Then, on Tuesday night, the ragtag group conjured a bit of the same magic. Trailing by two runs entering the eighth, they scraped and clawed for three runs to beat the Padres, 5-4, in front of a crowd of 24,619 at Citi Field.
My love of the Mets started humbly enough — listening to the games on the radio or having the game going on my mom’s old TV, the one that was color, but had dials and rabbit ears, while I did my homework on a Saturday afternoon.
I never got to go to a baseball game until my early twenties and then it was a firmwide trip to Yankee stadium. I booed the home team and cheered vociferously when they lost.
A few weeks later, in mid-June of 1999, I went to my first Mets game. AND THEY WON! I went to five more games that summer, using my firm’s fancy box seats, and the New York Metropolitans won them all. I wouldn’t get back to Shea for another two years, but they won all the 2001 games I watched too. I still didn’t really think anything of it till I went to one of the subway series’ games at Yankee stadium in, I think, 2006. It was crazy and I don’t know how, but the Mets won in the Bronx 2-1! I chanted “scooorreeebbooaarrrdd,” the whole way back home at my carload of Yankees fans.
Could it be… dare I even think it…
Then in 2007, I went down to Philadelphia to see the Amazins play the Phillies. I crossed my fingers and shut my eyes real tight “no whammy, no whammy…” NO WHAMMY! THE METS WON AGAIN! I danced around and pointed and laughed at my Phillies fan friends. I was unstoppable. Sadly, I’m also poor. Last year, I only made it to one game in the new stadium– but the Mets won it. This year I had high hopes to make it to a bunch of games, but my work schedule more or less strangled those hopes in their sleep. So when Alceste emailed a few days ago to say that new Aunt Dawn 2 (congrats!) would be attending her nephew’s bris, so he had an extra ticket to the Braves/Mets game, I was ecstatic!
Thunderstorms were forecast and I couldn’t find my David Wright jersey OR my favorite Mets t-shirt, but I still looked forward to good luck charming my guys to a victory over the dreaded racist Atlanta Braves. Alceste and I agreed to meet for an early dinner before the game. He totally tried to get me to miss the game by giving me terrible directions to the imaginary restaurant. RUDE. I found him ANYWAY! SO THERE!
Citifield was giving away awesome Mets sports bags at the stadium, so this was already a banner day! I didn’t want to do anything rash about my missing Wright jersey, so I told Alceste that he was not to allow me to buy anything at the Mets store…no matter how many runs we beat the Braves by. He laughed in my face. #DOUBLERUDE
As soon as we took our seats, it started to pour. Awesome. We passed the time taking crappy pictures and watching the retrospective of the ’86 World Series playing on the big screen. About 70 minutes after the scheduled start time, the game officially began.
Five minutes into the game, Justin Turner hits a home run! YAAAYYYY!!!!
Alceste makes a comment about the apple that pops up when a Mets guy hits a homer and I’m all bummed.
“Wait..what apple?! I didn’t see an apple! I WAANNNAA SEEE THHEEE APPPLLEEEE.” Instead, the Mets guys just hit a bunch of singles and doubles and stuff and end up entering the second inning with a 2 run lead. I’m feeling good!
And then disaster strikes…horrible terrible badness of bases loaded, no Braves outness. I cry. Atlanta empties those bases AND THEN SOME! Duda drops a ball that not only should he have caught, BUT THAT HE DID CATCH, turning an out into a triple. I cry, gnash my teeth and scream to the heavens. “WHHHYYY GOOODDD WHHYYY?”
The fourth inning began with the Braves up 5-2 and my streak looking decidedly over.
“I HATE YOUR STUPID RACIST BRAVES!”
“Well, they have the second best record in the National League,” Alceste deadpans.
“I will cut you.”
I was hungry and thinking about going to walk around looking for food rather than watch the rest of this debacle. Instead…I stayed. AND BOY AM I GLAD I DID!
No outs, guy on first, Jason Bay — who is usually an epic disappointment — knocks one out the park to get us within one run. Then the Atlanta pitcher loads up the bases and Reyes brings in the tying run! They’re BACK BABY! AND I GOT TO SEE THE APPLE!
Atlanta takes the lead again briefly in the seventh, but then the Mets go all Mike Tyson on their asses and rain down hits! Mets are up by two! Alceste applauds!
“HA! You’ve come around! You can no longer abide all the racism and now you love the Mets!”
“No, that was a good hit and smart baserunning. I’m applauding that.”
O_o
I do not understand why Alceste does not get how this works. Your team does something awesome, you cheer. The other team does something awesome, you cry. GOOD LORD, MAN!
OH! AND THHEEENNN… so you know how they shoot t-shirts up in the stands? Well, the Pepsi Party Patrol guy came up to our section and started throwing t-shirts. I was eating, so my hands were covered in ketchup and whatnot…plus, I am like two feet tall, so whatever, no shirt for me. BUT ALCESTE, the giant, snatches a shirt right out of the air…it was actually pretty hilarious and he’s about to give it to me, but my hands are all dirty, so he puts it on his chair. THEN like two minutes later, he decides he is going to give it to the little boy next to me instead. I practically tackled him, but he just gave it to the kid’s dad over my wee, teeny head.
I immediately went to tell twitter about how racist Alceste is and he simply goes “I shake my head in advance about whatever you’re about to tweet.”
I glare in his general direction. OH and this coming from a guy who started singing a “kill all the children” song in the middle of the game! Yah. THAT GUY is shaking his head at ME! I like kids and all, but the t-shirts are not kids shirts AND he and his dad totally left the game right after that! Quitters.
Ahem…so..where was I? Oh yeah, the Mets are being all amazing and TURNER HITS ANOTHER HOME RUN! I’m full on doing the wop in the stands!
OH MY GOSH! WHERE’S THE METS STORE??! IMMA BUY FOUR JERSEYS AND NINE HATS!! WHOOO!!!
The Braves bring out some guy in the bottom of the eighth and Alceste goes “well, they’ve conceded the game,” sure enough the Mets hit ANOTHER HOMERUN! I laugh and say well, as long as the Mets don’t put in Acosta, we’ll be in good shape.
#Newark
Acosta comes in at the top of ninth. I cover my face. I know we’re going to win, because I’m in the stadium, after all, but I know it’s going to be ugly. Acosta promptly gives up a homerun with his second pitch. *Headdesk.*
We survive the inning and the METS WIN! I do the robot to celebrate. Alceste ignores my taunting. Jerkwad.
Hopefully, I get to go to the game tomorrow. BJs had a promotion that you could exchange your ticket from Saturdays awesomesauce game for 2 tickets to a future game. I will spare yall the details of my quest to collect on that deal, suffice to say, I am now in possession of tickets to Tuesday’s game in super craptacular seats.
LET’S GO METS!!
Personally, I’d still prefer Bill Belichick and a video camera. But whatevs.
First order of business, Sir, please, PLEASE PLEEEAAAASSSSEEEEE DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES PUT DEREK JETER IN THE BLUE AND ORANGE PLLLEEEEAAAAAASSSSEEEEEE.
We need our own Derek Jeter from circa 1996. Not this old washed up Derek Jeter.
Please and thank you.
Oh, and where are my manners: Congratulations AND WELCOME!
FIIIIXXXXXX IIIIIITTTTTTTTT
Mets ’11!
Where does the New York Post think Roger Clemens is going to go if he is convicted? The jail in the monopoly board game?
In related news, if Clemens is convicted the New York Metropolitans better be awarded the 2000 World Series championship.
A few months ago, I somehow found myself living at the Harrahs Resort in New Jersey. It wasn’t a bad life so far as lives go. I had a clean bed every night and a warm shower every morning. Plus, and here’s the real awesome part about living in a hotel, everyday they give you rewards points for you to spend on stuff. So, now, on top of the clean bed and warm showers, I could get sandwiches and lattes and candy and chips! I even found this men’s clothing store which sold Patriots stuff! So whenever the evil lady dealer would sit down at my table, I would get up and go shopping with my rewards dollars. If it said Patriots on it, I now own two of it.
And then one day, some eight weeks ago, I saw something completely and totally awesome: A Mets starter jacket complete with patches from both World Series wins AND all our penants. It was a little bit garish BUT, and this was the BEST part, it reversed into a simple Blue jacket with orange trim and “Mets” across the front in white curvy letters! It was like TWO Mets jackets! GIMMEE.
Sadly, I had been burning through my rewards points like…well, like they were free money in a hotel! So I only had like 70 rewards points. The jacket was $125 American dollars.
Aw man.
I tried to haggle with the store owner, with whom I was PRACTICALLY on a first name basis:
“Look, Habib. People down here are Phillies fans. And most visitors down here are gonna be Yankees fans…or women who are here to buy their husbands ties and fancy shirts and whatnot. I am the ONLY person who will EVER buy one of those jackets from you and you have THREE of them! Come on!”
Habib was not impressed.
“Well, you can use your points and then pay for the rest with cash.”
I nearly choked on the free candy I was eating. Does he NOT understand the hotel economic system? I use cash to play POKER at the casino. The casino gives me reward points to buy jackets in stores!
Hmph.
I walked away.
Every week I went back and looked at the three jackets hanging on the wall and tried my argument on whoever was manning the register. I would get that jacket and I would NOT be using cash! Bastards.
Then, one day, I’m walking back to my room and I stop dead in my tracks.
Where there once were three jackets, NOW there were TWO!
Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. I paced up and down. This wasn’t happening!
Ok, fine. There were still two jackets left, I just had to earn rewards points…um…faster!
I played and played and played. I was almost there when I went home to Brooklyn last week. I figured I’d buy the jacket the next time I went down to Jersey.
Then Tuesday night the Mets took over first place in the NL East. I did a little dance and decided to go to the Wednesday afternoon game at Citifield. I looked up ticket prices and with the service charges and delivery fees (FOR AN EMAIL) I was all “the game’s better on TV anyways. Hmph. Stupid grapes.”
Anyway, I woke up wicked early on Wednesday and decided that was a sign! I would just go to the ballpark and get tickets there!
I tried to GPS directions and Olga informed me that no such destination existed. So, I called Citifield and after twenty minutes of holding, the nice man informed me that I should just use Olga’s directions to Shea. “It’s right next door.”
Awesome.
I still felt uneasy. But as I neared the destination, I found myself in the middle of a veritable caravan of Mets fans! Choo choo! (Wait, is that the sound a caravan makes?) I pulled into the parking lot (paying twenty bucks for game I did not yet have tickets to.) The parking lot attendant pretty much offered to park my car for me rather than watch me pull in and out time and again trying not to hit the cars next to me.
“Sorry, it’s a new car…I’m not used to it yet.”
He rolled his eyes at me.
Jerkwad.
But as I walked to the stadium, I forgot all about him!
Shea! Or whatever we call Shea 2.0!
I just had to get tickets! Haaaaaaad to!
I waited on line and crossed my fingers. When I got to the window I sheepishly asked for something in the $25-40 range. The lady surprisingly found me a seat for exactly $40! Imagine that!
After being subjected to a pretty thorough physical patdown, I went inside. First stop: Hall of Fame musuem.
They have our World Series trophies inside and as I waited behind this Asian dad and his two kids, I overheard the girl say “It’s like the one they gave the Yankees last year, remember daddy?”
“Yes, honey. But we’re at the Mets stadium, so we don’t talk about the Yankees here…okay?”
I suppressed the urge to say “damn straight”!
The place was crowded with kids, none of whom, so far as I could tell, wanted to be there!
Spoiled brats! I didn’t get to go to my first major league game till I was 23 AND I had to go to a Yankees game! (Where I not only booed them, but cheered when they lost! Yup, I’m charming.)
One girl was clapping gum and sighing “Mr. Friedman. Is this it or do we have to watch the game too?”
The answer disappointed her.
I took some geek pictures of me and a bust of Mookie Wilson and decided I was gonna buy a new Mets ballcap.
“THIRTY DOLLARS??” I said in my best middle aged dad from an eighties TV sitcom voice.
“Do you take total rewards points, by any chance?”
I settled on getting a keychain.
It was an extremely windy day. I had on a turtleneck, my David Wright jersey and a jacket, but I was still cold. I ran back to my car to grab a sweatshirt out of my overnight bag.
Uh oh.
The only sweatshirt I had was one of the many items I had bought with rewards dollars…and it didn’t say Mets…
I went back to the stadium and took my seat.
Again, I was mostly surrounded by kids. In front were a mom, her dad and her two toddlers. They were both bundled up from apple cheeks to toe in Mets gear. SOO CUTETASTIC!
Next to me was a mom and her three kids: two like 8-9 year old boys and their 5-6 year old sister. I laughed as she tried to teach them to cheer for the Mets without being totally nasty to the Dodgers.
“No, sweetie, he’s not a bad man, but we just want him to lose.”
Followed by exchanges like:
“Is he okay?”
“Yes, he’s a Met.”
“Let’s go Ike!”
L.O.L
The Mets jumped out to an uncharacteristic early lead. I was freezing my face and hands off!
With a comfortable 4-1 lead, I went off to get me some Shake Shack.
I don’t know why I assumed this would be indoors. It wasn’t. I don’t know why I thought I’d just walk in and get a burger. I didn’t.
Instead I freezed some more on a line and then watched Maine give up like 18 hits in a row, walk 45 batters And the Dodgers score eleven fifty runs! Arrghh! MAINE!! I leave you for 25 minutes and you panick???
I grabbed my food and ran back to my seat. Can I tell you that my burger and my milkshake were the same temperature? SAME!
(Why’d you get a milkshake if you were so cold, Dawn? Shut up, Question McAskalot. Mind yer business.)
I couldn’t take the cold anymore.
I turned my sweatshirt insideout and put it on.
The Mets got back on track and by the 8th, we had a commanding lead.
A dude in the front row, after doing his “we just scored a run” dance, turned around to look at me.
“Is that a Patriots sweatshirt”?
“Er…yes! I’ve been watching the Story of Us! I want to show my support for the rebels! I hate the British sooo much!”
He laughed.
Whew. Though with a frozen face and frozen fists, I woulda fared pretty well in a fight.
People began to file out, but I stayed and watched KRod wheeze out the final out in the ninth before I got up.
Surprisingly, I did not crack in half.
I made it back to my car and headed to Atlantic City. I was gonna get my schmancy Mets jacket right now!
I speeded to the hotel. I ran straight to the store and Wham!
THEY WERE ALL GONE!
I fell to the floor, shook my fist at the sky and yelled “Kkkkhhhhaaaannnnnnnn!”
And then I looked for a puppy to kick.
First place team says “Where are your Phillies now?”
Oh, for those of you wondering, the last post has nothing to do with me staring down the reality of a Yankees/Phillies matchup. Although, all morning I have been enjoying the banter of my fellow Mets fans making their peace with one camp or the other. The stalwart Mets fan deciding that back to back championships would make Philly fans too unbearably cocky, so he’d rather root root root for the home team. Another diehard blue and oranger reasoned that he’d rather watch Yankees fans suffer the humiliation of getting to the World Series and losing for the second time this decade, so he’s donning the proverbial red cap.
I however, nicely summed up my views in the following e-mail:
Tsk, tsk. My fellow Mets fans, you all think too small.
We hate the Yankees.
We hate the Phillies.
Why torture yourselves with questions of which hatred is stronger, which rooting will cause less vomiting and face meltage? As someone who has unfortunately had a recent experience with horrible unthinkable sports impossibilities coming true, I present you with eleven words that will change your life. Are you sitting down? 2009 is the year the World Series of Baseball was canceled.
It’s true. Happened to the Superbowl a couple of years ago. These are freaky occurrences, no one has any control over them, but you shrug your shoulders and move on…be it to hockey or basketball or football or…scotch.
Mets ’10!
Reason number 2 why Dawn Summers is so awesome: she does not accept reality as it is, she bends reality to what it should be.
Go Riots!
So, this is supposed to be a burn, I guess, but I don’t get it. Explain it to me so I can be appropriately enraged.
So, um, you know how when a pitcher is on pace to have a perfect game? (Yeah, no, obviously not one of *our* pitchers, stop being silly. But you know what I mean.) Okay, so he’s all on pace and when he gets back to the dugout after pitching everyone leaves him alone and shuts the hell up about it?
Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna need from you guys right now. A big steaming cup of shut-the-hell-up-before-you-spook-them-and-they-start-losing-again-and-I-have-to-kill-you.
Please and thank you.