Tuesday, June 19, 2007

OYE COMO VA. [06-19-07]

I had written something sarcastic, I had written something witty and self-deprecating, and I just threw it all away.

I have made countless excuses for this team. People complaining that they’re not showing any emotion, I talk about “game face” and wonder if there isn’t some kind of cultural difference about showing weakness or not showing weakness and how you behave, and just because Delgado isn’t throwing his notebook across the dugout and Beltran isn’t sitting on the bench with his head in his hands the way Wright or Lo Duca might be - well, maybe we can’t evaluate the Latino players on Western standards. And defending Willie, Willie needs to be a rock, we don’t need him to be Bobby Cox or Lou Piniella, that’s not Willie and who wants him to be that?  I am tired of meaningless soundbytes and quotes that sound like they went through some baseball buzzword generator - although that’s really not my problem right now.

My problem isn’t a lack of emotion (based on what we can see on tv, which is someone else’s perception). At this point, their accountability isn’t to the media or to ESPN or whoever. At this point, their accountability is to the fans. I want to hear someone apologize to the fans, I want to hear someone say, “We know the fans are frustrated and we are sorry we are letting them down and we appreciate their support.” I don’t want to sit through a putrid game like the one I did tonight and have the announcer cheerily urging us to vote All-Star.

Stop insulting the fans with spin and let’s get some honest contrition out there for a change.

--

I like the Twins very much and was eager to see Santana in action. After the Mets, they’re the team I know the most about, thanks to Bat Girl’s tutelage. I took some great photos tonight (of the Twins), so if you’re at all interested in checking them out, you can click here.

VOTE FOR PAULIE BASEBALL.

VOTE! [Graphic thanks to Metstradamus.]

I’m wearing my Lo Duca shirt to the game tonight - there was no contest when making the choice last night.

He’s hurt, and he’s playing, and he’s still hitting.

He’s not pretending he’s not hurt and not hitting.

He’s not saying he’s hurt but it’s okay and not hitting.

He’s hurt. He’s still in. He’s hitting anyway.

So go vote. [Here’s a hack: if the captcha (spam prevention graphic) takes a while to load, as long as you click ‘next’ BEFORE it loads, it should let you vote multiple times without having to enter the validation code every time.]

Monday, June 18, 2007

DINNERTIME.

MG: “I sold the tickets today.”
TBF: “That’s great.”
“I’ll put it straight into the playoffs fund.”
“Exactly.” *pause* “Except we may not need a playoffs fund...”
“The way we’re playing now.”
“That’s about right. It’s bad.”
“How bad?”
“The worst I’ve seen in a long time.”
“How long?”
“2003 bad.”
*pause*
“So I had an idea today.”
“Hmm?”
“We could rent a truck, or a van, with those loudspeakers on the roof?”
“Um-hmm.”
“And we could drive around Long Island City.”
“What would we be saying through the loudspeakers?”
“I hadn’t gotten that far in the plan yet.”
“We could also drive it around Sands Point.”
“And down into Flatiron. Although I had a better idea on that front.”
“Yes?”
“How much do you think it would cost us to bribe David Wright’s doorman to tell us what floor he lives on?”
“At least $500.”
“What if we sent a little girlie-girl in to get that info?”
“Still looking at at least $500.”
“Well, anyway, we get that info, and then we go across the street and bribe the neighbors who face him.”
“And do what?”
“Put up a sign. You know, like the SAVE DOMINO sign?”
“What would the sign say?”
“I hadn’t gotten that far in the plan yet.”

*later*

*sounds of “Thank You (falettinme be mice elf agin)” waft through the apartment*
*TBF appears in the doorway*
MG: “Don’t play this.”
TBF: “The Mets won.”
“They don’t deserve it.”
“It doesn’t matter. The Mets win, I play the song.”
He moonwalks back into the living room.

Right now, he’s playing “New York Groove”. Clearly, someone is no longer angry at the Mets.

It’ll take me a little while longer.

THE ALICE’S RESTAURANT ANTI-MASSACRE MOVEMENT. [6-17-07]

TBF declares, “The worst loss of the season.” I am hard-pressed to disagree with him, although I tried. It was a game of poor pitching, missed opportunity after missed opportunity, lack of drive or morale or ambition or anything resembling THE DESIRE TO WIN SOME [EXPLETIVE DELTED] GAMES FOR A CHANGE! Reyes stealing when he shouldn’t have stolen. Beltran continuing on that trend of hitting popups. Delgado NOT FUCKING HITTING! There was nothing, repeat, nothing to redeem this game. At all. I challenge you, please, go ahead and try. Wait, the really great seats TBF got us. (Thanks again, honey.)

Lo Duca getting thrown at.
Idiot Yankee fan makes a comment about Ray Ramirez coming on the field.
Idiot Mets fan in front of us: “I’m a Mets fan, and I agree with you.”
TBF: “He was sent out by the dugout, he didn’t call for it. You get hit in the back by a 98mph fastball and then tell me how much it doesn’t hurt.”
MG: “Lo Duca is the toughest guy on the Mets. If he’s hurt, he’s hurt.”
Later, when Castro substituted for Lo Duca, I loudly made a comment about people who made such a big deal about Lo Duca being dramatic about getting hit. I know he heard me, although he didn’t acknowledge it, but it made me feel better.

Idiot Yankee fan, about half a dozen times during the course of the game, forte:
“When I say Duque, you say SUCKS. Duque!”
[silence]
“Well, that worked well,” TBF would comment under his breath.

This banner kept making an appearance tonight.
“I don’t get it,” says the blank-jersey-wearing girl next to me, who so clearly didn’t know what the hell was going on, ever, and cheered at the slightest thing, including giving Jeter a standing O for getting a single.
“Flushing,” her boyfriend said.
She looked at him, frowning.
“Like a toilet,” he continued.
“I’m so glad he took the time to explain that to us,” I say, under my breath.
“Honey, she really *didn’t* get it,” TBF says.
Later, when the banner came out again, I would comment loudly about what a great value it is to teach your child homophobia.
TBF: “What are you talking about?”
“Flushing Queens, get it?”
“It’s the city.”
“Thank you so much for explaining that to me, because I didn’t know that. That’s not what he means.”
“Honey, I don’t think he’s that smart.”
A pause. “You’re probably right.”

I am pleased to report that I got up and walked around during “God Bless America,” and I am particularly proud of this fact. (TBF did the same thing on Friday night.)

And you know, you sit there trying to be dignified, and not cheer out of proportion, but still, you want to cheer, but they - the Yankees Universe, every one of them - are so overbearing and full of themselves and half of them don’t even know a goddamn thing about baseball. And that would be fine, too, if they didn’t pretend that they did.  There were enough Mets fans around us to prevent any kind of group idiocy, and we didn’t let ourselves get truly cranky until we were walking back to the subway after the show, and the crowds and the morons imitating John Sterling as we walked down the escalators, and the various permutations on “Mets Suck” (with the “Come talk to us when you clean up your own house” answers were all loudly ignored).

When we finally got on the 4 train, finding a spot to stand in front of some Mets fans, the air conditioning was helpful, despite the moron trying to get the “Hit Hit Jorge” chant going, except substituting “Jose” instead. We got our revenge when the Mets fans sitting down got off at 149th and made sure they did so in such a way to ensure that TBF and I got their seats, much to the consternation of some Yankees fans who had clearly been eyeing them.

To amuse ourselves on the ride to 14th Street and the L train, we played hangman. For your enjoyment, I present to you our game playing sheet:

PERSONAL TO THE NY METS: The Twins are scrappy motherfuckers and if you do not get your collective shit together this week they will take full advantage of every opportunity you give them and will beat the stuffing out of you. Get it together before you embarrass yourselves completely.

Love,
MG

Sunday, June 17, 2007

BRONX-BOUND.

I started feeling like we should go tomorrow night at some point this afternoon, driving home from Connecticut. I hadn’t even heard the game, or any news - TBF and I agreed to go into quarantine since I had to go to my parents’ and he had to go to work - so it wasn’t that.

When I got home around 5:30 or so, TBF is at the computer:
“Any further thought about going tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“What??”
“Yes, I think we should go.”

And five minutes later, picking up tickets upstairs but behind home plate.

I wish we had won today - but I am not ashamed of how the Mets played.

I am also excited to hear that Johan Santana is pitching on Tuesday! Because I was prepared to go on Wednesday if necessary to see him. I am also excited to watch us kick the Twins’ asses, don’t worry :)

Saturday, June 16, 2007

GIVEN TO FLY. [06-15-07]

[If you don’t get it, read this. And this.]

We are all home now, safe and sound, tired and happy, relieved and exhausted from the adrenaline rush, the murmurings of silent (and not-so-silent) prayer, the shouted entreaties and shared rollercoaster of emotions. They did it; the Mets triumphed over Bora$$ and the hired mercenary with the strained groin, the 26 rings, the Gold Gloves, the MVP’s, the arrogance and entitlement that is still so fresh and new to me. Sitting in a bar in Jersey (I shoulda thought about that) with Coop, at the bar in our Mets hats, staring at multiple television screens, holding our breath, clapping, shouting, banging on the bar (at least towards the end). The food was there for sustenance and I ate as quickly as possible because I knew I would need my energy and I knew my appetite would disappear as the game went on, no matter how the Mets played.

How the Mets played. Our heroes and our missing heroes and our new heroes. TBF txting, “DELGADO = KILLING US” and just feeling sad that he of all people cannot get through the mental block. Al Leiter being permanently placed on my shit list; if he used the word “INCONSISTENT” just ONE MORE TIME, I would have made them turn the volume down (Channel 9 - again, we were in JERSEY). Then he made fun of Rick Peterson and started giving away trade secrets, trying to zoom in on that rolled-up lineup card Rick takes notes on. “AL, SHUT UP,” my notes read. Al, you were onstage at SHEA with Bruce f’ing SPRINGSTEEN - oh, nevermind. “He’s struggling” - yes, Al, that’s why Willie left him in for so many innings - not that it would be beyond Willie to leave someone in once they were starting to char around the edges, but not Ollie, not tonight.

Sad that Ollie’s leaps were more subdued. Or maybe that was the Channel 9 / YES camera angles. We certainly didn’t get any home run dances either, although we did get to see the butt-smacking, hand-grabbing that ensued when He Who Shall Not Be Named returned to the dugout. What a fraud.

How bad is it that we were hoping that Julio got ejected for arguing with the ump? How bad is it that in the next breath I loudly made sure to admonish the Yankees fans next to us for cheering the ability to catch Moses stealing: “It would be like getting your GRANDFATHER out” I believe was the comment.

And it all came down to that one moment. In left field. When it’s going back and the Yankees fans are on their feet cheering and I am wondering just how much I can hide underneath my hat and

and
and
and

Carlos Gomez launches himself into orbit and does what he probably didn’t even think he could do.
“He’s got it! He’s GOT it!” small cries of joy and disbelief and relief.
“Was it going out?” TBF txt. “YES,” I hurriedly type back.
Channel 9 wasn’t going to show that replay as many times as they showed the questionable (in their opinion) stolen base.

Until the very end - the very end - I was on the edge of my seat, so much so that when it was over, despite the presence of Billy Wagner on the mound, the end came as almost a surprise to me. Breathe. Relax those shoulders. Hug Coop. Get on the PATH train. Transfer to the L train. Stand on the corner of Bedford and N. 7th, starting to txt TBF that I am here and will wait a few minutes - when a familiar face in a David Wright jersey walks up to me.
“Fancy meeting you here,” TBF smiles.
As we walked down Bedford Ave., we kept being felicitated with random “LET’S GO METS!” cries. At one point, I spied a #7 shirt ahead of us, and started chanting, “Jose, Jose, Jose, Jose...”
He turned around, smiling, and finished it for me.

The blue and orange side of the Empire State Building guided us home. TBF sound asleep, me wrestling Photoshop and the muse.
No matter what happens tomorrow, we got one. This one. The one They said we didn’t have a chance to win.

Friday, June 15, 2007

tickets for sale REDUX

Here’s what’s for sale:

The seats are located in Mezzanine Reserved 29, Row E.
$62 per pair (face), offering to MG readers at $52 per pair.

Sat 6/23 vs. Oakland Athletics 7:10 PM Mr. Met T-Shirt
Sat 7/14 vs. Cincinnati Reds 7:10 PM Ralph Kiner Night
Sat 7/28 vs. Washington Nationals 7:10 PM Travel Mug
Sat 8/11 vs. Florida Marlins 7:10 PM David Wright Jersey Bag

Email to metsgrrl at gmail dot com.

ARE YOU READY TO TESTIFY?

I’ve started three articles so far about tonight’s game and the weekend’s series and have tossed out all of them. I wrote an open letter to TBF that essentially said, please try to assume some kind of zen warrior mode when you go to the House of Evil this evening because I do not want to have to go bail you out in the Bronx in the middle of the night, I started a list of reasons I hate the Yankees, I considered writing about how a gentleman’s baseball affiliation can basically tell them everything you need to know about them.

But nothing came close to accurately describing why my stomach hurts when I think about tonight, why I wanted to wear my Jose Reyes jersey on the subway this morning, why I understand how fights happen in a sports context when some Yankees fan starts with “26!” and won’t stop to consider the question, “Right, but what about last year? Or this year?” or when they actually try to pretend that Roger Clemens actually gives a crap about anything except money, or any of the truly horrible things that that team represents.

All of which is not news to any of you reading this right now. But it’s still as new to me as it was to you when you were 13 years old.

• I hate that every newspaper in this goddamn town acts like it’s the second coming of the Messiah when the Yankees beat the PIRATES (for example)
• I hate that tourists come to New York and buy Yankees hats and then wear them everywhere because they think that’s what real New Yorkers do.
• I hate that none of the Canal St. vendors sell fake Mets hats.
• I hate that non-sports fans root for the Yankees because of the myth.
• I hate that non-baseball fans root for the Yankees because they can’t be bothered to learn about any other team.
• And finally: I hate that Steve Earle, Bruce Springsteen and Bono are Yankees fans.

I am going to Hoboken tonight to watch the game with Coop, because I would go insane if I had to watch it at home alone. We need to win this game big time. The Mets know this better than we do. No one even has to say it. we need D.Wright to be D. Wright, Lo Duca to be Lo Duca, OP to be OP, Delgado to be Delgado, Beltran to be Beltran. Ee have everything we need already.

I leave you with this exhortation (which would have been more appropriate for Detroit, I fully realize, but):

“Brothers and sisters, the time has come for each and every one of you to decide whether you are going to be the problem or whether you are going to be the solution! You must choose, brothers, you must choose. It takes five seconds, five seconds of decision, five seconds to realize your purpose here on this planet. It takes five seconds to realize that it’s time to move, it’s time to get down with it. Brothers, it’s time to testify. And I want to know—are you ready to testify?”

Kick out the jams, indeed.

And LET’S GO METS.

FRIDAY PHOTO.

TBF: “At least they’re both hitting.”
MG: “The mushroom cloud could be rising over Manhattan, and Lo Duca would be hitting a single to advance the runner.”

Thursday, June 14, 2007

METS JEOPARDY.,

“Alex, I’ll take ‘Pitching Voodoo’ for $500.”

Click here for the question. (a search query hit to MG this morning.)

Whatever he had, I’d like to order 1,000 of them for our starting rotation - to go.