Wednesday, June 28, 2006

down by the banks of the river charles

The boyfriend. He gets a little - moody - when the Mets suck. Did I say moody? He gets despondent. He throws pillows across the house. He frightens the cat. He grumps on the couch. He curses Willie Randolph, Rick Petersen, any and all members of the starting lineup and the bullpen, members of the opposing team, Mr. Met, and the opposing team’s mascot. Even his non-sexual boyfriend, Duaner Sanchez, is not spared.

“Send your complaints to Mr. W. Randolph, care of The New York Metropolitans Baseball Team, 123-01 Roosevelt Avenue, Flushing, NY 11368!” he mumbled, as he stalked from the couch to the computer, so he could seek the company of other curmudgeons over on the internet.

(And yes. He knows the address, down to the zip code, by heart.)

When we first started dating I was largely immune to this. I was not with him when he was watching or listening to games for the most part, and even I was in the car while we were driving somewhere, the response was either muted, or I just didn’t get what was going on.

Now that I have the sickness, I am no longer spared. Or maybe I just understand what, precisely, he is upset with.

“Let’s hit another home run at the top of the 9th inning with no runners on base,” he’ll yell at José Valentin.  Then he’ll scurry over to his message board and post there, where others are reacting much like him - except over the internet.

These moods used to disconcert me - what did I DO? - but now I not only don’t pay it any mind, I don’t even care.  I will cheerfully have conversations with everyone else around me, play with the cat, take phone calls from friends (most of whom are condescending as fuck over ‘this baseball thing’ - but that’s a subject for another post).

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I want to go see the Cyclones tomorrow night so we can see Cliff play. I think I will make TBF go and I will meet him there later. I want Nathan’s and salt air and to leave work at some time before 8:30pm.

I have decided that I am going to start a collection of stuffed versions of all the major league mascots. I have a Mariner Moose around here somewhere. Unfortunately, all the stuffed Mr. Met dolls look like ass.

We’re still hoping for a drop so we can attend a game at the House of Pain over the weekend.

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Friday, June 23, 2006

This one’s for Pedro. :)

I know, I have been remiss. We were there on Tuesday and watched on Wednesday and I listened on Thursday (TBF was actually there, the bum).

We aren’t going to Fenway but we are going to The Stadium - my first time.

Now, that’ll be a post.

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Saturday, June 17, 2006

the boys are back in town

First Friday after the roadtrip. The clock ticked ever so slowly towards the end of the day and at 5 I changed into game gear, waved at my manager (who is also a Mets fan… our server nominclature is, I have just discovered, current and former Mets. Although I have to question the decision to have named a former server Ishii). Everyone is in good spirits. The parking lot is full. The ticket lines are long. The rest of the Tuesday-Friday group in my section are bright-eyed and we talk through the Greek Heritage dancing pre-game about Arizona and LA and Philly.

So this game was not what we wanted it to be and not what we expected it to be but since when do we start booing AARON HEILMAN? Since the start of the season everyone was campaigning as hard as tobacco lobbyists for him to be in the starting rotation.  Willie should have pulled him out ASAP and we could see Bradford warming up out in the bullpen.  Heilman needs a break, but let’s not boo him.

Christ, in my section they were booing everyone, including David Wright and Jose Reyes. I know, Friday night bandwagoneers, Fathers Day folk, but SINCE WHEN DO WE BOO OUR OWN PEOPLE for no good reason? Maybe they weren’t as good as they were in Arizona or Philly but aside from one fly ball I didn’t think Lastings Milledge particularly hustled to get, NO ONE on that field did (or didn’t) do anything worth BOOING.

I am not anti-boo. I lived in a Western city in which, if you booed, security would come and tell you that it was against stadium policy because it was considered non-sportsman-like. Please, boo IF THEY DESERVE IT. Not just because you can. Not because of one game or one failed save on Heilman’s part.

This team is LEADING not just the division, but the LEAGUE and has one of the best records in baseball and your idea of a good time is to come to Shea and boo them.

Morons.

Quote: “You mean I almost killed myself driving here for this?”—guy coming in Gate B in reference to the commemorative QUARTER - not coin, which made it sound distinguished, of substance, all Franklin Mint-like - handed out last night.

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Wednesday, June 14, 2006

welcome to citizens bank park

That was so *not* my favorite moment from last night’s game. The rest of it was just swell, especially for my first out-of-town game! Seriously, I was excited. I just should have gone by myself and done the whole thing from start to finish, but I know people in Philly and was trying to be social.

I arrived at Citizen’s Bank Park by around 5 p.m. I did not have a ticket and I was supposed to be meeting friends for drinks. They were late and by the time I found them (and found the entrance that opened early), I missed batting practice in favor of having a few beers with said Phillies friends. They were there to drink, and not watch baseball (which is why I bought my own damn ticket, section 207, very nice), and so, after an appropriate interval, I purchased myself some Crab Fries and headed up to my seat. Judging by the sea of orange and blue, everyone else walked up today to buy a ticket.

First innings, first at-bats, and the section explodes into a “Let’s Go Mets” chant. So much so that the gentleman next to me inquired: “I’m not from around here. Are there usually *this many* Mets fans at these games?” (Unfortunately, he was at this game because he was in town for business and wanted to see Glavine pitch. Hence the ‘unfortunately’ part.)

We were up. We were WAY up. The only pitches Glavine managed to give up were HR’s, and yes I know this is a hitter’s park, but STILL. “He’s nothing if not consistent,” the aforementioned gentleman-next-to-me commented, while I pulled the bill of my newly purchased rhinestone Mets hat (FINALLY! I hated that the Yankees hats were the only ones with bling) over my eyes, wincing in pain.

I was glad to be there the first time Wagner came out on the field. And boy was I glad to have witnessed that incredible play by D. Wright in the 9th. And, even getting up for work this morning slightly the worse for wear, I was still glad I had gone. The trick with these kamikaze trips to Philly is to get adequate sleep the night before. Then you can get through the next day.

AN ACTUAL EXCHANGE:
I have spent enough time in a Western AL stadium with concourses to appreciate the value of them, but last night, did not appreciate the drunk Phillies fans who perched themselves directly behind our section, hanging over the railing, and sharing these gems as follows:
“REYES TAKES IT!”
(at first I was not sure, exactly, what that meant)
“BILLY WAGNER LIKES MEN!”
(Now I was sure.)
“THE METS TAKE IT!”
me: “Clearly, a subject you’re VERY familiar with.”
That went right over his head, but did get me some applause.

I don’t agree with the concept that you play it down when you’re not at your home stadium. Seriously, that is wussy, West-Coast-we-don’t-boo attitude. You go out of town to represent. Wear the jerseys, the hats, the socks if you have ‘em. Cheer your team. I’m not saying do the victory dance in the aisle, but plenty of opposing fans come to Shea and bring their hometown pride. We might taunt them or boo them, but no one tries to tell them they don’t have the right to do it. I realize that this was Philadelphia, a town where you can get shot for taking someone’s just-shovelled parking space and which has to have an arraigning judge in the basement of the football stadium, but the whole “don’t wear a Mets hat at an out of town game” attitude is just silly. It’s more like, “don’t wear a Mets hat and be an asshole at an out of town game” that’s the problem.

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Monday, June 12, 2006

mets vs. diamondbacks: the series

I sent TBF a text message at some point during the game informing him that the score was 13-0. He is heads-down studying for tomorrow and as a result, not watching the game.
Immediate phone call. “That’s a typo, right?”
Me: “No. And the guy with the broom from last year is back.”

Last year we enjoyed the gentleman in the front row, wearing Mets regalia, who sat there waving a broom during the last game.  In fact, we liked him so much that we toyed with the idea of calling the ballpark in Arizona: “Hello? Can you find the guy in the orange Mets shirt, in the front row, waving the broom? We’d like to charge him a beer or two.”

This time, especially during today’s cricket match, it seemed like EVERYONE had brought a broom. Do they not have any security regulations at Chase Field? Whisk brooms with accompanying dustpans, kitchen brooms, corn brooms, sawed-off brooms, all out in full force. It was a thing of beauty.

We are SO going to Arizona next year.

This week’s revelation, which will make the five people who read this cringe, is that for the first time since I had the concept explained to me (and I used to live in a Western city with an AL team), I fully comprehend the concept of the DH and think it’s the dumbest fucking thing ever and do not understand why people think this makes the AL superior. I mean, I have had this explained to me a million times. I don’t know what made the penny finally drop this week, but it did with enough significance that it rated a phone call on this topic to TBF, who received the information with the appropriate gravity.

And I’m going to Philly on Tuesday after all. I have logged so many miles NYC-Philly in the past. I think this series deserves my attendance for one game.

Orioles on Friday...AND maybe Saturday. TBF is going to try to make tracks to get home in time for the game.

Thursday, June 08, 2006

6-7-06, Mets vs. Dodgers

As I write, the score is 9-6. Up, down. Up, down. Up. (However, Matsui is in the lineup at the moment so this could change at any moment.)

Things have been quiet in the MG household lately, due to work-related activities. I have been forced to miss some of the West Coast games (since I had to get up early, and no, we do not have TiVO). I have moved the television into the bedroom so I can watch the rest of this roadtrip and still manage to get something approximating sleep.

Cliff Floyd’s twisted ankle made me watch the rest of the game through my fingers because I didn’t want to know or think that it was something serious. I spent the game sending text messages to TBF, who is finishing up his last semester, and stuck in the bowels of the library where there is no signal. He emerges after midnight to a barrage of messages comprising a litany of woes. Reyes not in the lineup. Floyd hurt. Beltran hurt.

He still has not decided when he will be returning home, and while I have no particular wish to rush him, I did feel the need to point out that if he did not come home in time to see the game on the 20th, he would not get to use his tickets until July.

He’ll be home around the 18th.

Tonight’s conversation:
TBF: Wow, they’re in Philly next week.
Me: I know.
TBF: Tuesday night!
Me: Yes, and I start a new job on Wednesday.
TBF: So I guess there’s no chance you’ll be at that afternoon game on Thursday.
Me: Not much.
TBF: Nice way to spend an afternoon, down in Shea Stadium South.
Me: Please refer to the previous comment.
TBF: Right, right.  *pause* You could go to Toronto.
Me: I’m sorry?
TBF: Well, I’ll be home then.
Me: Weren’t you the one who ruled out the trip to Fenway because gas is too expensive?
TBF: I’m now revisiting that decision.
Me: When I submitted my previously planned vacation dates to the new job, I didn’t write down the Fenway dates! You convinced me we needed to save our money for the post-season!
TBF: What about a weekend in Pittsburgh? Saturday and Sunday game.
Me: Weren’t we going to go so we caught the Friday game, went to Cleveland on Saturday, and then the Sunday afternoon game?
TBF: Oh, that’s right. And the Indians are in town that weekend.
Me: The point was to go to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
TBF: Maybe we can do both.
Me: Everyone says we need two days for the Hall of Fame and we only have one.
TBF: Look, they are having a Build-a-Bear weekend in Cleveland. You can build your own mascot.
Me: I’m still waiting for my sausage doll from Milwaukee.
TBF: Um, I did not realize they sold sausage race memorabilia.
Me: I sent you a text message in the middle of the game!
TBF: I was too depressed at the outcome of the game. Remember, I was in my car by the time that walkoff home run rounded second base.

Note to TBF: Your boyfriend Duaner is my friend again. (To quote Bat Girl, he has a total NSMC - non-sexual man crush - on Mr. Sanchez.)

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