In most of the free world, watching a baseball game is considered a leisurely activity.
3 hours of relaxing viewing, occasionally interrupted by a brief flurry of excitement due to runs being scored or a pier six brawl breaking out between the two teams.
At my house? It's part MMA, part WWE, and part riot, only without the cops. Although at times I'm tempted to call them in.
Tonight? I got to watch the first hour by myself, due to the fact Ang and the kids were at church. Silly me, I was under the delusion they'd hit the door calm and relaxed.
15 minutes later, after playing our weekly game of Tickle Monster I herded the boys upstairs to the bathtub and before I could say "STOP!"? Rakes had peed.
In the bathtub.
While I erupted like Mt. Olympia and Trot repeated "I didn't do it this time, Dad." Ang was hollering something about "Don't kill him!" from downstairs and Ciera was muttering "You two are GROSS." in the background behind me.
Somehow managing not to stroke out on the spot, I bathed the boys and got them dressed while John Lackey was spinning a 7 inning, 1 hit gem. While Ang distracted them with water and a snack I got to see Bard pitch a scoreless 8th.
However, in the bottom of the inning I missed Beltre going yard because I was having to put Trot back in the bed for the 5th time in roughly 10 minutes and only the threat of me locking him in his closet allowed me to see Pap pitch a flawless bottom of the ninth to preserve the 3-1 win.
I keep telling myself it'll all calm down in a few years.
I'm just not sure I can make it until then.
Bottom line? Sox win, Trot eventually went to sleep, and I'm still alive and kicking.