So we live in Baltimore, but my family roots for the Red Sox (it's a by-marriage sort of thing). Fortunately, the Orioles don't make this very hard.
In theory, I'm all into it. I like being aligned with a cause--something more fun than all the medical policy stuff I get to be indignant over. I bought a Red Sox flag and hung it on the house. I sort of know what's going on, I know the names of the players, sometimes even their numbers, I know who Dice-K, Youk, and Big Papi are. I know what it means (I think) to say "It's Manny being Manny." I know most of the rules and how the game is played, which is much more than I can say for football, even though that's the other non-stop event in my house.
I like the idea but as a true sports fan, I just don't cut it. The guys in my house can recite every play, every at bat, every caught and almost-caught ball. I can sit in front of the TV staring at it, get bored and faze out. Then I suddenly realize there are two men on base and I never noticed them getting there. Pitchers duel are the worst. I do tend to remember Grand Slams, and I usually know who won.
When I met ClinkShrink, she was a Twins fan. Now, she never talks baseball. And Roy, as a sports guy, he's a failure.
So what's this got to do with psychiatry?