Jennifer Nobles: It’s no baseball, but I’ll take it |

Jennifer Nobles: It’s no baseball, but I’ll take it

One thing I absolutely cannot deny is that I have a love for baseball. Before you go thinking that I myself am an athlete, let me be absolutely transparent: I’m not.

Sure, I spent most of my young life practicing ballet at Nelda & Lennie’s Dance Center — which once occupied the space where the Gold Miners Inn now stands — but I’ve never been too athletically inclined. My mom used to tell me I was “graceful,” a compliment I heard only from her and never again from anyone else in my entire life. Moms can be that way.

What I lack in physical prowess, I make up for in my fandom. Believe me, when Feb. 13 rolls around I will be closely watching my beloved San Francisco Giants as their pitchers and catchers report for the new season and begin their quest for their next World Series ring.

In the words of Annie Savoy, Susan Sarandon’s character in the timeless film “Bull Durham”: “I believe in the Church of Baseball.”

Naturally when winter rolls around I get a little depressed. Summer is over, and the bats and gloves are put away, waiting for their chance to be broken in the following spring. This is why I have a tendency to get a little bitter about football.

Football represents — to me — the anti-baseball. Where baseball lazes, football charges. The stretched-out innings make way for energy filled quarters. The mellow crowd makes way for costumed characters who seem simultaneously angry and excited.

That’s not to say I don’ t watch football. I do. I root unexpectantly for the 49ers but don’t have the emotional connection like I do to America’s favorite pastime.

Which leads me to my point: the Super Bowl is imminent and though I’m not attached to the Patriots or the Rams, I’ve gotta say, Super Bowl Sunday is one of my favorite days of the year.

On what other day can you get such a variety of artery-clogging delights? Only on Super Bowl Sunday do the real heroes come out — those in sandwich form. Not to mention the buffalo wings, nachos, guacamole, lil’ smokies … the limits are endless.

In my house, we traditionally create one dish for each team being represented in the big game. This year, we’re looking at carnitas street tacos, a doff of the cap to Los Angeles, and Chrissy Teigen’s Bacon Clam Chowder in honor of New England.

No matter who the victor, I look forward to watching the game, seeing the commercials and eating an amount only rivaled by a typical Thanksgiving.

Maybe on Monday I will re-enlist in ballet lessons.

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