Why I May Have to Dump My Secret Boyfriend

There are so many great things about a marriage. Someone always has your back against the world, even if you’re wrong. You have someone to snuggle up to when it’s cold. When the baby is driving you up the wall, there’s a person to hand him off to so you can have an hour to yourself. When your relatives are being silly, someone will join you in the obligatory eye roll. My husband does all these things and more.

Cimmy and Kirk, Royals game

But I have a confession to make: all baseball season, I’ve had a secret boyfriend. I call him my secret boyfriend because he doesn’t know he’s my boyfriend. My husband does, though, and, for the most part, he’s cool with it. I’m not rushing the diamond to hump my secret boyfriend’s leg or anything. Besides, he says that if I get a secret boyfriend, he gets a secret girlfriend and he chooses Salma Hayek. If she’s his choice, I’m not exactly worried.

Part of the fun of having a secret boyfriend is the enigma, and this is ten-fold if he is a Major League Baseball player. What does he look like without the ball cap? What does he like to do when he’s not playing baseball? Does he prefer the grey, royal, or powder uniforms? Which is better: Dubble Bubble or David Seeds?

I’ll end the suspense. My secret boyfriend is Royals starting pitcher Jeff Francis. He’s tall, he’s adorable, he’s one of the very few players older than I am (I’m 29). And he has the added mysteries of being both a left-hander and Canadian.

Another pro of having a secret boyfriend is that you don’t have to see the things you see in a real relationship. There are arguments as to whose turn it is to change the poopy diaper. He won’t hog the covers and leave you freezing in the middle of the night. You’ll never have to threaten violence to get him to mow the lawn or wash the dishes. He’ll never burp, fart, forget to put on his deodorant, or pick his nose in front of you.

Linus picking his nose


Wrong. At least, on the last one.

A few nights ago, when Jeff was called off the mound after pitching a little over six innings (with 54 strikes in 90 pitches), the camera kept panning to him in the dugout. Ordinally, I would be thrilled. The cameramen like my secret boyfriend! But then…heartbreak struck me.

He removed his cap. I gasped. It’s not that he’s unattractive without his hat. It’s just that…he’s not supposed to be without it! Carson, my stepson, has molded baseball figures and their hats don’t come off. I shouldn’t be able to recognize players without their uniforms. The ones I do know on sight tend to be “celebrities”: Alex Rodriguez, Derek Jeter, Nick Swisher (anyone else sensing a pattern of New York Yankees here?).

As I was yelling to Jeff through the television to put his cap back on, he did something else. Something so heinous, I’m not sure how I’ll be able to tell you.

Okay. Here goes. *deep breath*

He picked his nose.

It wasn’t a full-on digging for gold episode. For that, I am thankful. Subtle though it was, it was obvious what he was doing.

Now, I’ve told Carson several times not to be self-conscious because people are generally more interested in themselves than they are in others. But this is not the case with actors, politicians, and professional athletes. The cameras are always on them, even when they’re not. Jeff, please remember that. Don’t make me break up with you.

5 thoughts on “Why I May Have to Dump My Secret Boyfriend

  1. This is easily the most vapid thing I’ve ever seen on I70 Baseball. How am I supposed to take a female baseball blogger seriously when she spends an entire post gushing over how a pitcher is her “secret boyfriend” and getting upset when he *gasp* removes his hat and picks his nose? This does female sports writers a serious disservice. You’re like a living, breathing stereotype sitting at a computer. This isn’t your LiveJournal. Write intelligent sports commentary or don’t write at all.

    1. Actually, this is the type of post I was asked to write. My articles are not sports commentary, nor have I claimed they are. There are plenty of others writers covering the games. I’m sure you can locate them. If you don’t like the article, stop reading it.

      1. Oh, trust me, I did stop reading it. I had to, because my IQ was dropping. If this is the type of post they’re asking bloggers to write, I think I’m going to have to be done with this site. Seriously, if I wanted to hear inane crap like this, I’d read Jezebel.

        And your kid picking his nose isn’t cute. It’s the same gross habit you just derided Francis for. Pick a lane.

        1. Cimmy is right, I asked her to take a lighter, female fan view of the sport. There is a reason for it.

          I-70 Baseball has always set out to appeal to a mass audience. It is why we currently feature 20+ writers from all walks of life and background. It is why we have folks like Aaron Stilley that can graph out advanced statistics that would make math heads dizzy, Bob Netherton who can tell you what happened on this day in 1960 from his memory, and Dathan Brooks who can put your thoughts into some of the funniest commentary on the internet.

          Cimmy (and her content) is a welcome addition to our site. It appeals to a group of fans that do not have a large voice on the ‘net.

          Our site is designed to appeal to many different fans. I invite you to stick around, I’m sure we have content that is more your speed and that you will find enjoyable. I highly doubt visitors to our site enjoy every writer and every post (though I do) and most would simply skip the writers they do not enjoy in favor of articles they do as opposed to simply abandoning the entire site.

          If we have lost you as a reader, I apologize and hate to hear that. However, I can tell you that Cimmy writes a humorous look at the Royals every Thursday morning. While this was her second post, I can assure you that she is one of the most frequently read writers we feature.

          Thanks for reading, giving some feedback, and supporting the site. I hope you consider continuing to do so.

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