One thing I love about Twitter is its ability to connect fans across cities, states, and fandoms. Watching Giants games on my computer wouldn’t be the same without hundreds of Giants fans blowing up my timeline, commenting on everything from Brandon Belt (#babygiraffe) to the stress of one-run games (#torture).

However, there’s one bone I have to pick with Twitter, and it’s this: there is no way for me to transition smoothly from cyber friendships to real friendships.

Now, I’m not talking about scary Internet strangers or looking to bring up safety issues. It’s not as if I have a goal of meeting every one of my 300-something followers—at least a third of whom seem to be weird spambots. I’m just talking about the average baseball fan you might meet at Safeco Field or AT&T Park or your mother’s basement (no offense).

Here’s an example. Last month, I attended the Mariners’ annual FanFest at Safeco. Unable to coerce any of my friends or family into joining me, I went alone, fully intending to indulge in six hours of baseball interviews, discussions, and autographs. While standing in line with 499 other fans to get Jesus Montero’s autograph, I started chatting with some friends on Twitter, and decided it might be fun to meet up with some of them after the main events of the day.

Off I went to Dugout Dialogue, where 70 fans or so were crowded around the third base line to hear players chat about the upcoming season. As I waited for the interviews to conclude, I spotted several Mariners fans I follow on Twitter. The more I looked around, the more tweeters I found. This is great! I thought. Look at all these people I’ve chatted with on Twitter. I should say hi!

Before I could jump out of my seat to say hello, I realized I had no idea how to introduce myself. Sure, I could just walk up and say hi, or make some witty and tweet-worthy comment about the latest round of player interviews, but I felt self-conscious about walking over several rows of people just to make these “offhand” comments. Then, it occurred to me that some of them didn’t even follow me back on Twitter. They would probably (and rightly) assume that it was creepy I should recognize them from Twitter, especially if they didn’t recognize me. I couldn’t very well go up and say, “Hi, I’m Ashley. I follow you on Twitter. You may or may not know me as @wcoastfangirl.” I promise I’m not a stalker in real life, but Twitter does not help with this at all.

In the end, I decided to stay put. Three people I talked to on Twitter—let me clarify, these were people I had already arranged to meet up with—somehow found me, and without much awkwardness, we enjoyed a great conversation while the park slowly emptied.

So, Twitter friends, if we ever happen to be in the same ballpark and you’d like to meet up, feel free to come up to me and say, “Hey, I know you from Twitter.” Sadly, I just can’t bring myself to do the same.

For those who have not read my autobiographical blurb on West Coast Fan[girl], I am a Giants fan living in Seattle. I am not from the Bay Area, nor have I ever lived there. No one in my immediate family loves baseball, and it was not passed down to me from a grandparent or close friend.

I also did not grow up enjoying Mariners baseball, although my parents took me to a few games as a kid. I can’t tell you any of the players from those games, much less the final scores. My only childhood memory of the Mariners is confined to standing in line for hot dogs with my mom and betting on the outcome of a hydros race.

When I started watching baseball in earnest two years ago, I fell in love with the Giants. I didn’t mean to at first; they were just supposed to introduce me to the sport, since I was hesitant about following a Seattle-based team with a poor track record. To make a short story shorter, watching Andres Torres sparked my interest in the team, and following the Giants’ ride to a World Series championship cemented my affection and loyalty.

This offseason, however, I have found myself inexplicably drawn to the Mariners. Maybe it’s because I finally realized there is a wealth of baseball at my disposal. (The commute is certainly easier, a mere 29 miles versus the 828-mile trek to AT&T Park.) Perhaps it’s because Safeco Field feels like a second home. Whatever the reason, I know that my affinity for the M’s is not a substitute for the Giants.

Of course, following several teams is bound to bring on a little skepticism from both fan bases. The questions go something like this: “So, if you had to choose, which team would you pick? Who would you want to win in a Mariners-Giants World Series? Who will you root for when the Giants come to Seattle this summer?”

This may come as a surprise and disappointment to my fellow Mariners fans, but these are fairly easy questions to answer. I’d pick the Giants every time. Although I love the Mariners, although I will stand behind them through difficult seasons ahead and believe in their ability to reach the World Series, and although it pains me to watch my two favorite teams face each other, it simply wouldn’t feel right to ever root against the Giants. They came first. Without them, I wouldn’t be writing this blog post, and I wouldn’t love baseball.

I’ve been told before that choosing two teams cheapens the experience of watching baseball. Giants fans don’t understand why I care about the Mariners, while Mariners fans give me strange looks for saying I love the Giants (to be fair, this usually happens when I’m sitting in the Safe). But hey, whether you love the Giants or the Mariners, you have to be glad I’m not an A’s fan, right?