Kind mg.com commenter Harvey wrote in to say:

I"m a “Sunday” plan holder. Just got a call from Mets Ticket Office apologizing for the season and offering 2 free box seat tickets to any remaining 2010 game. I guess they don’t want acres of empty seats showing on tv (as if anybody is watching)

I know that attendees of the recent focus groups were also emailed a day or two later and offered free tickets to the weekend series with the Braves in September. My source was not told where the seats were, but they assumed that they would be somewhere in the Promenade, given where the Mets usually have handed out freebies in the past.

However, the seating location is not the thing I am the most astonished at.

I am the most astonished, however, at the notion that someone FROM THE METS is actually apologizing for the season. This is appropriate, and frankly, a long time coming. I believe that TBF is still incensed at the end of 2007, when the scoreboard flashed something stupid instead of “Thanks for buying tickets. Thanks for a great year. Thanks for coming to the ballpark even though we sucked.” There was zero acknowledgment that we paid and paid and paid only to watch the Mets lose over and over and over again. So this is a step in the right direction.

But it isn’t enough. Like everything else they do, they are doing it wrong. They are only doing it halfway. Where is the video of Jeff Wilpon and Mr. Met standing on the pitcher’s mound with an empty Citi Field saying, “We know you’re disappointed in this year. We are too. I want to personally apologize to all of you, and want to assure you that we’re taking every step to make things right for 2011.”  Where is Jeff going on Francesa to take phone calls from Mets fans? Where is the SNY pregame show where Kevin talks with a Wilpon about how disappointed they are and how they want to apologize to the fans?

I don’t do this for a living and I came up with all of these things in 15 minutes of sitting at my desk. There are other things that could be done. Emails, radio ads, postcards, take out an ad in the Sunday paper. It’s not hard to get the message across.

Of course, they then have to tell us how things are going to be different next year. I realize that in many cases they don’t know, or can’t say yet. But there are so many other decisions they could make right now. If they told us right now that, for example, they were lowering ticket prices - and really lowering them, not just reranking games from Gold to Silver - people might start to show up. If they were going to make sure that concession prices didn’t go up for 2011. Or, go for the totally blatant appeal and (like the new Rangers ownership) say that you are lowering the prices of beer and parking.

Hell, LOWER THE PRICES OF BEER AND PARKING FOR THE REST OF THE SEASON.

Seriously, this isn’t my job and it’s not hard to think of ways you could demonstrably show remorse, demonstrably show commitment, demonstrably show action.

So, don’t stop here, New York Mets: we’re listening. As always, we want to believe.

P.S. Here’s a tip: Don’t send out Dave Howard. He is rude, dismissive and condescending to fans.

However, Rob Neyer this morning seems to strongly believe that it was a combination of both issues - the thoughtless sexism and the equally thoughtless idiocy regarding Strasburg - that was responsible for Dibble’s firing. And I have received some off-the-record confirmation from a reliable source that agreed.

Saying something matters. Speaking up matters. Pointing out stupidity matters.

Speaking of stupidity, I’ll be back with some thoughts on the Mets over the weekend.

So Jeff Francoeur is gone, traded to the Rangers, who, quite frankly, deserve better. People liked him for artificial reasons that had nothing to do with what he did on the field. He knew what to say and had an above average command of spin, which guaranteed you always saw good quotes from him. The beat writers loved him because he always had a smile and a quote. That’s not a good attitude, that’s savvy business. I don’t fault him for that but I do fault fans who don’t know the difference. He was a liability, and although he had a tremendous arm, I won’t remember the throws, I’ll remember every time the bases were loaded with 2 outs and Francoeur was up next. I will remember his agent using the royal “we” and taking his case to the media about not playing every day.

It shouldn’t matter that he’s gone. We shouldn’t even care as much as we do. It is sad that losing a player is a glimmer of light.

Now watch, he will go and pull a Barajas on us. Oh wait, no, he won’t.

Update: Thankfully, Baseball Think Factory has captured my feelings on Mr. Francoeur perfectly. Must read.

At this point in the season, it is just about watching baseball. It is hoping that someone can shine, or excel, or show promise for the future. It is not about believing, or hoping, or even idly musing. Mathematically the Mets may not have been eliminated, but in mind, body and spirit, the 2010 are long gone, no matter what Jerry says. I would believe if I thought it would do any good. But if belief mattered, Citi Field has already levitated multiple times on the power of positive thinking.

The good: Carlos Beltran has begun to act like his old self, catching balls with grace and effort, gliding through the outfield like a gazelle. There is a touch of the tentative there, but there is enough glimmer of the old Carlos to make me hope.

The bad: OH MY EFFING FLYING SPAGHETTI MONSTER HOW IS IT POSSIBLE TO JUST NOT KNOW HOW TO HIT THE CUTOFF MAN? NO SERIOUSLY

It was respectably full for a Tuesday night on a day that rained all day, and was grey and cloudy and ominous. People who have to travel or cart children make decisions about whether they’re going earlier in the day, even if it turns out to be fine come game time, you have to make that call at some point. It is summer, so it is tourist season, it is foreign tourist season, it is the season for hipsters to come to the ballpark, drink too much beer and dance like the whitest white people in the world when James Brown came on the loudspeakers during the short-lived rally.  I would never argue with James Brown being played anywhere, at any time, for any reason, but have you ever noticed that despite the song’s title being “Get Up (I Feel Like Being A) Sex Machine, Pt. 1,” the song is looped and edited so that you never, ever hear the words “sex machine”?

Speaking of music, there was something up tonight with the at bat music; at least for the first half of the game, everyone - including Carlos “El Esta Aqui” Beltran, including Josh “Rock You Like A Hurricane” Thole - was coming up to really bad reggaeton. “It sounds like the kind of music that you’d hear on that SNL sketch about Antonio Banderas,” TBF said after the third at bat. Maybe someone lost a bet? Maybe someone was trying to shake it up? Was there a clubhouse meeting? Or did they just decide that not enough people were coming that it didn’t matter what they played, because no one would notice?

The good: The Marlins are 14th in the league in fielding percentage. Cameron Maybin.

The bad: We had embarrassing errors of our own that I am choosing not to mention.

There were groups wearing matching tshirts decorating the upper deck with blocks of color. One particularly active group was engaging in a call and response with a less organized group (no t-shirts) two sections over.
“ANGEL!” the girls would chant.
“PAGAN!” the guys would follow.
“CARLOS!” said the girls.
“BELTRAN!” the guys would reply.

The only problem was that they were pronouncing “Pagan” as “Pagan and not “Pa-GAN,” but I forgave them because of enthusiasm and new blood, and because the guys started chanting “Tho-le, Tho-le, Tho-le, Tho-le” to the tune of “Jose, Jose, Jose” during that last inning. It was hilarious.

Not hilarious was the gentleman one section over, accompanied by his friend in a Bernie Williams jersey, who spent most of the evening complaining that no one was as enthusiastic as he thought we should be. I always want to say to these people, “Be the change you wish to see in the world” but I realize that it would go right over their head. He tried to start chants of:

• “Fire Jerry!“This costs money! This costs money!”
• “Why am I here? Why am I here?” (interjected with “SNY! SNY!”)

We were grateful for the almost-rally for several reasons, one of which was that the crowd became loud enough to drown him out.

There were Marlins fans in our section. There were people that I thought were Marlins fans, because they cheered their runs, but I later realized were just a family of German tourists who were applauding everything. I felt bad for glaring at them earlier while they were applauding Hanley Ramirez.

In short, it wasn’t much of a game. It could have been, but it wasn’t. It’s not even something I get upset about any more, not the players left on base, not the missed opportunities, not the deflated rallies.  It is ritual and it is routine, and sometimes the routine is balm enough. TBF got clipped by a motorcycle when he was riding his bike on Sunday, training for an upcoming bike tour. He is scraped and bruised but aside from a broken nose, he is basically okay. He wears a helmet. He does not have broken limbs. He was glad for the empty row in front of us to stretch out his battered legs but I was just glad he felt well enough to come tonight. That was not the case last night; he was urging me to go, because it was Dickey v Johnson (make your jokes now). When I refused to go without him, he started to plead his case that it would be a short game and he could make it, even though we both knew he couldn’t.

Tonight I was just glad that we could be there, even if he had to wear an older hat because his normal hat won’t fit over the bruises, even if we had to use the elevators, even if it was a bad game. At least he was still there and it was still baseball.

Finally! I’ve completed my series of ballpark writeups for all of the ballparks I visited this summer. In descending order:

• Dodger Stadium
• Chase Field
• Oakland Coliseum
• AT&T Park
• PETCO Park
• Angel Stadium
• Nationals Park
• Target Field

And in case you missed it, my wrap-up posts (post 1 and post 2) on the West Coast trip.

Tonight was the premiere of the Billy Joel documentary “The Last Play At Shea”. If you don’t know, Billy Joel (who happens to be a Yankees fan, but that’s another story) played the last two concerts in the history of Shea Stadium, back in 2008. The movie made its official premiere during the Tribeca Film Festival earlier this year, so I’m not sure how exactly this was the premiere, but I also don’t really care: for $10, I got to sit in Sterling Club seats (row 6) and got to watch a movie I wanted to see anyway.

The crowd was mostly Billy Joel fans, and true to the press release, there were definitely about 20,000 people there. Concessions were open, Mr. Met was out in the concourse in left field where they had a stage set up along with controllers to play Beatles Rock Band (he played drums, in case you care), and the pre-game time was filled with Shea Stadium musical and Billy Joel trivia.  They didn’t sell the Promenade, but the Promenade boxes were full; they didn’t sell the left field landing area, the Pepsi Porch, Big Apple seats or anything that would have made it impossible to see the scoreboard. They filled the warning track with huge speakers, and turned off the lights. The weather was fantastic. Concessions were open, but they severely underestimated demand, and lines were longer than they are when there’s a game. But that was a small dent in what was a lovely night.

Let me get this out of the way: I am not a Billy Joel fan. At all.  I do, however, have tremendous respect for him and his body of work. He worked hard, he earned every drop of success he’s achieved. So this is not 16 pages of gushing about how awesome Billy Joel is.  I mention this because when I tell you that the movie is well worth you hunting down, it’s because the movie does a tremendous job telling many different stories. Some will be interesting to you as a Mets fan, others will be interesting to you as a baseball fan, others will be interesting to you as a rock and roll fan. So if you would call yourself any of those things, but not maybe a Billy Joel fan, I’d still recommend the movie.

It’s not a straight concert film; I believe there were only two or three complete performances of songs in the entire movie. If I was a Billy Joel fan, I’d probably be irked about that. But they fill the gaps with interviews with people like Keith Hernandez and Darryl Strawberry and Ron Darling and our own Gary Cohen; my colleagues Dana Brand and Greg Prince also get some screen time. They give history and background and context to people coming to see the movie who don’t know anything about the Mets or Shea Stadium.

You get a nice summary of Billy Joel’s history, which is either new to you or a refresher course. I appreciated the candor with which he was willing to discuss his life and career; it certainly isn’t a cleanly polished, nice and tidy life story. Of course, that also makes it that much more interesting.

Woven within and without continues the history of Shea. We get a crash course on Robert Moses, we meet a guy named William Shea, we see the Beatles performing. You fastforward through the 60’s to 1969, and then through the 70s to the 80s and 1986. You fastforward again until 2001, and then to 2008. Being that I have still not yet watched the 9/28/08 game at Shea, or the Shea Goodbye ceremonies, to see it on the big screen was more than a little heartwrenching.

However, the absolute best thing in this entire film was the introduction of Mets head groundskeeper, Pete Flynn. You’re going to say “So what” but I’m going to tell you that you are wrong. Pete Flynn, you see, was at Shea from the day it opened. Have you ever watched the film of the Beatles at Shea Stadium? Do remember that white station wagon with the fake paneling that drove the Beatles out onto the field? Do you know who drove that car? Pete Flynn. (This is not something I knew until tonight.) When Paul Mc Cartney came back to Shea to appear with Billy Joel (and the story about how that happened is fantastic, but I won’t ruin it by spilling it all here), who was driving the golf cart that took him out to the stage? PETE FLYNN.  And the camera was there when Pete turned to Paul and stuck out his hand and told him that he drove him out there the first time.

No, seriously, it would have been worth $50 to see that moment alone.

Now, I will admit that am biased; I still think the greatest musical moment in Shea Stadium history was when Bob Dylan walked out on the stage with Bruce Springsteen in 2003. It was amazing because it absolutely blindsided everyone; there were no rumblings or rumors (like there were with Mc Cartney and Billy Joel), Bruce just said, “I’d like to bring out someone who’s been a great inspiration to me, my friend Bob Dylan” and 55,000 people went collectively apeshit. But Mc Cartney showing up to close the loop, as it were, is undeniably amazing.

So this is the metsgrrl.com thumbs up on “Last Play At Shea”. Unless you absolutely hate Billy Joel, if you care about baseball or rock and roll, it’s worth a couple of hours to see “Last Play At Shea”.

We’re back! And just in time to talk Rob Dibble, K-rod, and how much the Mets and Cubs are sucking.

Tonight, I had expected the absolute worst. I rode out to Flushing in a subway car full of idiotic Phillies fans who refused to hang on and kept sliding into other passengers. I had security tell me that the water bottles I have purchased and brought to every single game this year were suddenly “too big”. I did not want to be at the game but it was Friday and I had a ticket so I was going. Worst case scenario, I thought, if it became too unbearable, if the suckitude was too great, if section 514 was teeming full of Phillies fans, I could simply go home.

Remarkably, it was not that kind of night after all.

I started to feel better about the game when Jose made that first great defensive play. We’ve all been on his case for him being seemingly inattentive lately, missing plays that the Jose Reyes of old could have easily gotten. Tonight he got them all. Idly I considered the thought that maybe they were tired of being a laughing stock and didn’t want to let Dickey down and knew there was no margin for error.

That was all well and good, except for the fact that we got no hits.
But the Phillies weren’t getting any either.

Dickey was masterful, striking them out, getting them to hit into pop ups and line drives straight to 3rd or 1st or shortstop (or “campocorto,” since it was Fiesta Latina night, and the Mets were announced en espanol during the game. I will learn Spanish some day). The guys behind us (not the usual dudes) would get super-excited and yell something like ‘THAT’S ALL UP IN HERE’ or something similar (I am sorry, they were barely intelligible). It was as though each at bat was a battle that we were winning. I’ve been at games like that, but this was not that game. It was quieter, more elegant than that.

On the quieter front, while there were a lot of Phillies fans there, the place wasn’t overloaded, and there were no fights, no altercations, not even any idiots standing up and preening. (Not that there was anything to preen at, but that generally doesn’t stop them.) The place was overloaded with security (I have never seen a security guard in the tunnels of the Promenade) and police officers. I assumed that it was the Phillies until TBF reminded me of the armed camp that Shea became during every Fiesta Latina night, back when they used to have the free concerts after the game. (It still bothers me as much as it did then.)  It was nice to be able to be at my home ballpark and not be running interference the entire time.

Nothing was going on anywhere - except the goddamn wave, which started in the second inning. I can understand that while a pitcher’s duel is thrilling to me, it probably bores the pants off the majority of attendees who are at a baseball game to drink beer and talk to their friends (with permission from Rob Dibble, of course) but if you’re so bored at the game that you start doing the wave in the second inning, maybe you should choose another type of entertainment for your weekend. (To their credit tonight, it did not get very far, and eventually stopped - except to restart again at the bottom of the 7th with 2 outs and a full count at the plate.)

I feared more for the well-being of the umpiring crew after they finally emerged from the tunnel with the call. If you’ve ever been there for one of those, it’s hysterical to me that the fans congregate along the barrier on either side of the tunnel, as though a first glimpse of the crew will reveal their decision. Of course, when they came onto the field and no one was making the home run sign above their head, we knew we were in trouble. When the ball was hit, we did not think it was a HR. Of course, we also couldn’t see the fan interfering* the way the rest of you could. We didn’t think it was a home run, so we weren’t surprised when the call didn’t go our way - but we were surprised we got the triple.

I do not understand why there is no policy of ejection for fan interference. All they have to do is do it a few times and this bullshit will stop. I do not understand how you cannot grasp that you should not reach onto the field of play and touch a baseball. Even when I knew nothing about baseball, nothing could have compelled me to do something like this. Here is my best example: in 2002, I went to Las Vegas to see Bruce Springsteen, and through random luck, ended up right on the edge of the stage - down at the very end, but still, elbows on the stage. Well, to my utter shock, at the end of the show, when Bruce played “Thunder Road,” he came walking down the edge of the stage and stopped right in front of me. Fans are mobbing him, but I am standing there staring because what am I going to do, grab something? He finally made eye contact and yelled, ‘C’mon!’ and smiled encouragingly, and only then did I reach up and start hitting the guitar strings. I was not going to interfere with the field of play. If I can figure this out, so can these rocket scientists.*

*I’m sure Rob Dibble doesn’t wonder why they’re at the game.

Other things we weren’t surprised at: that Jeff Francoeur remains completely useless. I do believe I yelled something to that effect, loudly.

Dickey came back out to much applause, the applause growing with each inning, even though I was sure that very few people were actually paying attention. But with the crack of the ball off of Cole Hamels’ bat, there was a communal groan. The one neighbor we are on cordial speaking terms with (he also keeps score, so no wonder) finally sat back in his seat and exhaled, shaking his head. Not tonight, we murmured. Not tonight.

But another 0 at the end of that inning.

“JOSE, TRY HITTING THE BALL ON THE GROUND,” TBF yelled at the start of the 6th.

It is great how we have these conversations with the players from our perch up at the top of Mount Shea. Let me relate the conversation of the dudes behind us, to their friends sitting out next to the Apple. “Go to home plate… okay now go straight up. No, higher than that - no, above the SNY sign - no, keep going up…”
TBF began to drum his fingers on his scorecard in frustration.
“No, up more. No, not the guy standing up. Look at the top. Yes, the fence - you see the fence? Okay, we are three rows down from the fence. And we’re waving.”
More drumming of fingers.
“There, you see us! Yeah, we see you! Man, how did you hook yourself up with those sweet seats!”

Of course, Jose promptly hit a fly out to center field. Even Angel couldn’t get it all done all by himself tonight. Finally, finally, David managed to hit a double, and Beltran got the ball in the air long enough to get David home.
OH THANK THE FLYING SPAGHETTI MONSTER FINALLY
Mike Hessman manages a walk… only to be left stranded by none other than JEFF FRANCOEUR.

(I think I’m going to start saying his name the way that Fred Armisen says “NEW JERSSSEYYY” when he plays Govenor Patterson. JEFF FRANCOEURRRRRRRR At least it will make me laugh instead of screaming in frustration.)

0

More applause for Dickey. At this point the “R-A-DIC-KEY CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP” chants were echoing through the Promenade. I don’t know if they made it downstairs; I don’t know what they were doing down there. Up in the people’s seats, people were on their feet and cheering for Dickey. We needed something to cheer for. We needed something to be proud of, this week of all weeks.  The little kids who sit next to me were just happy to hell “DICKEY” with impunity, too.

R-A-DIC-KEY CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP

Dickey did not approach his at bats with frustration or with ennui. R.A. Dickey came up swinging. There was no bunting for this pitcher.

R-A-DIC-KEY CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP

He came back out for the 8th. I saw a conversation between him and one of the coaching staff, I could not make out who. But it was decisive and the result was Dickey walking out of the dugout with a bat in his hand. He was not coming out of this game.  I was a little worried when Greg Dobbs was put into the Phillies lineup, until TBF pointed at Mr. Dobbs’ statistics laid out on Citi Vision. “He’s not having a good year.”

0

He came back out for the 9th. We waited until the first out, and then we were on our feet upstairs, “R-A-DIC-KEY CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP” being chanted over and over and over again. I was hoping he could hear us. I was hoping that he knew we were behind him. I was hoping that he realized that the callous, vicious, demanding, bitter New York Mets fans were believing again tonight because of what he was doing on the hill.

R-A-DIC-KEY CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP

And then, that third out, Placido Polanco flying out to right field, and the minute the ball is in Francoeur’s glove the ballpark explodes, 40-thousand-something people exhaling in unison. We won. Our pitcher went 9. We beat the Phillies… and it was only a little after 9pm.

It wasn’t late, so people weren’t rushing out of the ballpark, but we grabbed our stuff and threaded our way down to the front of the Promenade boxes, hoping that security wasn’t going to try to enforce us not being there for the post-game interview. I love this so much, it is the best thing the Mets have ever done, I will wreak holy havoc if they ever stop it for some reason.  R.A. walked out with Kevin, spoke simply and plainly, and then Angel Pagan’s head popped out of the staircase. He was a little off center, but the intent was still there.  We cheered, we cheered some more, R.A. waved one more time and headed into the dugout.

As we headed down the stairs, the stairwells were already ringing:

R-A-DIC-KEY CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP
R-A-DIC-KEY CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP
R-A-DIC-KEY CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP

Some jerk tried to start a “Yankees suck” chant (which I always feel is stupid unless we have just beaten them at home) but was shouted down:

R-A-DIC-KEY CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP
R-A-DIC-KEY CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP
R-A-DIC-KEY CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP

As we headed across the plaza to the 7 train, I turned to TBF and said, “I have it. No more closers. All the pitchers have to go 9 innings, and then we’ll win.”
“No bullpen at all,” he said.
“No relievers.”
“No set-up guys.”
“No ‘lefty specialists.’”
“‘Look ma, no bullpen.’”
“I’m stealing that.”

8/15: I am aware of Mr. Dibble’s apology and clarification, and thank him and MASN for his response. If you are a woman, married to a woman, have a daughter or a mother and do not understand the post, I offer this interpretation (also from a woman, my apologies). If you want something from a man, I offer this link from Can’t Stop The Bleeding (all dudes, so it’s kosher).

You’re a jerk.

If I had a dollar for every time I saw a man at a baseball game, talking to his friends non-stop, or doing anything except paying attention to the game, you would no longer be employed by MASN because I would have been able to purchase the network and then fire you. (I would fire you not just being a sexist clod, but for being a horrible announcer. The poor Nationals fans deserve so much better. But that is not my drum to beat.)

Listen, I hate looking at the fans behind home plate who are clearly there because someone got them the tickets. I hate the dorks who wave at the camera with their cellphone glued to one ear with a passion you cannot possibly understand because I (almost) never get to sit in those kinds of seats (when I did have that chance, I literally didn’t talk for three innings because I was so overwhelmed at being that close to the game). I am sure it is tiresome to watch the rich and lucky of either sex, especially in Washington DC, sit there and - to your view - ignore perfectly good baseball.

But it isn’t a male-female issue, and you made it into one. Furthermore, when your broadcast partner tried to correct you, and tried to give you an out instead of saying, “You know, that was kind of shallow, I’m sorry,” or “That came out wrong, it just seems like there are some fans up here that would love those seats” or I don’t know what (because nothing requires someone to just sit and not move during a game) your response was that the women must have been there because they were filming a reality television show.

Mr. Dibble, women make up FORTY-FIVE PERCENT OF THE MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL FANBASE.  That’s right, 45% of of baseball fans are women.

I wasn’t going to write about this, because Dibble is an ass who doesn’t deserve the pixels, until I read this from Stacey over at Camden Chat:

I am a woman who, if seated behind home plate at a Nationals game, would get circled by Rob Dibble and called out for gossiping about an upcoming sale while the men were trying to watch baseball.

This is why it matters. This is why what he said was inexcusable.

I wonder if Rob Dibble knows how many times women get looked at funny for keeping score. I wonder if Rob Dibble wonders how hard it is for female fans to have to continually defend their love of baseball as being about the game, and not about cute guys in tight uniforms. I wonder if Rob Dibble thought about what any teenage girls who were watching the game (and guess what, Rob Dibble, they do watch the game, taught by their mothers and grandmothers as well as fathers, uncles and grandfathers) and heard that. He just gave fuel to the fire of every sexist clod out there who thinks that women are dumb and can’t understand baseball and can’t possibly be at the game because they want to be. No one ever looks at a man and thinks “he must be here with his girlfriend”.  It is hard enough to have a conversation with a guy at a game who assumes you are there because you are with a guy.

Rob Dibble just made it harder.

I want to take a group of women to a Nationals game and sit in those seats, but as it was just pointed out to me, while they are cheaper than the Mets’ equivalents, they are still $300. I am still thinking about taking a group with signs to a weekend game, but probably couldn’t do it quick enough to make the point in a timely fashion. So if you have an opinion on this, please leave a comment, and please consider sending an message with your thoughts regarding Mr. Dibble to MASN via their contact form.

[I never troll for comments but there are too many men out there on the internet today dismissing this. Please, ladies.]

“No, I’m not. We’ve had a lot things go on here and there. We are men and things come our way. We still have a job to do”
—Jerry Manuel, via Andy Martino of the NYDN

The quote above was in response to what was likely the 37th question asking if Francisco Rodriguez’ arrest last night was a distraction for the team.

Really? It’s not a distraction? Really? Because I would think that your high-priced star closer allegedly going postal against a family member (if someone is carried out on a stretcher with visible injuries, I believe that rates the term ‘going postal’) on team property in front of other team family members, being arrested and held overnight, causing THE ENTIRE BASEBALL WORLD to focus on your team that is already making headlines by imploding so astronomically, would be a fucking distraction. The media swarm, the headlines in every paper, the police presence… but no, not a distraction.

How about: “Yes, it’s a distraction, but everyone else here still has a job to do, people bought tickets to see a team on the field today, so that’s what we’re going to do.” Wouldn’t that be a measured, reasonable, intelligent response?

I am disgusted, I am apoplectic, I am getting a headache, I am fed up. I have been to 24 Mets games at Citi Field and 10 road games. My household owns two ticket plans. I bought a freaking Jason Bay shirt when the season started.

I guess the point is that I am doing my part, while no one in Flushing is doing theirs. Where is the leadership? Where is the accountability? I would settle for someone not saying something stupid for once. Why is the organization not dictating that people stick to talking points that actually answer the question but don’t sound completely milquetoast?

I am delighted with the win today. I am delighted Johan pitched a full game. I am, however, not delighted that that only happened because WE DON’T REALLY HAVE A CLOSER AT THE MOMENT.

I am glad that there was some action taken although I find it to be completely insignificant and a signal that there are no consequences to anything anyone ever does or doesn’t do.

I have a ticket for tomorrow night and I absolutely don’t want to be there. I don’t want to deal with moronic Phillies fans who use homosexuality as the punchline of all their smack talk. I am tired of being the punchline of every single joke being made today on the internet. I don’t want to deal with a loss, I don’t want to deal with stupid security who exclaim with delight because THEY FOUND AN OPEN WATER BOTTLE! Wow, on a 95 degree day, someone traveled with a water bottle - AND DRANK FROM IT! CALL HOMELAND SECURITY!

I am more than a little fed up with everything to do with this team. I don’t have anything Mets-related to wear to the game because right now I feel that there is no player right now I feel deserves my support.

At least I didn’t cave and buy a fucking Jeff Francoeur shirt.  If you defend him here I am going to mock you mercilessly and go on Twitter and find other people to come here and do it. We have enough mediocrity on this team without defending a cute white guy who gives the beat writers good quotes.

There, I’m done now.

I didn’t head out to tonight’s game expecting a win. I didn’t even expect a good performance from Mike Pelfrey. All I wanted was some time sitting up near the top of 517 (the location of our pre-All Star break pro-rated Weekday Plan) and a few hours of baseball, a few hours of knowing what was going to happen, a few hours of the comfort of the repetition of at-bats and inning breaks and sides up and sides down, of familiar at-bat music, of tedious commercial breaks, of familiar voices booming out of loudspeakers.

I lost an old friend this past weekend, and only found out on Monday. She died of a heart attack at age 48, out of the blue, sudden, no warning. As a result, I am understandably on a rollercoaster of emotions. At 4:30 I had decided I was not going to the game, and then, the more I thought about it, the more I decided that was a bad idea. As much as I didn’t want to talk to anyone and didn’t want to deal with people, headphones and music could get me from the office to the Mets-Willets Point stop. Then I didn’t need to talk to anyone, really, for a while, until TBF turned up - and I didn’t have to talk to him, because he already knew.

I got on the 7 train.

I thought we were in for disaster this evening for sure when I arrived and found these gentlemen (the term used loosely) sitting three rows in front of us in what was at the time a very empty section. Four Yankees hats, one Dodgers hat. They lustily cheered the Rockies’ introductions and half-yelled SUCKS after every Met introduction. What stopped them from being class A dbags is that by the third inning, the section filled up, the religious mom and daughter who sit to our right, and other groups, most with children, above and below us. There was some exaggerated applause at minor Rockies achievements but the dbags-in-training mostly took themselves off somewhere once they realized that our dude on the hill was not going to crumble in the mere presence of Ulbado Jiminez, nor would the Rockies start teeing off of our guy.

Section 517 is such a breath of fresh air compared to 514 I cannot even begin to tell you. People are bitter and angry and nasty in 514, and I don’t know why; they are mostly leftover Shea veterans of the Tuesday-Friday plan who got stuck in the last four rows of the Promenade. The fact that they still bother to show up at all I do consider fortunate for the Mets organization, but they are not fun people to sit near. 517, tonight, was just full of people there to watch baseball. Even the large group in the row in front of us, not all huge baseball fans, either got up and walked around or played with their phones when they were bored (and there were parts of this game that were boring). They limited their trips up and down to between innings. They talked quietly amongst themselves. No one was drunk or stupid.

There was a gaggle of small boys behind us who were a blast to listen to. i could not believe how tiny they were when I finally turned around in the 7th inning, when one of them announced I THINK THIS GAME IS GOING TO GO INTO EXTRA INNINGS! YAY! They knew what was going on on the field, and told each other, better than some professional radio announcers I have listened to. They paid attention better than many adults. They were adorable. They were what I needed, not an adult going into idiotic theories about why it’s all Carlos Beltran’s fault, why Alex Cora shouldn’t have been released, why Jeff Francoeur should play every day. They were happy for each pitch, carefully sharing with each other the speed and type from the ribbon board. They would get excited when there was a hit. They would get excited when there was a foul ball. They would get excited when the bases were loaded - oh, wait, that was all of us - but yet seemed to take things philosophically when ducks were left on the pond. It was all very matter of fact to them; while they cared passionately, it wasn’t personal - yet. (They have time.)

There was much rejoicing in the 4th inning when Fernando Martinez hit a single. I was about to nervously point out that I would not be happy to witness a no hitter in my own ballpark against my own team, but at least it would be Jimenez, and not someone I virulently hated.
POP went the ball, sending Mr. Martinez the Younger to first base.
“Oh, thank god,” exhaled TBF.
“YAY” I said. “At least we won’t get no-hit!”
It is sad, actually, that that is the most we wish for these days.

There was much nervous watching of Mike Pelfrey’s pitch count, the number of times he went full count, the number of men that got on base. There was even a broken bat single from Mr. Pelfrey, to help his cause. If he hadn’t run it out with intent, he would have likely been out (at least from my vantage point). It seemed like he was trying to hide his grin under the helmet. I am not exactly ready to break out my Pelfrey shirt again, but at least it was a solid outing. It wasn’t an outing that made you wince.  It wasn’t an outing that made you sad, or angry.

The control room got our attention by playing “I’m A Rocker” and then “You’re A Friend of Mine,” which I noted that I probably hadn’t heard since it was, um, popular (or at least current).  (If you are are unfamiliar with this joint Clarence Clemons-Jackson Brown joint, with guest appearance by Daryl Hannah, please do click on the link for a good laugh.)  The Rockies got our attention by intentionally walking Carlos Beltran. We had previously booed their intentional walk of David Wright (while agreeing that if the situation were reversed, we would probably do the same thing), but Beltran? Last time I looked, he was on the interstate, and not exactly hitting like the Carlos Beltran of old.

But they did, and Reyes’ sac fly to right was enough to get a runner home, and the deadlock was broken. I was not exactly brimming full of confidence that the Mets would be able to maintain that position, or that a certain closer wouldn’t make it interesting later.

Those fears would be for naught, as Frankie was more or less efficient, and with “Taking Care of Business” blasting out of the PA and echoing around the half-empty ballpark, we headed down the stairs and towards the 7 train.

As the train pulled out of Willets Point, I put my head on TBF’s shoulder and said, “I’m still sad.”
I suppose if this was a perfect blog post, I would wax lyrical about the transformative power of baseball, things we all know, things you all know.
“It took your mind off things for a few hours,” he offered.
The truth is, I didn’t need much more than that. Not ever game has to be life-changing, not every win has to be breathtaking, not every reason you show up at the ballpark has to be dramatic. The Mets won, and yes, it was a peaceful few hours of respite. I am glad for all of it, always.

I came home from the West Coast with sunburned knees, pistachio shells rattling around my camera bag, and kept pulling ticket stubs out of random pockets. It was 11 days, 9 games, 6 ballparks. It was also one of the greatest trips I have ever taken.

Here’s a recap of the trip, with background, planning insight, and tons more awesome photos.

THE ITINERARY:

7/15: Land LAX, drive to ANA - LAA v SEA
7/16: Drive to SD - SD v AZ
7/17: Fly to SF - SF v NYM
7/18: SF v NYM
7/19: OAK v BOS
7/20: Fly to PHX, AZ v NYM
7/21: AZ v NYM
7/22: Fly to LAX, LAD v NYM
7/23: OFF DAY
7/24: LAD v NYM
7/25: Fly home

THE CHRONOLOGY:

We landed at LAX around noon on 7/15. First stop was Anaheim (via a stop at In-and-Out Burger) in the shiny red Mustang we were upgraded to at the rental lot. Anaheim at any time of year is crazy but in the summer it is insane from Mouse Tourism, and we wanted to be as far away from that as we could. I found the one hotel which is walking distance from Angel Stadium, and although we were trying to use points to defray hotel expenses and this was a Marriott, we booked it. They, of course, were just recovering from the All Star Game, but had a flux of Mariners fans coming in to town for the series.

It was also very, very hot. It’s the kind of heat that makes you understand why native Californians drive distances New Yorkers wouldn’t even hail a cab for. By the time we got drinks at the AM/PM just down the street from the hotel (another plus) and made it to the Big A for photographs, we were already sweating. We are Easterners; we underestimate how much water we need to drink; we would replicate this error the entire trip.

Angel Stadium was a surprise because we expected it to be more of a dump. It was a surprise, because it started to rain during the first inning. It was hot and over quickly so it was welcome, but it was definitely the last thing either of us packed for. We stayed until the end of the game and had dinner at a nice upscale sports bar called The Catch which was right at the entrance gate. As would become our pattern, the post-game dinner usually revolved around the largest salad we could find. It was our way of balancing out the rest of the food consumption.

Angel Stadium post | Angel Stadium photoset

Most surprising ballpark: PETCO Park. It was on the list because it was on the list, but I can’t wait to go back there for a weekend series.

Least surprising ballpark: Chase Field. It’s a combination of Milwaukee & Houston in terms of feel and architecture. However, the world’s genuinely nicest people work there.

Not As Bad As You Think: Oakland Coliseum. Oakland reminded me of our dearly departed Shea, if anything.

From Anaheim we piloted the Mustang down to San Diego, where we returned the car and grabbed a cab to the hotel. We stayed downtown, the ballpark is downtown, there’s a trolley connecting them, and we were only there for one day. While San Diego was many degrees less hot than Anaheim, we still didn’t bring enough water along with us, ever. (This will start to become a theme.) San Diego was: ballpark tour, lunch, nap, back to park for game, dinner with local friend. It would be the first time we would see Dan Haren on this roadtrip, but we left the game early for dinner, and because our flight to San Francisco the next morning was at 7am.

PETCO was just a fantastic place. “It isn’t like anything else,” TBF kept saying.  That’s not to say it’s the best ballpark ever, but that it was highly interesting and we were surprised by how interesting it was, because it never makes anyone’s lists, except Kevin Burkhardt of SNY, who always lists PETCO as his favorite. We had a list of places we wanted to make sure we saw at the park based on all of Kevin’s reports there over the years. Every time I mention it I get jumped on by people saying ‘Well it’s not PNC’ or insert your favorite ballpark here, and I’m not saying that it is suddenly The Best Ballpark In The Country. I will, however, state with perfect certainty that it is The Most Underrated Ballpark In The Country. It is the one we are most eager to return to for a nice three-game weekend series against the Mets some year.

PETCO Park review | PETCO Park photos

Biggest food letdown: the garlic fries at AT&T. TBF claims that my memories of delicious San Fran-area garlic fries are tainted by the fact that previous ones were consumed on very cold nights after waiting on a long food line at Shoreline Ampitheater during Bridge School concerts. He may be right.

Most surprisingly good food: there was a fast food Mexican stand called Macayo in Chase Field. It was the most interesting thing I saw so I ordered from there, and we liked it so much we went back the next night. Thumbs up. A beat writer even recommended it to me after I had already found it. I tend to trust them when it comes to recommendation of food on the road.

Only place I got sick from the food: Oakland Coliseum. We went with friends who were locals, and ate what they ate, thinking that would be safe.

We flew Virgin America from SD to SF, and I wish I could tell you how cool it was, but we both fell asleep before takeoff, and the next thing I knew we were landing in San Francisco. Thanks to SF’s fantastic public transportation system, we were standing in the hotel lobby at 10am, where we dumped our stuff, found breakfast, and trekked out to City Lights bookstore and the Gap, where TBF purchased additional long-sleeve shirts, since it was FREEZING. We had long sleeves; we just didn’t have enough for San Francisco.

Our hotel was a 15 minute walk from the ballpark, which was perfect for us. I always prefer walking, or a short public transit ride, to driving. We survived the Lincecum bobblehead carnage only to have to sit through a Brian Wilson save opportunity and a very, very long game. By the time we got back to the hotel it was so cold we abandoned a trip to the Mission for burritos, ordered room service, and crashed hard.

We definitely underestimated how tired we would be and definitely overestimated how much free time we would have on the trip. We both brought our workout clothes and never got to use them once; TBF thought he’d finish his book by San Francisco and ship it back but he didn’t get through it until Phoenix; and although I bought a book at City Lights, I shipped it back in SF because at that point I knew I would not have any time. We would have picked up some extra hours in each city if I didn’t need to come back to the hotel to edit photos and write a blog post, but we knew that was a constraint going in. If I hadn’t done that, though, it would have been fruitless, because there never any extra time where I could have done it ‘later,’ and the photographs would still be sitting on my memory card and the posts would have never been written.

Worst seats: San Diego.  Upper Box Reserved, Section 319, $21 at the box office. They offered a nice view of the scoreboard, I could get the Western Metal Supply building in all my shots, and the visitor’s bullpen was directly below us.

Best Seats: Dodger Stadium, 7/24. Seven rows up from the home dugout, between the on-deck circle and third base, we could see into the Mets’ dugout, could watch the Dodgers goofing around, and had there actually been any offense, could have enjoyed watching the batter run into home plate. If we learned anything this trip, it’s that this angle is our jointly preferred viewing point at a ballgame.

Of course, day two in SF was a day game, so there was no rest for the weary. This was the day we had seats in the Lexus Dugout Club in the second row behind home plate (that’s the view from the photo at the top of this post), so we were going to get to the park as soon as the gates opened, so we could spend as much time in our seats as possible. We were visible on television several times during the course of the game.  The Giants restrict access to BP just like the Mets do, and I have to say, even as a benefactor of this policy, that it is stupid. You know why? Because the seat holders in this area don’t show up that early, and the professional autograph collectors (read: sellers) just buy those tickets themselves and plant themselves at the corner of the dugout and preclude anyone else from getting close.

This was the day that David Wright threw me a ball during BP. I just wanted a smile for the camera, and instead, he flipped a ball over the dugout roof in my direction. There was no one else there except me, and another ball went down to a little kid at the other end of the dugout. TBF will not say he is jealous, and reminds me that Cliff Floyd threw him a ball (which he caught with one hand, no glove) during BP in Pittsburgh in 2006 (the pre-clinch weekend). (He ended up getting a ball during BP at Chase Field, so we felt that the score had evened out.)

After surviving this game, we had plans to meet friends at a trendy dinner place in the Mission. We are lucky that they are also reasonable baseball people, and that they understand the need to follow something you love around the country, or the conversation might have been a little stilted. (Then again, these are the kinds of people with whom I have sat on cardboard boxes on the sidewalk for hours and hours while waiting for the Rolling Stones.) Alcohol was consumed. The food was delicious. We almost closed down the joint, and then came back to the hotel where I feverishly edited photos and went to bed as early as I could.

My regrets about AT&T Park: I didn’t order an in-seat Ghirardelli sundae, I didn’t get to go down the slide in the giant Coke bottle (it’s open to ‘fans of ALL ages’), and I didn’t get to peek through the portwalk in the outfield where you can watch three innings of the game without a ticket.

AT&T Park writeup | 7/17 BP & Game | 7/18 BP | 7/18 game | Tour

Best Fans & Worst Fans: To be honest, I wasn’t impressed by any group of fans as a whole. We met great Dodgers fans, but everyone else couldn’t have cared less that there was a game on the field, and the reaction was “That’s just LA.” Giants fans hassled us to a degree that reminded me of Phillies fans (not something to aspire to, San Francisco) but yet the fans in Arizona could not grasp the concept that standing in front of me when there are two outs and the count is 3-2 was a bad thing to do and that I was going to get upset about it, and their response was that “you can get up whenever you want to” (now I understand these signs). But, funnily enough, in San Diego, it was Dbacks fans in town for the series that were the most attentive, while the San Diegans around us acted bored despite three home runs being hit in that game. Angels fans at least paid attention to the game, but only made noise when the scoreboard told them to. If anyone gets a gold star, it would have to be the fans in Oakland, who didn’t just sell their tickets and stay home during the Red Sox series, they represented at least 50% of the crowd in the ballpark that night.

To read Part 2, click on the link below

Monday was, on paper, an ‘off day’, and although we were supposed to run to a famous breakfast place, we instead slept until it was time to go back to AT&T Park for the tour. At this point we were officially exhausted. We love ballpark tours, and there’s another big plus for me: the tours are when I get all my beauty photos of the ballpark. When we go to the game, we’re so consumed with batting practice and finding our seats and checking out the food and the views and the bullpens and whatever else we’re supposed to see - I love that I don’t have to worry about getting ‘the’ stadium shot, I can just focus on the game because I’m coming back for the tour. This was not the case at AT&T because there was a private corporate event on the field. Not only did it mean that I didn’t get my photos, but it also meant that it severely curtailed tour access to the point that it should have been canceled. It also caused the tour to run overtime, and by the time I got my shots of the park from McCovey Cove, it was too late to have lunch at the Terminal Market or the Embarcadero or Fisherman’s Wharf, or ride a cable car. This wasn’t a huge tragedy since we had both been to San Francisco before, but it was still unfortunate.  Instead we ran back to the hotel to change to head out to the Oakland Coliseum to see the A’s v Red Sox. One of our good friends was in from the East Coast for the series so at least we had some rooting interest, and it was nice to go to the game with people we knew.

It was a pathetic representation of Red Sox Nation but they did their best to take over the park. However, A’s fans are made of good stuff; they weren’t about to let that happen. They didn’t need to be told when to MAKE NOISE, and while the flags and signs and cheering sections might be a little corny, good for them. It was Sheets vs Dice-K, and was a surprisingly quick game for the AL. Then it was time to pack and get some sleep.

Oakland Coliseum writeup

Best ballpark tour: PETCO Park. It’s a good tour when you have no questions at the end because the guide has answered them all before you asked; it’s a great tour when you learn one thing you never knew. When you learn three things, it’s outstanding. (No, I’m not telling you - take the tour!) The guide was pleasant, knowledgable, toed the party line but also had his own strong opinions he wasn’t afraid to voice.

Worst ballpark tour: AT&T Park. First, access to just about everywhere was curtailed because of a private event taking over the park. So no dugout, no warning track, no seating bowl, no gorgeous upper-deck-behind-home-plate-photo-of-empty-ballpark. We were rushed in and out of the press box, and spent too much time standing on the windy upper deck while trying to hear the guide. the group was far too big (it was over 40 people) and 10 of them were a group of three women and their children who spent the entire tour talking to each other. I have no idea why they were there. It is also the only tour I have ever taken where there was a play for tips at the end of it.

Tuesday morning, we took off for Phoenix. The hotel was right near the airport, and the light rail into downtown Phoenix stopped steps from the hotel. (It does not run to the airport just yet.) Walking out of the airport was like stepping into a blast furnace. You have to have water with you at all times in the desert, especially if you’re not from there. Even then, we would buy water and then only take half of the bottles with us, so we’d have some waiting for us when we got back. This greenhorn error resulted in us having to refill ours from water fountains during the ballpark tour, and also during extra innings on Thursday when all of the stands had closed.

When the game finished at 9pm, we went to find our friend Alan, who lives in California and decided two weeks ago to follow the roadtrip. (You can do that when you are smart, single, flexible, and live in the same state as most of the games.) He drove everywhere, and to be honest, we would have preferred to do the same, but it would have eliminated the small amount of free time that we had, and we would have had to eliminate things like Oakland. (I know the ballpark sucks, I get it, but if you’re doing a ballpark tour, the point is to see the ballparks, whether or not they’re old and decrepit.) We walked over to Cooperstown, Alice Cooper’s restaurant, where we were greeted with a sign informing us that the kitchen was closed… as was everywhere else in downtown Phoenix within walking distance of the ballpark…..at 9:15 on a Tuesday night.

We were walking to the one place we found on Yelp (which had terrible reviews, things like ‘Well, it’s better than nothing’) when I saw the Hard Rock Cafe glittering in the distance. We don’t eat there often, and it’s usually when there are no other choices (or the choices are questionable), but I have never had a bad meal there. We knew they were open, that they served food late, and that there would be sufficient air conditioning.

On the way home, we realized that in 11 days, we ate at exactly three chains*:
-Hard Rock Cafe
-Chipotle
-Denny’s

Each time, it was because of cases of extreme, desperate hunger and nothing else being available. In 11 days, that’s a pretty good record.

(*And before you point out that we ate at In-and-Out burger twice, it does not count as a chain in this list because it’s not available back east.)

We got off the light rail at the hotel and promptly bought half a dozen bottles of various cold liquids and consumed them standing in the parking lot. It was convenient to have the Circle K there, but also humorous that each time we just walked out with drinks. (And those pretzel M&M’s, which we hadn’t been able to find in New York until recently.)  We did not like Arizona. Please do not tell me how beautiful it is on the outskirts, in the summer it is like standing in bus exhaust 24/7, and it is full of crazy people.

Most original fan taunt: ‘THANK YOU FOR LEAVING BOSTON,’ aimed at Jason Bay in Arizona. (What did Jason Bay do? I’ll leave it up to you to fill in the blanks.)

Least original fan taunt: Anyone, anywhere, who could only come up with “BOO METS” as we walked by, and then ran away when we tried to counter.

Wednesday morning, we headed for the legendary Matt’s Big Breakfast. You know how Zagat’s rates things as worth a visit/worth a detour/worth planning a day around? Matt’s is the latter, although it still paled in comparison to Al’s Breakfast in Minneapolis, which we experienced in all its glory when we went out to see Target Field.  We had time to kill when we were done, and TBF naturally suggested that we walk to the ballpark in order to get some local color.  I believe it took about a quarter of a second of a withering ‘you have GOT to be kidding me’ glance for him to realize that this was a tactical error, even if it was slightly overcast that day and therefore we were not melting on the sidewalk like abandoned crayons (for the one and only time we were there).

We headed back to the light rail which deposited us in front of Chase Field for the 12:30 tour. We had about a 20 minute wait; we thought it would be okay. 20 minutes in Phoenix heat is a lot. We finished our pathetic one bottle of water about 15 minutes into the tour, and refilled it twice from water fountains as we walked around. (As I mentioned above, our brains can’t seem to grasp the concept of bringing the drinks we purchase actually along with us.) It was reasonably engaging, but not as fascinating as the tour guide initially asserted: “Most fans don’t look up, and they don’t look down” - which is reasonable advice, but the park just isn’t *that* interesting. The tour guide was competent and knowledgeable, with a nice loud voice (he was a former Phoenix police officer).

We did a round trip loop to the hotel and back again in time for BP. Chase Field allows access behind the dugouts, where there was stiff competition from way more professional autograph collectors than I ever like to see. Maybe it annoys me because I’m not interested in yelling for balls or autographs or gloves or hats or anything, and while I’d like to say that I don’t judge those who do, I do judge them, so let’s not waste time pretending otherwise. It is worse when people don’t say please, or act as though it’s their right to request things from players; I’m thinking of a particular rocket scientist at Dodger Stadium who spent the entire game screaming at poor Sergio the ballboy to give him a ball and when Sergio, quite rightly, ignored him, he finally screamed that Sergio sucked. (I am sure poor, poor Sergio was wounded by those remarks as he got a $100 tip from Andre Ethier for getting his car washed [or something similar].)

Chase Field writeup [coming] | Photos: BP 7/20 | Game 7/20 | BP & Game 7/21 | Tour

Worst Mets loss: The Saturday game at Dodger Stadium, because of the parade of pitchers, because of the lack of offense, because of the poor defense, and because Ollie gave up the winning run.

Best Mets loss: The first game at Chase Field with Dan Haren on the hill, because at least it was done by 9pm.

Thursday morning, we’re back on a plane to head back to Southern California to visit our final ballpark on the trip.  Our car this time is a tiny little silver Honda that I dub “the rollerskate”. We check in, change, head to In-n-Out, and then are on the freeway to Dodger Stadium. This is where all my dire predictions regarding insane LA traffic finally make sense to TBF, who stops questioning the need to allocate extra time to all travel plans in this city. That said, we arrive at Chavez Ravine at 4:15 (it took us about an hour and a half) and although the ballpark opens at 5:10, that doesn’t mean that the parking lot opens early. We went down to Echo Park, obtained water and snacks, and killed time by driving down to Silverlake and back.

When we got back up to the entrance at the top of Elysian Way at about 5:07, they were still instructing people to turn to the left and right, and anyone who drove into the parking lot was sent to turn back out again. We went down the hill and turned around, and crawled up very slowly until our watches said 5:10, and then turned into the lot. We were about to be sent away again until a guard with some brains had the cars line up at each payment booth and then, after someone blew the magic whistle, the gates opened. It should have been a warning that we were going to hate this place, but I was so excited to be there that I didn’t care.

We parked the car and began our long walk into the ballpark. The parking lots immediately adjacent to the physical stadium complex are *all* preferred parking. Imagine if the normal parking for Shea had been out on Astoria Boulevard - that’s the kind of distance you are walking at Dodger Stadium if you are one of the great unwashed. By the time we finally got to the field level gate (that’s another Dodger Stadium oddity, you have to enter on the level for which you are ticketed - more on this in the full writeup), made it through the security checkpoint, and into the ballpark, we were then told we couldn’t go to our seats since they don’t open up the right field side of the park until 5:45.

But our seats were incredible, the ballpark beautiful, the night lovely. It is too bad that it was yet another loss, but at that point I think we were inured to them. It gave me all the excuse I needed to tell Alan to meet us down on Sunset at a bar called the Shortstop, just around the corner from the ballpark. It’s a former cop bar with a vivid history, and it’s now owned by one of my rock and roll favorites, Greg Dulli.  We had a beer, we dealt with hugs from expat Mets fans and boos from Dodgers fans, and then did the nighttime ‘drive down Sunset and see all the legendary rock and roll hotspots” - I have been to LA at least a dozen times, if not more, but it was TBF’s first time, and so we cruised by the Riot House and the Roxy and the Rainbow, before getting back on the freeway to the hotel.

Worst Music: I’d like to award this to Dodger Stadium and “I Love LA,” but Randy Newman is Randy effing Newman. Instead it goes to that excreble Dbacks song they play at the end of their games, which makes “Go Cubs Go” sound like “River Deep, Mountain High”.

Best music: Oakland Coliseum, believe it or not. Maybe it was a little bit of a time warp there, but it fit the context and the surroundings.

Friday was an off day, except not really, because we were booked on the 11:30 tour of Dodger Stadium. We left at 9am, expecting the worst, but were at the downtown LA exits just shy of 10am. What did we do? We went looking for this place downtown. (It will require a fairly obsessive knowledge of rock history to know what that place was, but I will give you the hint that it used to be a liquor store.) We grabbed breakfast and then headed onto the 101 one exit and back up the hill to Dodger Stadium.

Once you make it through security, you are directed to follow a very, very, very long blue line painted on the concrete to get to the box office open at the very top of Dodger Stadium. You can see the HOLLYWOOD sign from the upper deck, and the skyline of ‘downtown’ LA in the other. (They’re so cute with their little skyline.) I liked this tour because it was no-nonsense (no suites, no clubhouse, but press box, luxury club, warning track and visitor’s dugout), and because the guide said “You can’t walk on the grass, but you can touch it, lay your arm on it, grab a couple of blades.” I told the joke about Walter O’Malley, Hitler and Stalin, which none of the Dodgers fans had heard before, and we had a nice chat with one of them about Robert Moses (which was the last thing I ever expected).

We had lunch at a Korean taco truck, paid our respects to Johnny and Dee Dee Ramone, did the tourist thing over on Hollywood Boulevard (TBF had never been to LA), checked out the Capitol Records building, and then he went to drive down Mulholland Drive while I went to a Korean spa. We had a very nice dinner in downtown LA and then crashed HARD, because - guess what? - we had a baseball game to go to the next day.

Worst mascot: The Swinging Friar. He was just creepy. We didn’t even make a half-hearted attempt to pursue a photograph with him.

Best Mascot: It’s a tie between Stomper from the A’s and Lou Seal from the Giants. TBF got photos with both of them. Stomper is ADORABLE and Lou Seal was just a great mascot, active and personable.

Our last game, at Dodger Stadium, was good and bad, just like the overall Dodger Stadium experience. We were there early, we walked around, we took photographs, I got busted by security on the grounds my lens was too long (it’s not), we had obnoxious Dodger fans throw things at us, we killed two beach balls, and the Mets lost. We had the best seats of the entire trip, which made it a mixed blessing as the game went into extra innings.

There was a point at which TBF said “They’re trying to be the Yankees,” and he didn’t even mean it as an insult. But the vibe that’s closest to Dodger Stadium is, quite honestly, the House of Evil. The moat, the celebrities, the security guards with headsets reminding you more of bouncers at an exclusive club than at a baseball stadium, the division between the haves and the have-nots, the people who put on a Dodger shirt because it’s just what you do.  It’s unfair, because we met some great Dodgers fans, and maybe if we’d sat upstairs the experience would have been completely different.

We finished the trip by consoling ourselves after the loss at Amoeba Records, and then having dinner with one of my best friends in the whole world. We flew out early Sunday afternoon instead of staying for the last game and taking the red-eye back. Given the team’s performance on the roadtrip, and the heat in LA that day, I for one am very, very glad that we did.

THE LOGISTICS:

We started planning this trip in September, 2009, once the 2010 schedule was finalized. We have a rolling savings account for things like this, but started a separate one once we had the dates lined up. We requested the time off in December, and started buying tickets in January.

For everyone who’s going to turn up their noses at this advanced preparation, you can do that, and I will tell you flat out that you are stupid and short-sighted. I can tell you that without serious advance planning we would not have had as successful a trip as we did. Everything went right, which is astounding on a trip with this many moving parts. We sat in incredible seats, which, while not cheap, we did not aimlessly throw money at. Each ticket bought was based on a careful estimate of the market as well as our own wants and needs. We were not flying 3,000 miles to wing it at each game and hope we got lucky.

For example, the first game in San Francisco was purchased in an early Giants presale that was tied to Mastercard. We knew about it because we signed up for the Giants email list, Facebook account, Twitter feed, and talked to Giants fans I knew on Twitter. That game was, as you may remember, the Tim Lincecum bobblehead game, and if we hadn’t bought tickets in the onsale and waited for some idiotic reason, we would have undoubtedly ended up paying a premium on the secondary market for inferior quality tickets. Instead, we sat on the field level in very nice seats, paid face value, and as a result, had the resources to purchase those lovely Lexus Dugout Club seats when we found them. (And while those were pricey, they were less than you think they were.) 

So you can frown on planning as much as you want, but there is no way we would have sat in great seats at every Mets game if we hadn’t done the initial research, continued to monitor the inventory, and knew the prices. You want to sit in the last row of the upper deck? We can do that at home, we don’t need to do it on the road, in stadiums we have never been to, and may not ever get back to.

We did not check any luggage, opting to do laundry halfway through the trip in Phoenix. If we couldn’t carry it, we didn’t bring it. However, we did buy souvenirs, and the solution to that was to buy Priority Mail flat rate boxes and cram them full of stuff.  (Souvenir soda cups take up a lot of room, as do stuffed mascots.)

We only rented cars twice, for LA and Anaheim. In fact, we strongly considered not renting a car for the Anaheim-SD leg since we were staying walking distance from Angel Stadium, the Amtrak stop was right there, and were staying near the trolley in San Diego. It worked out to be the same financially so we opted for the car. Everywhere else, we took public transit.

As for hotels, we used Starwood points to get free or deeply discounted rooms. The biggest values were in San Francisco and LA; our hotel at LAX wasn’t sexy but it was free, and our San Francisco hotel was a million times nicer than we could have afforded via rack rate. We are avid Priceline fans, but did not use it for this trip since we needed to be in specific areas, and because rental car lines at LAX are insane in the summer. (I have various car rental preferred memberships from previous lives.)

The biggest aspect that worked in our favor was that every team was in California at some point during the two weeks, so that by giving up three Mets games, we were able to see three additional ballparks, and still see six Mets games. We also could have fit another game in on the off day, and would have done so if the Mets had been doing well. As things shook out, it was actually a relief to have a day off at that point.

The ballparks we have left to visit together: Colorado, US Cellular, Progressive Field, Comerica, Turner Field, and the two Florida ballparks. (TBF has been to the Cell and Comerica.) It’s not going to be hard to figure out how to get to Cleveland, Detroit or Chicago; but we hate Florida, and have no reason to visit Denver or Atlanta unless there’s a concert we want to see (although the same could be said for Florida). It will be fun to see the 2011 schedule when it arrives.

My take: no one will do it. Six bloggers will write about it and there will be a litany of excuses about money spent and promises made and that it won’t help and the Wilpons already have our money and they don’t care (with a derail to blame Carlos Beltran, because what would a litany of complaints about the Mets be these days without blaming Carlos Beltran somehow)?

Would people do it?

The idea floated was to show up at Citi Field - don’t pay for parking, take the train or hike in from street parking - and sit outside in protest. August 25 was the date thrown out.

I love protest and civil disobedience like no one’s business but I don’t see the greater Mets fan community getting behind this. These are people who defended the Mets throwing out the guys with the K cards last year on the grounds that “duct tape could damage the signs!” (the same signs that are built to sit outside 365 days a year in all weather conditions). People will protest that we’re getting in the way of their good time.

I am happy to pound the virtual pavement in favor of this if anyone, at all, thinks it has legs. I just don’t think that it does. I wish it did.

Join The Citi Field Sit Out on August 25!

It was not a good game. In fact, it was the complete opposite of good. Given that it happened after the lovely Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony, it was like going to church in your Sunday best and then throwing up all over your patent leather shoes.

The highlight of that part of the afternoon was this:
Oliver Perez appears out of the bullpen, but has not yet been announced by Alex Anthony. The gentleman to my left (wearing an I’M CALLING IT SHEA shirt, which to me indicates a level of taste and intelligence, especially since I was wearing one myself) sits up with interest. He straightens his shirt. He removes his hat and runs his hands over his hair. He opens a bottle of water, takes a sip, swishes it around his mouth.

“Now pitching for the Mets: number 46, Oliver Perez,” comes out of the speakers.

My neighbor leaps to his feet: ‘BOOOOOOOOOOO! BOOOOOOO!”

It was the loudest, most heartfelt, most purposeful and direct booing of a baseball player I think I have ever heard, and he was by no means the only one. There were about a dozen people left in the ballpark at that point (thankfully, the Yankees fans had all departed) but boy did they sound like a cast of thousands as soon as Oliver Perez’ name was uttered over the PA.

Jon Niese did not have it. I suppose that is a kind and charitable way to say “The Dbacks were teeing off on our pitcher” but there, let us say it. Jon Niese did not have it today. He did not have it today, and for some reason, the brain trust that manages our bullpen didn’t get someone up and warming their arm after the first three-run HR.  If this is starting to sound disturbingly familiar, I assure you that I am not in some time machine that took me back to Friday night. Once again, the Dbacks were having batting practice off of our starting pitcher. The highlight of his start was the organist playing “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out” during coaching visit to mound. “Bad Scooter really is searching for it,” I said, lamely, making a stupid inside joke pun that even we didn’t laugh at because there was nothing to laugh it.

There was less ineptitude on the field, but please, please, please, tell me why Alex Cora is in the lineup. I am starting to believe that this is all some kind of reality show or performance piece being executed by Jerry Manuel, because he cannot be taking things seriously with the lineups he is putting out there.  I look at Jeff Francoeur, and I think, “Jeff, I get it, you’re a nice guy, you make the beat writers’ jobs so easy, you’re the easy-going white dude that always has a good quote.” When I interviewed Jeff at the Humane Society event, I saw the switch go on, the switch in his brain that says “give good quote now” but fer the love o’ pete, TAKE A GODDAMN PITCH.

It was just so overwhelmingly sad after the lovely Hall of Fame induction ceremony. [Riddle me this: why was it ‘WELCOME TO METS HALL OF FAME CAP DAY” instead of ‘WELCOME TO THE METS HALL OF FAME INDUCTION DAY”? You could still get in the “sponsored by OUR EVIL CORPORATE OVERLORDS” if you had to.] And it just made things odd in the crowd. There were boos from the upper half of the Promenade, which was telling, because the upper rows of the Promenade are where the season and partial plan ticket holders sit. Lower down, a little more, and then even lower, less so. There you had the families with kids and people posing for photographs with Citi Field in the background - in the middle of the inning, despite the fact that there are 18 conveniently-timed breaks in the course of the game during which one could pose for a photo. Do you really think you’re going to be able to tell with your little point and shoot that that was David Wright at bat when you took your photo? Can you even get that much of the field in? No, of course you can’t. It astounds me that people choose the middle of the inning to take their beauty shots when they have seen these breaks in the game, they know they are there. They don’t use them to get beer or snacks, but they know the breaks exist.

Then there was the large group of about 20 to my left. Many of whom were Yankees fans. How do I know? Because they were all wearing Yankees stuff, or spent the entire game playing games on their phones or talking to their friends, or were glued to their Blackberries watching the game there. To which I say, why were you here?  I hate the Yankees like nobody’s business, but I wouldn’t go to a regular game in the Bronx, let alone a game with a pre-game ceremony, wearing Mets stuff, UNLESS THE METS WERE PLAYING. Furthermore, I’d feel guilty taking a ticket to a game with a ceremony honoring something or someone because I would feel that that ticket would be better given to, say, AN ACTUAL YANKEES FAN.

They were rude. They stood up and yakked without regarding to the action on the field, and told people to “calm down” when people asked them to please take their seats. (And for once it actually wasn’t us.) They brought up Johan’s start at Yankee Stadium as though that was the only time the Mets and the Yankees faced each other the entire season. They asked “Is this the Cyclones or the Mets?” They sang “The Mets suuuccckk” during the “we’ll root-root-root for the home team” line during “Take Me Out To The Ballgame”. We finally changed seats after that because I told TBF I was concerned that the woman was getting drunker and more belligerent as the game went on. I do not want to start a thread of “Yankees fans suck” because I know a lot who are not like this. But these fans are why their fanbase gets a bad name.

And the game sucked. Seriously, why did they not stay home and watch their team on television, with their newly acquired players, and their dude chasing a record, instead of coming to our ballpark and crapping all over our Hall of Fame day? I know not all Yankees fans are like this, but this made a crappy day that was supposed to be a good day even worse. I don’t even have any witty repartee to relate to you because when people are this rude and obnoxious, it starts to be borderline dangerous to engage with them.

Jerry took out David and Jose. I don’t know why I didn’t just stand up and march out of the ballpark at that moment, because if he’s given up on the game, I am not quite sure why I’m not entitled to as well. TBF is crabbing about how they are fucking up his scorecard by giving wrong information. Oliver Perez comes in, and everyone starts screaming for the bullpen shortly thereafter, disregarding the fact that there was no way another arm was going to be wasted on this freakshow of a massacre masquerading as a baseball game.

When it finally ended, people didn’t get up and storm out in disgust. They sat there shellshocked, or numb, or in sheer disbelief that the Mets just played a game that bad against the Diamondbacks.

But the worst was yet to come. The worst was getting on the subway - on a car we normally don’t ride in because we parked the car at Woodside this time - and hearing an overblown pompous ass announce to all and sundry that “It’s all Beltran’s fault.” The argument proceeded to occur between Mr. Blowhard and Mr. I Have Never Been To Citi Field And I’ve Watched Four Mets Games This Year But I Know Baseball and TBF, because he still can’t let go of trying to convince people of their stupidity, while I have abandoned this effort. TBF tried, quoting numbers from previous seasons, which were met by little knowing smiles and shakes of the head, which always wants me to open up the phone and find his Baseball Reference card, but every time I have ever done that I get something different and astronomically stupid, like: The Mets Spent Their Money In The Wrong Place, or: The Mets Have An Attitude Problem, or He’s Not A MVP Level Player And He Doesn’t Play Hard. I would say something like “The Beltran nonsense [e.g. fans with ‘Beltran is a clubhouse cancer’ type bullshit] makes me want to abandon baseball for good” except that I know I’m lying and I know the rest of you will quite rightly laugh at me and relate even more ridiculous periods of history that you have lived through, which I invite you to share with me here.

I am boycotting television broadcasts for the rest of the week because I have two weeks of roadtrip writing to catch up on and I am hopeful the cool perspective of Howie Rose will restore my sanity. This week is make it or break it for this team.