Her body was poised to line up with the falling baseball. She dared not look away. Then came the thud. The ball landed in her mitt as she braced her arm against the trajectory. She was unsure, but she caught it.

If the Phillies ever decide to replace players with droids, I question whether the stands would fill. The lack of uncertainty would swivel it from a game, riddled with unpredictable and synergistic components, to an exercise in predestination.

I find it an ill fitting finish to truncate the story of marriage with "They lived happily ever after."  We might as well forgo all sports events with two words. 

"They won."

It would save a stadium of cash, a dumpster of empty beer cans, and a heck of a lot of bother to stay home and find out the results on ESPN or twitter. It is a safe bet that somebody won, and if that is all we care about why put ourselves out by sitting in the hot sun or cold drizzle chewing a pretzel to witness the details?

But uncertainty is precisely the motivation for shelling out money for tickets. The closer to the action the better. We take a sip of soda without taking our eyes off the field, leaning in to watch how the pitcher will handle the top batter, how the short stop will respond to a ground ball. We are thirsty to see how the game is played.

Ironically the biggest game in town has nobody watching. Well, kids are sometimes peeking around the door jam, or eavesdropping through the walls, but most of our marriages are played out alone. We save the curve balls until company has said goodnight, and the home runs for a private moment. I am not talking about sex. That is splayed across every channel. I mean the conversations that start as pickles and finish as sweet resolutions. Watching the game of marriage teaches us how to play fair too.

Last week John and I were stuck. He and I were in a stalemate around an issue that even Lori of the Wagging Tongue will not name. We spoke in succinct sentences for a few days. Then we went to marriage group. Another couple alluded to the six hour car trip they had taken in which they exchanged a scant twenty words. They glanced at each other, and melted like the frost on a sunny November morning.

Watching them cured me.  I think I will take them a pretzel.