An Open Letter to My Spouse During Olympic Equestrian

Watch the horse stuff with me. Please. Watch it. OR ELSE.

No beloved Red Sox hats were harmed in the writing of this letter. Yet.

Dear Dan,

You’re cute. I mostly like you. Here’s the thing:

Since meeting you. I have watched hundreds of hours of Boston Red Sox baseball games. Maybe thousands. When the Red Sox aren’t playing, we’ll cruise around for the NEXT BEST BASEBALL GAME. As if other channels literally don’t exist. If it’s a Saturday and we’re home in the mornings and there is no game on yet, never fret, there’s last night’s highlights!

If it’s the off-season, we turn off the TV and listen to MLB Satellite Radio to hear about player trades and how that one guy’s Tommy Johns Surgery is going. And of course, there’s all your consolation sports of basketball, football, and the occasional soccer game (please kill me now, there is nothing more boring than the uninterrupted 90-minute hell that is a soccer game). Don’t get me wrong, I like other sports, and I have a particularly soft spot for baseball, thanks to you.

I mean, what’s not to love about Big Papi? I get it.

I’m just saying all this as an important set up for this next part. You ready? Here we go. *clears throat*.

Imma need you to watch the horse stuff at the Olympics with me.

“Wouldn’t you have more fun watching with your barn friends?” You’ll ask, and yes, for some of it I will want to watch with my fellow nutcases who know about the Canadian team drama and that one horse is an off-the-track-thoroughbred. But the whole thing is spread over several days, and sometimes I’ll want to watch it with you and have you pretend to be super excited about it. And I already know you’re going to love every minute of it because, as you might remember, THERE ARE 160+ GAMES OF BASEBALL IN THE REGULAR SEASON, MY DARLING HUSBAND. So, surely, you can sit through two hours of show jumping, am I right? I have a feeling I’m right.

This chivalrous young Red Sox fan has it figured out. Take notes.

First off, equestrian sports are the greatest. The dressage musical freestyles are a hoot because it’s like they’re dancing to music! (Your man card is fine. Eat some tin cans and you’ll break even.) I’ll teach you all about one-time-tempis and canter pirouettes and you can go to work the next day and you can say to Bob at the water cooler, “Hey Bob! Watch the Olympics last night? How about that second piaffe pass by Charlotte and Valegro? I got chills, man.”

Show jumping is a thrilling, speedy spectacle which you will instantly understand with virtually no explanation. Go fast and don’t knock stuff down, and Beezie Madden is the greatest. Boom, you’re done. That’s everything you need to know. And then you can go back to the water cooler and be all like, “Bob. How great was Beezie Madden last night at going fast and not knocking stuff down? SO. GREAT.”

And I know you don’t like to watch the cross country part of eventing because watching people almost die makes you uncomfortable, so I won’t even make you watch that one. I’ll watch with my barn friends and I can brag to them about how you’re loving all the other horse stuff at the Olympics and you’ll be the hero! We’ll erect and display a bronze statue of you holding a beer and staring intently at a flat screen image of Mclain Ward. It’s the only realistic reaction I can imagine.

But just in case  I’m not right, let’s just hypothetically say that I might have a little extra incentive:

Watch, or the lucky Boston Red Sox hat gets it.

Okay, love you! See you at the Olympics! I’ll make the popcorn!

Sincerely, Lorraine