to end up in the same place: "When you're dead, I'm going to get a motorcycle."

Myself, I have no Need For Speed. When it comes to transportation, I want the wind in my face to be coming from the factory-controlled climate system. Given what I experience on the roads these days, I think it only prudent not to venture out without hundreds of pounds of steel and safety glass between me and everyone else. It's not like I'm the life of the party at amusement parks either; when I was a kid, my grades always got me free rides at Hoffman's Playland... except I could never find rides that didn't terrify me. And a 10-year-old doesn't cut a very impressive figure on the Ladybug ride.

So I have always dismissed the motorcycle talk in the minimum possible number of words. But lately, the song has been crescendoing.

Now she's talking about riding a "scooter" -- you know, just around town. OK, maybe a few miles down the highway. If you're thinking of the things you stand on with one foot & push with the other... guess again. She doesn't even want to consider anything with a top speed under 55 (actually, we've had cars that weren't that comfortable at 55).

Given my reluctance to see my bride of nearly 21 years become the shiny silver ball inside a giant pinball machine, why would I do anything to add fuel to the fire? Such as...

This past Saturday, while the kids were on their Annual Amusement Park Outing with their aunt, we had the whole day to ourselves for whatever fun and romance we could dream up.

Instead, I took her to look at scooters.

I guess in part I was hoping that seeing the scooters close up would remind her that not only is it an expensive habit, but also that driving something that unprotected in traffic is a little like trying to fight a forest fire in a tank top, shorts, and flip-flops.

But I'm also a husband, and let's face it: there aren't too many times I'll be able to help put that look of delight and joy and anticipation on her face.

I continue to (gently) remind her of my reservations, and I think she may hold off for now-- but I wonder whether it's just a matter of time till the other boot drops. So do me a favor: if I let you know, if and when it does become a reality, would you mind very much all staying off the streets around here?