Sunday, October 08, 2006

joe strummer would have been a mets fan

Game 2 put us in the front row of the upper deck boxes, section 22, just a little out from third base. These came from the post-season rights to TBF’s Sunday plan; my plan’s mezz tickets were traded to get us in last night. I am tired and cold and definitely coming down with something, and have brought every article of clothing possible: Mets ski cap. Army surplus fingerless gloves. Brand new scarf I ran into the Gap to buy earlier today. Polar fleece hoodie. Long sleeve shirt. My vintage ‘86 jacket. I didn’t have to break out the handwarmers until about the 5th inning. I am just warm enough, although I wish we’d had room for a blanket.

My voice is fading and my throat is sore, and with a five hour job interview lined up for 10:00am the next morning, I have to conserve my voice. So we can’t talk much to fill up the time before the game, because I have to talk quietly and it is hard to hear over the crowd murmur. We have time to kill, and we are the only one in the boxes right now, and none of our friends are here yet. So we’re kind of sitting there, quietly observing, when TBF gestures at the scoreboard.
“One of the things I always liked about the Shea scoreboard is that it had places for Left Field and Right Field umpires - but the only time those are ever used are in the playoffs.”
I look at the scoreboard. No, of course I’d never noticed before.
“And I always wondered, for years, when I would be at Shea and see those boxes used.”
I look at his newly-revised scorecard (of course he only uses his own, evolved over years and now managed in Publisher and PDF), and he has slots for RF and LF umpires, even though the rest of the year those fields sit unused. And once again I am envious, and sad, because of all the years I missed, how it just can’t feel the same for me to sit here right now as it does for him, and I’ll never know what that’s like.

Before the game, they were showing some sponsored highlights, including one about my favorite between-inning feature from this past year: Learning Spanish With Professor Reyes. I would always grab the binoculars as soon as it started to watch the dugout, where the Spanish-speaking players would always congregate down near the end of the dugout and watch Diamondvision intently, laughing and poking fun at Jose. Pedro always cracked up when this was on especially.

I can peer through the upper level railing without having to get up and down, and this is good, because I need to conserve my energy. “Don’t let me yell,” I admonish TBF. “Not even if we’re winning? Not even if Cliff hits a grand slam?”
“Well, a little bit, then.”
I love this side of the ballpark because I can see into the dugout, and it still fascinates me: Endy and Cliff on one end of the bench, playing air percussion (or maybe it’s real percussion, it’s not like I can hear them from up here). Wright going down the bench to handshake and high five everyone, then hanging off of the roof of the dugout channelling nervous energy.  And then, who congregates around the dugout steps as the clock draws closer to gametime; it’s about who you would expect, Reyes itching at the bit to be up the stairs and out onto the field.

The game: For some reason I had no doubt that we would win. This was probably because I didn’t have the energy to stress over not winning.

Lo Duca’s hit bouncing above the fence.
“Was that a ground-rule double?” I ask TBF, carefully.
“Why, yes, it was,” he confirms, marking his scorecard with a big smile on his face.
Yep, I finally get it.

The mezzanine below us is loud and raucous. Every time Cliff is at bat:
“Cliff....” “FLOYD”
“Cliff....” “FLOYD”
I try to get our section to join in but do not have the voice to propell it further.

A gentleman behind us is calling out to Mr. Pedro Feliciano in a sing-song manner. This then turns into a song we begin to call “The Ballad of Pedro Feliciano”.
“ooooh Pedro...Feliciano....”
Louder now.
“Feliciano...hey Peeedrooooo....”
I guess you had to be there, but it was funny at the time.

The bus moving into the hitter’s eye that you have all heard about by now was greeted by a hearty chant of “MOVE THE BUS” from all levels.

Heilman comes on and this time, there is “London Calling.” “Joe would have been a Mets fan,” I decide. This goes along with realizations made recently that Townshend would have been a Yankees fan, apropos of nothing except random contemplation. No, seriously, though, Strummer would so have been a Mets fan. Joe would have been there through the bad seasons and the good seasons and would have rooted just as hard every year. C’mon, you can see it, can’t you? (If you even care.)

I shot a few photos of the on-field celebration at the end, but not too many; I wanted to go home. Unfortunately, so did everyone on our level, and although we are upper level veterans, never has it taken this long to get downstairs, and then up to the 7 train. The people on the train were happy and rowdy, trying to get the “Jose” chant going, trying to get a “Tom-MY Gla-VINE” chant going, and then when that failed, a “Close the door” chant, which finally gathered some enthusiasm.

I am happy, but exhausted and cold, and just want to go home.

The photo gallery from tonight is here.

LOS ANGELES

Sick and tired and sick and drinking apple juice and crammed into a corner of my couch, getting text messages from friends who don’t care about sports, much less live in New York and care about the Mets, rooting for us. The cat trying to climb into our laps, but I am curled up and TBF is keeping score and he is not happy.

But we won.

WE WON!

Fingers crossed for Cliff.

Yes, I still owe you a game 2 post and photos. But, the sick thing.

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Friday, October 06, 2006

and that’s how we do things in flushing.

Freezing, exhausted, fighting a cold, I’m home but I have a five hour job interview tomorrow morning, which has to take some precedence, so no update tonight.

The good news is I have the rest of the day off afterwards and I’ll be home to update and upload tonight’s photos.

Tonight we were front row of the upper deck boxes, a little past third base - what we gained from TBF’s Sunday plan. My god it was COLD, but worth every second.

More tomorrow I promise.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

“get off the plate a little bit, and allow yourself to be free”

The title quote comes from Mr. Cornelius Clifford Floyd, #30, one of tonight’s heroes.

Then again, where wasn’t there a hero tonight? Okay, so Valentin had one of his worst plays all season. And he can’t lay down a bunt to save his life.

But everywhere I looked, someone was doing something exceptional. Someone was rising to not just meet the challenge, but kick the living s**t out of the challenge in a dark alley.

On the 7 train at 2:45. At Shea by 3:15. Strangely, I am not hungry, at all. My heart was pounding as I left work and walked to the train, but by the time we reach Willets Point I am calmer. Having TBF around helps, but of course we are both so nervous we are bickering pointlessly once we get off the train and into the cattle chute that is the 7 train exit.

Our seats - arranged in a trade, game 2 extras for game 1 - are on the first base line, level with the visitor’s bullpen. We never sit on this side of the stadium. Mostly we prefer the third base side so we can see into the dugout, but these tickets were as close to an even trade as we could get. A little nervewracking - just a touch - until that first ticket scanned.

No stops. No detours. No snacks. No shopping. Seats. Scorecards. Notebooks. Cameras. Deep breathing.

Our section had great people in it. The hearty “SUCKS!” after each Dodger name was announced, a novelty for us. Aside from some seat-kicking children behind us (whose parents did intervene after two dirty looks) it was a great crowd of people to watch the game with. A guy in front of us started yelling, “He’s a bum!” every time a Dodger was at bat. This produced amazing results. By the end of the game, entire rows in our section were chanting: “Bum! Bum! Bum!” “It’s family-friendly, *and* it’s historical!” someone observed.

I was strangely calm once the game started; I think it helped the juggling of the camera with the new lens, and the notebook, and the new vantage point. I got so used to our third-base view, it was easy for me to watch baseball that way, I was accustomed to the rhythm. Now it is playoffs and standing up and sitting down and standing up again, and high fives and clapping so hard my hands hurt, and yelling so loudly my voice is raw.

TBF spent the beginning of the game in that quiet space which disguises gnawing anxiety. He said to me at one point, “It’s like Pittsburgh again, you thought they were going to lose from the first out,” but the truth is I didn’t. It was eerily calm inside after first pitch. He, on the other hand, did not breathe until that Delgado home run, which I lost track of once it went over the fence - 470 feet? did it go out into the parking lot as a souvenir for the firefighters called in to deal with a burning car?

So much to remember. That first at-bat. Heaping hope after hope upon John Maine. That leaping catch by Reyes. And of course, THAT play, which I don’t even have to talk about. I saw Green pick it up, I saw him throw it, I never saw Valentin touch it, next thing I know it’s careening into home plate and there’s Lo Duca and WTF?

and - CLIFF!!! Cliff hitting that ball. Cliff hitting his fist to his heart and then to the crowd as he crossed home.  And, later: Cliff on the smooch cam :)

Later, pitching around Cliff to get to Shawn Green.
Me: “That’s disrespectful to the Jews!”
Guy behind me looks up.
“Um, I can say that.”
“No, it’s okay, so can I.”

Willie taking out Maine just when everyone would have expected him to NOT take out Maine. However, it would have probably been good if he had taken out Mota when we expected him to take out Mota.

But did it matter, in the end? It didn’t matter, because we FOUGHT and we won. Delgado is going to be a POWERHOUSE. Reyes is going to settle down. Wright is going to find his groove. I can’t wait for Endy to find his, too.

But what was it like? I hear you ask. What was it like? Your first post-season game ever, in your first real baseball year ever.

The truth is that it was the usual blur of action and emotion and highs and lows, less of a rollercoaster than my first games were. I will confess that I somehow TOTALLY missed that Brad Penny was out there for a little while (although I pretended to be all-knowing when TBF pointed it out later. Hi, honey). I was jealous of Jessica’s nails - I could not get mine done in half blue half orange as I planned because I have client meetings this week - as it was I ruined the manicure I had.

I like the ritual but the ritual of these games isn’t familiar enough to me yet. (And I realize that most of you could spit back: Not for us EITHER, ya know.) I will not like having to sit through “God Bless America” at every damn game (before you flame me, it’s the forced faux patriotism I don’t like, and you know I’m right). I hope I am calmer enough tomorrow that it can sink in more - plus we can get there earlier.

This sucks. I hate it. It comes nowhere near to describing what it was really like. Maybe I will get this right tomorrow. But it is jarring and not lyrical or interesting.

Some random comments:

Don’t make Heilman go out there again without “London Calling” especially since the reason you omitted “London Calling” was because you were showing some puff piece on the new stadium.

I don’t like the new Budweiser sign. The design is too plain and monolithic and it overshadows the field.

The Lucas Prata song is just not good. End. Any song spliced over Mets highlights is automatically better, but that doesn’t change the fact that the song is insipid. You can display the words to the chorus on Diamondvision in the futile hope that we’ll sing along all you want. We aren’t going to sing it for the same reason we didn’t sing along to “Our Team, Our Time”: it’s terrible. The melody is bland and unispiring and it’s compressed within an inch of its life. How about some kind of song that’s relevant to the team and the fans? The Spanish Mets song that Reyes comes out to was a great song. THAT would be relevant, and musically it’s livelier and more inspiring.

I finally figured out why I have not been thrilled with the use of “Start Me Up” and “Eminence Front,” even though those are two of my all-time favorite bands, ever: the songs do not reflect the team. When David Wright was on the first Post-Season Live on Monday (I think it was here), someone asked him about “Meet The Mets” and if it was the team’s theme song. His answer was that it wasn’t the team’s theme song, it was the organization’s theme song.

The Who and the Stones are old white guys - old BRITISH white guys to boot - and I doubt anyone in the clubhouse, besides maybe Glavine and Heilman - listens to the Who or the Stones. Jose Reyes is not listening to Quadrophenia on his days off. David Wright is not listing Goat’s Head Soup as a Desert Island Disc. No one dances in the dugout before the game to either “Eminence Front” or “Start Me Up.” I don’t even care about hearing them; they’re not inspiring, and they’re certainly overused. Maybe they think those songs appeal to the average demographic of a ticketholder, but I’d challenge that assumption too.

The photo gallery is here, but here are some highlights:

i’ll be home when i’m sleeping

I woke up this morning at 5:30am, dreaming of baseball.

No, really. I had baseball dreams last night. And they were baseball dreams, dreams of balls soaring through the air and blue and orange running the bases and Shea roaring and the sun shining.

I went to bed early because I was tired and felt like I was coming down with a cold, so I mainlined Vitamin C and zinc and took some melantonin and got into bed just when the Tigers were starting to show some offense. The Mets were going to need me more.

5:30am rolls around and I’m wide awake, can’t go back to sleep, and know that TBF’s alarm is going off in half an hour, mine going off in an hour - but then I can tell that he’s awake.

“Guess what we’re doing today,” I said through the dark.
“We’re going to the playoffs!”

I am almost jealous of him right now. I met him at Grand Central last night so we could go home together, and he came down the escalator wearing his Mets hat, incongruous with his shirt and tie and fancy shoes. All I could think is that I could not possibly understand how he feels. He has been a Mets fan since about the age of 4. For a refreshing change, he doesn’t have to say goodbye to baseball in September. This year, he gets to just BE A METS FAN in New York City when the Mets are on top of the world, after years of not knowing what that feeling was like, of having that feeling and then losing it, of having that feeling and having it smashed to bits.  And this is the first time that playoff tickets were so easily obtainable, where he had them in hand, without having to call in favors or sell small children to get in.

I smiled at him.
“What?”
“You’re wearing your hat.”
“I don’t want anyone to think I’m a f’ing Yankees fan.”

But I knew the truth. He’s just excited.

So I wore my hat on the way in this morning, too, but no one on my commute route seems to care about baseball. Our neighborhood is filled with transplants from around the country and also, to the hipster, baseball is something to be regarded with derision.

In four more hours I get to leave work and head for Shea.

Over at Mets Walkoffs, my prediction is featured amongst other guest bloggers. You can add yours as well in the comments there.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE

EXHIBIT 1: LIBERATION

EXHIBIT 2: LOYALTY

EXHIBIT 3: BE PREPARED

SEE YOU TOMORROW!

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NO PANIC ZONE

As much as I like to start my blog posts with some related (at least tangentially) song quote or title, and as much as “Panic In Detroit” was going through my head as I started writing, I didn’t want to use the first line of that song (as much as it might be amusingly semi-relevant), nor do I want to panic.

Okay. No El Duque. El Duque himself being the harbringer of doom, saying “It’s not a cramp.” Okay. Okay. Okay.

I’m just not going to panic. I’m not going to panic because the media is going to do a damn fine job of foisting their disaster scenarios upon us without us buying into it. What are we going to do - not show up? Not watch the games? Should the Mets just roll over and play dead because their starting rotation has been decimated? I mean, the Baseball Experts [thanks, Greg] have already decided that there is no point in playing any games, you should just give the trophy to the Yankees because they’re going to win all of the games anyway, no one stands a chance.

Am I foolish? Stupid? Newbie? Probably all of the above. But I am also a great believer in the will to triumph over adversity, that sometimes when you are put to the greatest test is when you rise above the strongest.  Here’s where not being jaded by previous years of defeat comes in handy: I am silly enough to BELIEVE.

That’s the word, right? That’s the word I saw the first time I came to Shea with TBF, the sign boards just below the box level. BELIEVE. You can be jaded about professional sports (and most of my friends are) but isn’t the whole point here that we can believe in something bigger than us, something improbable, something illogical, something that on paper, rationally, only dictates one possible outcome?

If you can’t believe in the impossible, what are you doing here? No, seriously. Isn’t this the whole point?

So that’s what I’m going to do.  Tomorrow I am meeting TBF at the back of the 7 platform at 2:45pm and we are going to Shea where we are going to cheer our Mets from our seats in the mezzanine. We’ll be there Thursday. We’ll be there for as many games as we have tickets for, because we’re going to believe that we’re going to use all of them.

Besides, TBF’s mom won the NLCS lottery today and we bought tickets for Game 7 this morning. We now have tickets for 8 out of 10 potential playoff games.

===

The A’s fans are calling the Commissioner’s office to bitch about that 10am start time. Hell, I’m pissed I don’t get to watch Zito vs. Santana. Send a note of support.

Monday, October 02, 2006

the left fielder, #30

CLIFF FLOYD has started a blog!

Cliff Floyd’s Playoff Blog

I have high hopes that his blog will be less lame that his friend #5’s....

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Sunday, October 01, 2006

kingdoms rise and kingdoms fall

and now we are in October.

Now we are in October, and I am concerning myself with warm socks and where are my gloves and buying a telephoto lens, and outfitting the new baseball purse (burnt orange, waterproof, pockets for binoculars and water bottles and safe for the camera). October baseball. Me. I am going to watch October baseball. The same person who would never have understood what that meant a year ago.

At the end of today’s game - half of which we watched on SNY, the other half we listened to on the radio; a TBF tradition which he could not explain, but that I happily accomodated - I made him get up from his desk so I could give him a hug.
“End of the season hugs,” I explained.
“Not the end of the season, though,” he corrected me, smiling from ear to ear. “You know what we’re doing on Wednesday?”
“Going to see playoff games,” I answered.

We have been indulging each other in call-and-response on this theme since the night we clinched, the night we were at Shea until just before they threw us out, where we stood behind the dugout and yelled and cheered and Lo Duca sprayed water on us and we watched hugs and jubilation and exchanged the same ourselves and with anyone else who was around. I have this tremendous photograph of TBF from that evening, wearing the NLDS shirt, scoreboard behind him, looking satisfied but stunned. His team getting this far, and he was there to see it, not watching it at home, but here, at Shea, with me. He calls me his baseball sweetheart and unlike other boyfriends where shared enjoyment of a mutual pursuit (say, love of Bruce Springsteen or the Rolling Stones) ended up being a competition, with us it is just a joy.

Even his surprise at certain declarations on my part - say, my irked-ness at not being able to see Barry Zito face off against Johan Santana since that game is going to start at the crack of dawn - is getting old. He is no longer surprised or astonished when I offer statements like that. It is almost a little sad that the wonder is fading. However, I still have so very much to learn, so much to catch up on, that I doubt it will ever entirely disappear.

He is updating me every five minutes all day, what time the game will start, what’s up with the Pirates, what’s happening with the Dodgers, where are the Padres, congratulations to the Twins (which he agrees with but disgruntledly, he does not want us to have to face the Twins). We discuss when we are getting to Shea on Wednesday and who is bringing what and what the weather will be and where can you get handwarmers in Manhattan in October?  We have tickets to 7 out of 10 games, and that is without whatever wheeling and dealing TBF will be doing to get us into another World Series game (those tickets still up for trade, btw).

“I’ve never been to the World Series,” I said the other day, when the tickets were out on the table.
“Um, neither have I,” he reminded me.

Let’s Go Mets.

Saturday, September 30, 2006

PNC Park: Roadtrip Report and day 2 photos

PNC PARK: the review

This ballpark has been at the top of TBF’s out of town park visits wishlist since it opened. It was pure coincidence, mixed with boredom and a paycheck rich with overtime hours that sent us to Pittsburgh this particular weekend.

TICKETS: The Pirates have a ticket resale option for season ticket holders, but since Pennsylvania law prohibits selling at any kind of markup, there isn’t a lot of inventory. We did, however, get great behind-the-dugout seats that way.  There was a reasonable selection on eBay as well, and we bought front row outfield seats from a season ticket holder.  If it hadn’t been the Mets, I understand it wouldn’t be that hard to get a ticket. Besides the Mets, the big competition this weekend was Jack Wilson bobblehead night (EVERYONE gets a bobblehead! Everyone! Even people showing up at 8pm!) and Pirate Parrot Build-A-Bear day on Sunday, both of which would have drawn a big crowd even if the Mets weren’t expected to clinch.

FOOD:  TBF has been salivating over the concept of Outback in the Outfield for as long as I have talked to him about baseball. That said, it’s $150 for a table for four, without the food.  We had planned on takeout, since they do advertise Outback at your seat, but all you can get is a hamburger, cheese fries, and a blooming onion. Instead we opted for the onion to go with excellent barbeque from Manny’s BBQ, the purview of former Pirates pitcher Manny Sanguillen, who does indeed preside over the area and signs autographs. I opted for a handshake and a sweet inquiry if he would let a Mets fan eat his food.

Sunday we opted for the famous sandwiches from Primanti’s, which I have known about since the last time I was in Pittsburgh and friends who were locals took me there after a concert. They might be slightly bigger at the actual restaurant, but they were fresh and delicious. The guy in front of us in line was ordering sandwiches for Gary and Keith. It wasn’t until we got back that we heard that this had been a big on-air thing.

THINGS YOU WOULD NEVER HEAR AT SHEA STADIUM:
“Yuengling! Cold Yuengling!”

The only other food item we consumed were two Lemon Chills on Sunday, which were 75 cents cheaper than Shea, as well as BIGGER than their Shea counterparts. They also had strawberry flavored. This is our #1 food consumed at the ballpark so it was a big deal.

No food allowed into the park, and you’re technically only allowed one sealed bottle of water no larger than 24 ounces. Our liter bottle got a little bit of hassle the first night, but security waived it since it was sealed. On Sunday, no one ever looked at us sideways.

THE PARK: This is a real city ballpark with a view of downtown that’s absolutely stunning. You can see it from everywhere, not just the cheap seats or the good seats. They could have built another level of bleachers in the outfield, but it would have blocked the view. No matter how nice the New Shea is going to be, it’s still going to be a suburban ballpark.

ACCESS: Park for $5 downtown and walk across the Roberto Clemente bridge. We didn’t have any trouble parking at the lot closest to the bridge, but we also got there 2+ hours beforehand. There’s a Starbucks and a 7-11 one block away from the bridge.

BULLPENS are easily viewed from ramps near the outfield.

BATTING PRACTICE: we got anywhere we wanted to before the game, except for the $200 seats, which are a very small section behind home plate. The outfield gate opens half an hour before the other gates do, and if your tickets are season tickets, you can get down into the lower seating bowl before anyone else does. Very sweet deal that got us in prime location for BP on Saturday.

MASCOT REPORT: There is the Pirate Parrot, who reminds me of the Philly Phanatic (the same shape, I guess), but who is very acrobatic, does backflips, dances around a lot. There is also an actual Pirate. I thought the Parrot was a reasonable mascot, and appreciated its trash talking (as it were) on Sunday, when they were on top of the Mets dugout, took a hat off of a fan down front, made rude gestures at the hat, and then wiped it on its parrot behind.

PARK TRADITIONS: the pierogie races are l-a-m-e. They are somewhat like the Cascarino’s Race to Shea, in that most of the race takes place on the screen - and then they cut to the park and run from the left outfield corner to the finish line at first base. Majorly unimpressed. I did not purchase pierogie dolls.

The whole pirate thing gets to be a little over the top at some points. There’s a Diamondvision pirate narrator all full of ‘avasts’ and ‘matey’s and ‘arrrghghgs’ which got really old by the second day. I could not imagine seeing that every time I went to the ballpark.  The Pirates are referred to as the ‘Bucs’ (short for ‘buccaneers’) and everything is ‘bucco’ this and ‘bucco’ that, the homerun count is a ‘bucco blast.” A little too Disney for me.

That said, I would have expected to see a lot more skull and crossbones flags in the bleachers and around the park. You can get one on ebay for about $6 including shipping (I know, because I got one for my nephew’s recent birthday).  Kind of lame.

“It’s time to shoot some hot dogs, it’s time to shoot some hot dogs, it’s time to shoot some hot dogs - and catch yourself some meat.” Yes, the infamous PNC Park hot dog guns are true. This could not EVER happen at Shea because some drunk morons in the upper deck would make lewd comments about catching meat.

Wait, no - THIS COULD NOT EVER HAPPEN AT SHEA BECAUSE IT’S TOTALLY MORONIC.

Who would EAT a food item that had been SHOT at them? Clearly, people do, because they clamor to catch them.

The pre-game warmup animation isn’t of the actual team, but shows animated pirate ships firing at each other.  You see the Pirates’ ship taking down the Cubs and the Reds and the Cardinals, and then when they’ve sunk everyone else, aiming for the visiting team’s ship. This would all be very inspiring if one couldn’t turn one’s head and see the playoff pennants from 1909.

TBF and I both really appreciated that the seat upgrade promotion took place BEFORE the game started, and you were moved to prime box seats.

FANS: I was favorably impressed. They had spirit and attitude, but weren’t assholes. TBF manages to always attract the old-time baseball folks in a park, whether it’s the ushers or the concession vendors and those people treated us with warmth and good hospitality.  Even the guy at the box office on Sunday who, with a straight face, informed me that there were problems with our tickets - and right before I had a heart attack, continued with “Yes, we can’t let Mets fans sit that close to the field,” before handing us the tickets with a genuine wish to enjoy ourselves. They’re proud of their baseball stadium, and they should be.
They even brought brooms en masse on Sunday. Hey, I would’ve too.

WALK ON MUSIC: Jack Wilson uses “Jumping Jack Flash.” Someone else uses “Mother” by Danzig. There were one or two reggaeton songs. Xavier Nady is still using “X” by Xzibit. Other than that, nothing that notable. They did use “Worldwide Suicide” by Pearl Jam during the t-shirt toss Saturday night.