Danny Andrews

Since the day it was invented, in the time of gentlemen and things that cost a nickel, courtship has always been a tricky proposition.

Things have changed greatly since then. You can’t get away with just picking a mate out of a lineup and asking for their hand in marriage. No, you need to buy the tickets, popcorn and candy.

You have to know what you’re doing.

This is where to greatest American pastime comes in, baseball. I don’t know who began this method of determining your position in relationships, but I thank them. This is a fool-proof way to understand everything about the dating scene.

Unless you’re like my friend and know absolutely nothing about baseball.

I have a friend who after “mistakenly” courting our RA’s younger sister, told us that she was the best kisser he’s ever had. She had such a talent because “she used tongue.”

Tongue? I didn’t understand.

“What do you mean tongue? Did she lick your face or something?” I asked.

“No, like, in my mouth,” he replied, clearly excited.

Shocked and amazed, I could only stare. Mouth? I tried explaining that what he had just described was making out. How could a 20-year-old college student not know that?

I know for a fact that girls have spent the night in his room. I knew he wasn’t exactly slow when it comes to love. Surely, he had to gotten to first base with one of these lovely ladies. At some point, one of them had to have tried to get a tongue between those vise-like lips.

Then I remembered a picture that all of my friends have seen. I’m not allowed to go into the details, but it’s verification of the fact that he’s been to second base.

What does this mean? He hasn’t stolen second base. To steal second, you had to have been at first. But not only has he never been to first, apparently he’s never even heard of it. In his world of baseball, you simply get a hit off and casually stroll past the pitcher to a stunned second baseman.

Now here’s the beauty – no one even told him that’s not how you play the game. Even the girls never told him. They just went through the motions. No timeouts, no seventh-inning stretch, not even a $7 hotdog.

With all this in mind, how can it be fixed? First, I will not give him lessons. The thought of me examining and critiquing his “moves” is enough to make me dry heave. Also, asking a girl to give him a little help has gotten me slapped in the face. Repeatedly.

Maybe he’s just never supposed to know. Perhaps Fate has decided to keep him in the dark, and I would be tempting the gods by telling him the truth.

I think I’ll just buy him a baseball guide book. Couldn’t hurt.

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