"Now, now," you say, "calm down. It can't be all that bad." Oh, no? Want to bet? Okay, let's take a typical evening when he comes home from work.
"Hello, Dear," I greet him. "Have a nice day?"
"Uh, huh." Down goes the briefcase by the door.
"Would you like a nice cool drink?" I follow him through the dining roo, picking up the tie and jacket discarded there.
"Huh? Sure." With a nonchalant click, he passes the TV on his way updsairs to change. Five minutes later, beer in hand, he's entrenched in his easy chair, completely engrossed in The Lead-off Man (or whatever)'
I sigh and head for the kitchen. Perhaps, I can get a few minutes attention at dinner. Optimist!
So we sit down to dinner. His eyes still have that glazed look and are glued to the living room set, which he can see from his place at the table. Should I make the effort? Oh, heck, why not?
"Dear!' No answer. "Dear!" This time a little louder.
"Huh?" comes his intelligent reply.
Ah, good, I did manage to catch his eye that time, but I'd better test him.
"The Smiths won a trip around the world for four," I sweetly lie. "They want us to go with them."
"That's nice, Dear. Oh, for Pete's sake! He was safe by a mile. Where are your glasses?"
Try again? "Did you know that the Martins' house burnt down?"
"Yeah, how about that? Come on, Ernie, get a hit!"
Oh, well, I sigh, "Have some more chicken, Dear."
"You bet! How about that? All the way. What did I tell you? It's a home run."
Now you may say that I must be exaggerating. And, anyway, it can't be as bad as all that. Ha! Let me tell you about the night I asked him to barbecue steak for dinner.
"But, Honey, I'm watching the ball game."
"Can't you miss a couple innings?" I ask hopefully.
We compromised. Moving the portable TV into the dining room picture window, he set up his barbecue outside so that he could see it from the yard and turned on his transistor radio for sound.
Then, there was the day we decided to take our two-year-old daughter to the zoo. "Harmless enough," you say? With transistor radios, are you kidding? He had the earphone plugged in all afternoon. And, of course, there's always the car radio for driving to and fro.
I guess his real coupe, though, was the night of the church dinner-business meeting. Happily, he plugged in his earphone and passed along the scores to all the other envious males seated around us. One little boy asked, "Do you have another one of those (earphones, that is)? My Dad would like to listen, too."
And to think I bought him that radio for his birthday.
"Okay," you'll conclude, "the season won't last forever." And I agree. It won't. But then there's football (I understand Monday Night at the Movies is being replaced by Monday Night at the Football Game) and basketball and ice hockey and the golf tournaments. Then there's horse racing and car racing and ...oh, you get the picture.
And, if that isn't enough, he's taken to coaching our two-year-old daughter in the art of being a fan. She sits and watches games with him, hollering "Come on, Ernie, get a hit," clapping her hands as some guys pops out and shouting "He got a home run." So far, she makes little distinction between teams, roots for them all and thrives on the excitement.
With two of them now, you can easily see that I can't win. And, after all, what can I do? As I said before, I love the guy.
I can see it all now as next Christmas approaches.
"Honey," he'll sweetly hint, "I've been thinking. You know those little compact portable TVs?..."
And you know what I'm going to say? "Forget it, Ralph. Just forget it!!!"
Epilogue by Ellen 11/14/16
I found this piece recently going through my Mom's writings after my Dad and brother's beloved Cubs became World Champions. It cracks me up that one of the first players I connected with was Ernie Banks, Mr. Cub himself. No wonder my Mom was thrilled when I discovered Greg Luzinski and chose to cheer for her hometown Phillies. I am posting this in honor of my Dad who passed away on 11/15/86. I am certain he has been smiling a lot from his heavenly box seat these days. The portrait was done in his memory by my uncle Hunter Mallory. 
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