The chirping of the birds outside the window was the sole incumbrance to my steadfast refusal to acknowledge that it was, in fact, a beautiful day outside. It was a hot July afternoon in 1993 and the conditions for were ideal for a swim at Peltoma Lake, a popular weekending spot for a few dozen families in rural southwestern New Brunswick. My thirteen year old id knew that there were girls outside and, unaware that it would later experience a five year Jordan Bulls-like period of dominance over my ego and superego during the high school/university years, was anxiously imploring me to put on my swim trunks and attempt interaction.

But I could not do it. The reason? The epic Jays/Athletics stratomatic series that my friend and I were playing in the cottage was about to crest in a game seven. Susie on a beach towel never had a chance against Juan Guzman on three days rest. And so it went. These are the choices that we make, and undoubtedly, if you are reading this, you experienced similar instances of budding baseball nerdness interfering with normal adolescent development.

Fast forward thirteen years and I have somehow managed to outplay my pythagorean projection and become involved in a meaningful relationship with a wonderful woman. This is important for all of us because, as with other traits that are barriers to procreation, baseball obsession carries with it the risk of being naturally selected for extinction. So many other baseball nerds have had encounters with serendipity comparable to mine that I remain convinced that the baseball gods - in fact, the baseball nerd gods - are interfering with the Darwinian process as redress for the 1994 strike. Zoilo Versalles won a Most Valuable Player award, the 2005 White Sox won a World Series, and some of us have significant others. Go figure.

When the dust of serendipity settles, we realize that we must create an environment in which baseball nerdness and a romantic relationship can coexist without either subsuming or overtaking the other. This is a delicate balance, and I am only beginning to learn. To skillfully navigate this landscape, the baseball nerd, who is already intimately familiar with his own appetite for baseball, must ascertain his partner's tolerance for same. This is often accomplished through painful trial and error. When she recommends a book, tell her that it will have to wait because you are rereading Moneyball. Slowly work Ken Burns into your conversation about the previous night's documentary on the CBC. Replace her favourite snack with Crackerjack. Start incorporating baseball phrases into your pet names for her, like "Youppi" (do not, I repeat do not, refer to her as the "Rosin Bag"). Gauging her response to these techniques will reveal her level of tolerance.

Your first goal after ascertaining her level of tolerance is, naturally, to increase it. The preferred means for achieving this goal is a slow process of baseball desensitization. One method that I have found to be particularly useful is to slowly interfere with her enjoyment of her favourite television programs by asking if you can check the score of an ongoing game during the commercials. As this process progresses, you should be constantly increasing the time spent watching the game until its breaking point (which you should already know if you completed the ascertainment exercises in the above paragraph). You start with one plate appearance which, if timed properly, will last for approximately one half of the commercial break. You then try to squeeze in a second plate appearance, finally working your way to entire half innings. This process can take weeks, but this will increase your partner's baseball tolerance level. The zenith of desensitization is when you have watched an entire game with your partner in the room. If this happens, do not panic. You have reached the precipice of this delicate balance and it is best not to look down.

The next thing that you must do is engender a rooting interest. The next time that you are in a book store, go to the $0.99 bin and find a copy of Johnny Damon's book. Find the pages where he explains how the discovery that he could have any woman that he wanted led him to sleep with and generally exploit as many women as possible and leave his wife and children to further pursue those opportunities unencumbered. Show her the passages, and then the cover of the book. You have an instant Red Sox hater. Then explain to her how he has since signed with the Yankees and presto, she hates the Yankees too. Now you have half of the Jays' AL East cohorts covered. Making a Jays fan out of a Yankees and Red Sox hater is easy, once you explain the unbalanced schedule and economic disparities. There are countless other ways to engender a rooting interest. Look for human interest stories that show Jays' players in a positive light, or make an appeal to her nationalism by pointing out that the Jays are the only Canadian team in the majors.

Once you have ascertained her baseball tolerance and begun the desensitization process, you must learn to maintain the delicate balance by not going too far. The baseball nerd/meaningful relationship equilibrium is a beautiful thing, but you will live in constant danger of flying too close to the sun. It is okay to express an interest in statistics, maybe even explain OPS, but you should probably keep your VORP spreadsheets in a file that she cannot find. It is okay to let her see you clapping and cheering when Vernon Wells hits a homer, but maybe she should not see you crying to the footage of Joe Carter's homer. It is okay that she knows that you ordered the Extra Innings package from Rogers Cable, but maybe you should not tell her that you did it in part to help pay for A.J. Burnett.

Though some of these techniques may appear to be surreptitious or deceptive, they are for the greater good. You must maintain the balance. Brothers: the continued existence of our respective bifurcated romances is essential both to our sanity and to the propagation of our unifying trait, baseball nerdness.