Friday, April 13, 2007

A Sort of Homecoming

For all the big deal that Opening Day was made out to be, or that I thought it would be, or that it believes that it is, the truth is that its significance paled in comparison to tonight’s game. Tonight’s game, the first game for those of us in the Tuesday/Friday plan holders group. The first tickets to be torn out of the ticket book. The first time this year of packing the clothes for the game to take to work, the familiar arrangements and accouterments.

On that last note, while I fully understand that April baseball is not for the meek, and have endured TBF’s tales of sitting at Shea while light flurries swirled around the upper deck, this week has to be an all time low. In an email sent to my companion for the evening, the lovely and charming Ms. Zoe (TBF is in Florida on business. He may have warmth, but at least I have baseball) in which I related items I was bringing for the evening, I feel the need to display this here for the record:

“fleece blanket, fleece scarf, gloves, wrist warmers, mets hat, warm hat, sweater, tights under jeans, wool socks.
i have handwarmers too.
it’s not a baseball game, it’s an expedition to antarctica”

We know that it will be cold and we go anyway. We know that it will be unpleasant and we go anyway.  We go gladly, we go happily, and at no point during the course of the evening, no matter what our discomfort, does it actually occur to anyone crazy enough to attend a baseball game in April (except those shepherding small children, perhaps) to leave the game EARLY.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

the fashion statement

My office is one big square and while I am in one corner, half the people I work with are in the other corner. So I am continually taking the long way to the color printer in order to make sure I see people’s faces at least once a day.
Today, I walked in to the room the graphic designers sit in. Lisa, one of the designers I am working with, a lovely Southern woman, is in the corner, wearing a new-looking navy blue t-shirt with a suspicious logo.
“Lisa! And here I thought we were friends… buddies.”
She takes out her headphones.
“I thought we were kindred spirits,” I continue.
“What?” she asks.
“It’s the t-shirt,” the other designer explains to her.
Lisa shrugs.
“You are someone who is on the side of good, not evil,” I plead.
Lisa looks totally confused.
“She just likes the logo,” the other designer explains to me.
“You are from Florida, Lisa, how can you root for the Yankees?”
“Oh, I just went to a game on Saturday,” Lisa says. “I’m still a Braves fan.”
I am satisfied with her answer. That, at least, is something I could respect.

On other fashion statement notes, Zoe (who is coming with me to the game on Friday, since TBF is off on a business trip!) is off to find the new Alyssa Milano Mets shirts. Have you SEEN these things?

I know, all the guys are going to write in salivating. How practical is that to wear to Shea, ever? Or on the 7 train? Come ON. I admit the jeans are cool, though. 

Monday, April 09, 2007

Section 35, Row S: Opening Day, 2007

It was very, very cold.

I know. You were either there, and sitting in the sun on the OTHER side of Shea, or you were watching at home, and the people behind home plate (also in the sun) were busy taking off their layers and smearing on suntan lotion. But for those of us in the People’s Seats, on the shady side of the stadium, it was another freezing opening day (although we can hardly complain, since we’re not in *Cleveland*. That’s freezing.)

Somehow I forgot that the last row of the upper deck was row V. And that row S is only THREE rows away from Row V. I was just so glad to be in Section 35, and not in Section 48 or 48 or 3,321 as we originally thought we were, that that small detail escaped me - until we were climbing up the stairs at a little after 12 noon, and I got vertigo (which, btw, appears to be the new on-field intro song for the Mets. Regretfully, I can’t even freaking tell you about the music that was played at Shea today because the wind blew the PA system in the other direction completely for 80% of the time.)

And, oh yeah, there was a game today.

Opening Day 2007: Photo Gallery

coney island baby

While you wait for MG to warm up and download her photos, take a look at this thing of beauty: ”Sister Reyes,” written by Lou Reed - okay, written by Lou Reed in my fantasy dreamland.  If you know anything about Lou, you must read this. Ah, heck, you should read it anyway.

(Unless you’re an uptight white boy from New Jersey or something. Then it will bother you big time.)

Until I realized it was fake, all I could do was sigh and think that there was no point in me ever writing anything about baseball again.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

I must own this. Like, NOW

TBF will be overjoyed that it’s wearing classic pinstripes and the blue hat with the orange button. No, really.

Friday, April 06, 2007

Hope I Die Before I Get Old

The other day, there was a post over on Hot Foot, ranting at Joe Buck for talking about how “old” the Mets team is. Now, while we all hate Joe Buck for our own deeply personal reasons, he’s not the only one who’s taken this tack and I’m kind of confounded as to why. There’s a parallel in rock and roll (hence the title of the post), where I am tired of the pathetic jokes about aging rockers, instead of noting that Bruce Springsteen is in better shape now than he was in his 20’s, that blues musicians play literally until the day they die, that the Rolling Stones are still doing what they do and don’t completely suck, that Dylan released some incredibly vital music in the last few years. Instead of being glad that these people are still on the planet, the tone is mocking. I was thinking about all of this last night, when TBF and I were sitting in Carnegie Hall at the Bruce Springsteen Tribute, and the man himself showed up. Watching him up there surrounded by musicians of all ages, but especially younger ones, I noted to myself that very few of the kids up there could play the shows he does right now and be as physical as he is.

In professional baseball, it’s even more confusing to me. Why isn’t the story instead about how age in professional baseball has been redefined? Why isn’t the story about how fantastic it is that there are ‘old’ players in baseball who are still achieving? Why isn’t the media fascinated as to how these people stay in shape and stay competitive? Aren’t there real lessons for people to learn here? Shouldn’t we hold up folks in their 40’s who are healthy and in shape as role models? Yes, they have different challenges than individuals in their 20’s - but that’s the point.

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

mets v. cardinals, 4-4-07

After Beltran’s home run, TBF got up, went over to the kitchen, and came back carrying the broom. Earlier in the evening he was threatening to start cleaning up the entrance hallway, and I thought he was expressing that he’d seen enough of the game and was ready to start domestic activities.

And then I got it.

Welcome to the new MetsGrrl!

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I can’t believe Cow-Bell Man lost!

....to the Rats From Taco Bell, no less. Cow-Bell Man would kick their asses any day. (Or at least hit them with his cowbell).

At least he beat out the “Jeter & A-rod Sleepovers” category.