When I Have Kids
Courtney and I were talking about professions we wouldn’t want our future children to have. On the list were actor, athlete, and crackwhore. We agreed that if the child truly loves the sport and is getting into it for the right reason, then they should feel free to pursue their dreams, but being an athlete does not necessarily lead to a life of normalcy.
That brought up the beef. Somehow, she asked me if our son became a baseball player, would I root for the team our son played for even if it weren’t the Red Sox. I answered, “Of course not, unless it is the Nationals.” You see, I am a Red Sox fan. That’s it. If my son becomes a Los Angeles Angel of Alabaster County and Areas Around It, then I’d want him to be successful, but I’d still be rocking a Papi tee when he showed up in Fenway. Somehow that made me an asshole. She couldn’t believe that I’d be that unloving.
I flipped the script, though. I said, “Fine, you’d become a fan of whatever team our son joined. What if it were the Spankees?”
She gritted her teeth and walked away. Of course she could never be a Stankees fan. Game, set, match.
The Corcoran Brothers 