Friday, April 08, 2011
BRINGING IT ALL BACK HOME. [4-8-11]
Mets Home Opener
Mets v Nationals, 4-8-11
There was so much I loved about today. I loved not going to work, I loved the 4:10pm start time that allowed me to make my leisurely way to the ballpark. I loved the ride on the 7, blue and orange everywhere. I loved pulling into Willets Point and seeing Citi Field from that angle for the first time in months, the parking lots full, tailgates going strong. I loved coming down the stairs and seeing the apple and the rotunda and people posing for photos everywhere you turned. It was hope. It was reprieve. It was full of optimism.
It was Mr. Met bobbleheads, it was buying programs for absent friends, it was finding the store with the shortest line to get that R.A. Dickey shirt and Opening Day pin. It was a few minutes spent staring out at that familiar green grass down on the field level, where the air just smells different, before creatively making our way upstairs. TBF had spent too much money on Promenade Club tickets for Opening Day, but when we were ensconced in a table in the corner, peacefully eating the sandwiches we had brought from home, I was grateful for a place to hide and keep warm and catch a breath. (The first thing he said this morning, after surveying StubHub, was that next year we would be buying our Opening Day tickets on, well, Opening Day.) We met up with friends, there were hugs, there was happiness, there was excitement.
“You know what this reminds me of? This feels like driving somewhere to see Bruce,” I said to TBF. “It’s the seeing something I know I will love, something I haven’t seen in a while, like old friends. I love it because it’s not a new feeling. I love it because I know what it will be like.”
“That’s exactly what it’s like,” he said.
I don’t know how people get to their seats two seconds before first pitch on Opening Day. We scrambled to ours half an hour before first pitch, just as the dulcet tones of Howie Rose accompanied the presentation of the traditional wreath from the Shea family. This was a tradition we had feared would end once the Mets moved across the parking lot, but never fear, the descendants of Bill Shea are here with the blue-and-orange horseshoe. I love that Howie is the voice we hear on days like this, and not Alex Anthony. I like that he is one of us, talking to us as one of us, but yet you could not find someone more professional. He manages to sneak in bits of timbre (or maybe I imagine it), especially when announcing people like Mookie Wilson, or commenting on the loss of Bob Mandt. His voice is warm, and comforting, and such an old friend.
I love the booing of the opposing team during the announcement of the lineups, I love the pageantry of the announcement, that we have to go down the line and announce every single person, every trainer, every equipment manager. I love seeing who tips their hat, who nods, who pretends they don’t hear boos or cheers. It was hard to muster the energy to boo anyone on the Washington Nationals with the exception of Jayson Werth, and the boos rained down unprompted. That’s my people.
By the time we got to the Mets, I was starting to feel a little misty, a little emotional. It has been a long, hard offseason. There has not been much to be happy about. It is just good for it to be April and for there to be Mets baseball. There are people missing, there are new faces. Love rains out of the sky for Mookie Wilson, who looks surprised at his reception. The trainers do not get booed this year, which is refreshing. Chris Young gets considerable (and well earned) applause, which he seems surprised by. Pedro Beato gets applause, and special standing ovation from me (and others, I am quite sure) for his treatment of Shane Victorino in the Phillies series. Mike Pelfrey, however, does get booed, which angers me - but I am equally pleased when Francisco Rodriguez is unilaterally booed.
Terry Collins is hanging off of the dugout stairs, hands holding both rails on either side, swinging back and forth like a speed skiier waiting to take off. His name is announced and he bounds down the line. Jose Reyes is like a greyhound out of the gate, flying at full, unchecked speed. The difference in watching Jose Reyes this year is just amazing, Jose at full Reyes, fleeing like a cheetah. David Wright springs off of the steps with equal energy and verve. There are less boos for Beltran than I would expect. Lucas Duda has some kind of “Duuuuuu” cheer. Hu gets a very loud “HUUUUUUU”. Daniel Murphy gets the cheers because he is Daniel Murphy.
The flag is unfurled, the anthem is sung, and Ralph Kiner comes out to throw the first pitch to Mookie Wilson. He did not throw from the rubber, but he did get it across the plate. And he was rocking an amazing fur coat, which I did not get to get a shot of.
Before I know it, there is the battery walking in from the bullpen. The organ is playing the notes to “Meet the Mets” and Jose comes running across the field and David runs to third base and bends over and touches the infield dirt - and it is time for baseball. IT IS TIME FOR BASEBALL!
My reverie ended by the third inning, when I realized that it was the third inning and it felt like the sixth inning and R.A. Dickey could not do anything with “The Thing” and only his fastball seemed to be effective (in a manner of speaking), and it started to dawn on me that on Opening Day, the 2011 Mets were going to be beaten by the Washington Nationals. That was when the cold seeped in, when the gloves and wool scarf and extra layers came out, when the cold started to seep into your bones. It was a damp cold, an unfriendly cold, a cold that could have been easily warded away by the need to stand up and cheer on a regular basis, except this did not happen.
There was a point at which we thought there would be a rally - to be fair, there were several points. I can’t really say “They battled,” but for a while there, they were trying to come back. It’s hard to say whether the came was lost when Hu came in to bunt (which turned TBF apoplectic at the thought of giving away an out) or whether it was the parade out of the bullpen kicking off a carousel of walks. Something went wrong, something felt a little too Mets 2010 for me.
But it is early, right? Right. It is early. There are many more games to play. It is April. Right? Right.
The ballpark was not sold out. I do not care what the Mets say on paper, but the ballpark was not sold out. There was some trickery, some manipulation of figures. A 4:10pm game on a Friday would have been packed if it had been sold out. I don’t fault people for not showing up, I don’t fault people for thinking it wasn’t worth the vacation day, I really do not. But let us not pretend that there was some huge demand for this game, because there just wasn’t. There is a reason that we did not get the magnetic schedule today, but instead on Sunday - because people will show up to the first Sunday game of the year (especially if it is going to be 70 degrees out) but to get them there on Friday, offer them a Mr. Met bobblehead. (It’s a good quality bobblehead, and will look nice on my desk next to my Home Run Apple bank.)
The ballpark started out loud. There were people standing at the top of the Promenade, people were cheering without aid of Diamondvision. But everyone just got the life sucked out of them over the course of the game. Everyone came to this game believing. R.A. Dickey was going to be our ace, our savior, our Renaissance Man leading us out of the darkness! He still may do that, but he didn’t do it today, which was sad, and unfortunate.
Groundskeeper Pete Flynn was honored during the game. He was sitting in the good seats with his family, and the grounds crew came out in the tunnel to applaud him. I still marvel at that footage of the Beatles at Shea Stadium, because I had seen it so many times in my life, them being driven out to the stage, and didn’t know it was Pete Flynn behind the wheel until last year.
The park emptied out, little by little. It was Friday. There were places to go. There was traffic to beat. There were hockey games (apparently). Of course, we stayed. We stayed, because that is what we do, and because there were no express trains back to Brooklyn anyway, and because it was Opening Day and we have been waiting what seems like forever for baseball to start. And now, it has started. I want to believe this year will not be terrible. On paper, it has the potential to be enjoyable baseball. On the field - well, who knows.
See you back at Citi Field on Tuesday, when I plan to reclaim my mayorship of El Verano Taqueria.
P.S. There are now knishes on the Promenade. They were warm and delicious.
Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.
