Wednesday, June 13, 2007

ALL THINGS ARE UNTIED.

TBF: “I’m not going to watch the game tonight, or listen to it on the radio, or have Gameday up. But, of course, that doesn’t mean that you can’t.”
MG: “That’s probably a good idea. I have to get up at 6am again tomorrow anyway.”

:::dinner:::

TBF: “Ah, crap.”
MG: “What?”
TBF: “Justin Verlander just threw a no-hitter.”

::TV set goes on. Baseball enters the house.::
:::10pm:::

MG: “I feel like eating some watermelon.”
TBF: “You should go to bed.”
MG: “We could eat some watermelon and watch the beginning of the game.”
TBF: (Pauses, relents.) “Okay.”

:::watermelon:::
:::SNY:::
:::Hong-Chih Kuo:::
:::Johnny Maine!:::
:::David Wright!:::

MG: “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”
TBF: “Maybe you’re right.”

:::TV left on:::

1. Wilson Betemit
(No one says anything. It’s only one run. He won’t do it again.)
2. Matt Kemp
(TBF storms over, turns off television. I go into my office to research Chicago hotels, and furtively put on WFAN.)
3. HONG-CHIH KUO.
(Radio abruptly shut off.)

A few minutes later:

TBF: “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
MG: “What now???”
TBF: “NOT AGAIN!”
MG: “Notice how I didn’t say anything. I thought you weren’t watching!”
TBF: “I opened up Gameday.”

Luckily I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, and didn’t know the score until I got off the train in downtown Brooklyn around 8am. Running late, I couldn’t really stop, but while standing at a traffic light, I managed to txt “mets score” to GOOGL. (It’s very handy. Try it some time.)

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I yelled as the light changed.

“Early-season test, gentlemen. Early-season test,” Randolph said. “We’ve got to keep grinding it out and find a way to get a win tomorrow before we go back home.”

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

GOIN’ CALI.

Well he’d been hearing too many voices and feelin’a little off-rack
Like there was something big pressing down on his back
So he called up his friends and they said come on out west
It’s a place where a man can really feel his success

From Lone Star Mets:

“Ok, Willie’s autobiography should be called: Leaving your starter in 3 innings too long when it is obvious to everyone in the ball park except me that nothing good could possibly come of it, this sort of thing is my bag, Baby by Willie Randolph.”

From Marty Noble:

“The Mets are looking for what works and trying not to lose their minds in the process.”

From the New York Times

“The Philadelphia Phillies have lost more games than any professional franchise in any sport.”

[Sorry, I threw that one in there for morale.]

From Jessica:

“I’m tempted to just recap what I had for dinner on Saturday instead of talking about the Saturday and Sunday games. I mean, really, why would I want to write about those damn seagulls all over the field and the inability to hold a lead and Delgado being Del-Godawful with RISP and those seagulls and Gomez going back and forth between “Endy 2.0” and “Milledge at Fenway” and that atrocious CW11 commercial for the Subway Series that made my ears hurt and FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, CAN WE GET PLACIDO POLANCO OUT FOR ONCE?”

From Metstradamus:

“I, my friends, am grumpy. And at this moment, I sincerely don’t feel like putting things in perspective, keeping a happy face, turning the other cheek, noting that before tonight Hernandez has been nothing short of spectacular, or anything else that resembles positivity. This blog post, as are all blog posts, are not a reflection on how things will go the rest of the season, but rather a snap shot of how I feel at the moment. And guess how I feel right this very moment? I feel grumpy.”

From Zoe:

“Of course almost as soon as I write this, the lead gets trimmed to 3-2. And then the Dodgers friggin’ tie it up. Usually, I would blame the Evil Eye. Today, I blame Posh. Ok, not really. But if we lose this one, it might just want to smack the frosted lipstick off her face. Yikes, did I write that!? Sorry, Posh! It’s transference. Oh, but you’re still tacky, and get your hands off the ball. Yeah, sometimes I forget I really shouldn’t live-blog.”

From Alyssa:

“This is just depressing. I mean really. The Mets are coming. The Angels are coming. Both of which have solid pitching and that is not a good remedy for an anemic offense.”

[WHERE? WHERE WAS THIS ALLEGED ANEMIC OFFENSE??!]

From MG:

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Whaddya want? I had to be up at 6 a.m.

Monday, June 11, 2007

FOR THE BIRDS.

“i don’t even understand the cycle of the birds. they’re flying around the infield. they’re telling their friends, ‘come on in! see a ball game.’” - Tom McCarthy today

I was listening to the game in the office on the radio, while TBF, newly arrived from Detroit, sat in the living room. The problem with that, of course, is the delay, which meant that he was yelling or pounding on the table shortly after I had done so. After a while I just couldn’t take the carnage any more - I just couldn’t - so I turned off the radio.

TBF did share that the music selections at Comerica are excellent, appropriate, and pay tribute to the heritage of the city. “Dancing In The Street,” “Eye of the Tiger,” “Get Ready,” et cetera.

< MetsGrrl glares in the direction of Shea >

We also got to relive his brief appearances on the Fox broadcast from yesterday, in which his arm, signalling various balls as fair, figures prominently. (He will not let me share any of those shots with you.) And, as you can see, he did return bearing gifts.

I hope the Mets have a lot to think about on their plane ride to the City of Angels. I’m not sure whether they need tough love, a Jedi master, Zen wisdom, a swift kick in the ass, or a combination of all of the above, but

they sure as heck need SOMETHING. No more excuses, boys. It’s time to start playing like a team that’s in first place.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

KICK OUT THE JAMS.

Ah, Friday night. A night where I have the couch to myself, the cat on my lap, TBF in section 116 of Comerica Park with his father and uncle, and THE METS WINNING! I have to confess that I still hold my breath, to a certain extent, every time Sosa is pitching. Why? I don’t know. Maybe because I’m waiting for the magic to wear off or the Real Jorge Sosa to show up or I don’t know what. His performances certainly don’t rate me watching the game from between my fingers, but it just feels too good to be true sometimes.

Today was the big Girls’ Day Out at ESPN Zone. I met Coop and Zoe in Times Square and squeezed our way inside between the hordes of tourists and hordes of Yankees fans preening because they were winning against the Pirates.
Coop shook her head. “What-ever.” I didn’t laugh because that was exactly my reaction when I arrived.

“Where is the Mets game?” Zoe asked, when we got to the bar, in the brief wait before our table was ready.
The bartender points at a small screen.
“Why can’t you put it on the big screen?”
“We will, once the Yankees are over.”
“But the Yankees have two screens, the horse race has one.”
“That screen’s in a different room.”
We all try pouting. It does not work.
Luckily, we were at our table and the Mets were ensconced on the big screen before the first inning was over, or there might have been a mutiny.

[More of our adventures, after the jump.]

Friday, June 08, 2007

LOLBaseball continues

[Thanks to the fine gals over at Ladies….]

[Also, a small LOLMariners (scroll down).]

Am I the only one who finds the whole LOL thing hilarious, especially when applied to baseball? Probably.

FRIDAY PHOTO.

Something from Spring Training, something light and cheerful and hopeful to help morale.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

AIN’T NO ANGEL GONNA GREET ME.

I was bruised and battered and I couldn’t tell what I felt
I was unrecognizable to myself
Saw my reflection in a window I didn’t know my own face
Oh brother are you gonna leave me wasting away
On the streets of Philadelphia

Tonight was supposed to be a zero baseball night. We were going to see our friends, the lovely Shalitas, play a set at Union Pool. We were going to have to take some ribbing as these are Philly girls, and their guys are Philly guys. But, we were going to be able to avoid the game, and take a little baseball break before the weekend.

TBF handled the blackout just fine. I, however, am entranced with the newly-activated web features on my phone, and with ESPN.com’s delightful mobile interface. I couldn’t resist, and inbetween songs, decided to sneak a peek. It was the bottom of the 9th. I was hopeful.

You can guess how long that lasted.

TBF is packing for his trip to the D this weekend, and I am lying in bed with a pillow over my head, going, I CAN’T BELIEVE THE PHUCKING PHILLIES SWEPT US. So i decide to turn on WFAN. What greets me?

Lights out tonight
trouble in the heartland…

I holler at TBF to come listen.
“I would have chosen something different. Like - ‘My City of Ruins’.”
I’m about to make a crack about “Wreck On The Highway,” when TBF says, “‘I was bruised and battered…’”
I get out of bed.
“That’s a good idea.”
“You’re going to make a blog post about that, aren’t you?”
“I gotta say something.”

Click your heels together, and say this with me: We’re still in first place. We’re still in first place. We’re still in first place.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

IN THE CITY. [6-5-07]

The evening began with TBF and I intervening as a crack-addled Yankees fan started to beat up a student teacher trying to study on the 7 train. (I am not exaggerating about any of this.) It was clear something was chemically wrong with her, and probably not wise to intervene,  but no one was doing a damn thing (including the three Mets fans next to the woman being attacked) and there was no way either of us were going to sit there and watch it happen.  I mention the baseball affiliation because she (yes, it was a girl) made sure to bring it up when I tried to caution her to back off. She and her boyfriend got off the train at Queensboro (or rather, he carried her off while TBF was standing at the door yelling for an officer) and luckily, no one was seriously injured. But we were shook up and disgusted that no one else did a damn thing except get out of the way. If enough people had stood up to this woman the boyfriend would have had to deal with it sooner. It kind of shook us up, just a little, and we were looking forward to the game taking our mind off things.

::: ::: ::: pause ::: ::: :::

The only thing I was happy about tonight was this photo:

Which looked GREAT in the camera’s LCD - finally! I got someone stealing! -  and I was psyched because, well, the game sucked but at least I got THE shot! I get home and see that it look like crap on the computer. This just adds to the case to get myself a better camera, something TBF has been lobbying for.

TBF is in the bleachers tomorrow night, and I dearly want to see Hamels v. Maine on Thursday, but not if this is how we’re going to be playing this week. I fear for the roadtrip.

I will leave you with a small offering in the form of this haiku about tonight’s game, inspired by Billy Wagner’s quote last weekend:

perfect june shea night
a team we shouldn’t lose to
where is their hunger?

Sunday, June 03, 2007

FORTY DOLLARS.

So I am not exactly an autograph person, for anyone, music or baseball or anything else. When I met Gloria Steinem I wanted a picture with her, also something I’d never really wanted to do. I can tell you stories about handing a big blue lollipop to Pete Townshend and getting a big smile in return, or talking to Eddie Vedder about the Who, or having an argument with Dave Bielanko of Marah about Gram Parsons vs. Townes Van Zandt. I’d much rather have a memorable 3 minute conversation and a human moment than a signature on a piece of paper.

But that’s not to say that the signature on the piece of paper isn’t cool. And so, when I read about Paul Lo Duca signing at Last Licks in Massapequa this weekend, I somehow convinced TBF that this was a good idea. It seemed a little less intense (not to mention cheaper) than the Hall of Heroes signings, and they had some deal going where if you bought a ticket in advance, you could also get an autograph from Joe Smith, Pedro Feliciano or Ramon Castro for free.  We figured we’d get Joe Smith, because he’s new and we love him and it wasn’t much more rational than that.

When I was thinking about what we’d have signed, I rejected the traditional ball or bat or hat; I am ridiculously proud of my baseball photos and work hard on them. We have a wall in the hallway with orange and blue frames, and thought we’d use this as an excuse to add to it. So I printed off a copy of this photo of Lo Duca and this photo of Joe Smith (he’s really, really hard to shoot from the mezzanine, because he’s so fast and my camera just isn’t), and off we went to Long Island.

The signing started at 5:30. We wanted to get there at 4:15. We got there around 4:45, due to ridiculous traffic, and there were people who had been there for hours. When I went inside to pick up my ticket, I had to wait while a over-emotional girl in what could only be described as an, um, low-cut prom dress explained to everyone within earshot how she needed another two tickets for Lo Duca to sign things.

(I’ll pause while you all say, “GEE, I’M SHOCKED”)

[The rest of the saga after the jump.]

Saturday, June 02, 2007

READ AND WEEP.

It is not even worth typing word one about this game. Not about the cute “MISTER DELGADO” video set to “Mr. Roboto,” not “Mr. Endy’s Neighborhood” (both jokes neither gentleman will understand). Not the weather, not the crowd, not nothin’.

This wasn’t even the B lineup. This was the Bizarro Mets.

So, to distract you, I would like to point you to this act of civil generosity created by Deanna from Marinerds, where she went around Safeco Field and catalogued every single food item and listed its price. Read and weep. Or, read and get ready for the delights waiting for us at Citi Field.

(Bubble tea? They now have BUBBLE TEA at Safeco??!)