Friday, July 20, 2007

EXPRESSWAY TO YOUR HEART.

So I could write about TBF nudging me during the encore break at the special Crowded House showcase last night, a night where I was not even going to think about baseball because I WAS BUSY and the Mets have been, well, the Mets, and despite all that, me picking up the phone and getting a 2-0 score courtesy of Google, and then a 4-0 score, and me and TBF and Coop in disbelief, but not truly understanding disbelief until the next query yielded NEW YORK 6 LOS ANGELES 0 1ST INNING, at which point certain people started looking at their watches and peering at the setlist (not me - okay maybe a little. I had been waiting an awfully long time for this, though) and me in my head surveying what venue suitable for watching this new Mets team were in our immediate vicinity (best ones I came up with were the Irish pub next door, the Outback across the street, and David Wright’s apartment a couple of blocks away).

When the show ended, we ran out of the building as fast as we could, not to get ahead of the crowd or to catch a train, but to get to a television. The Irish pub next door might have worked, except they were blaring death metal, and it was not exactly functioning as a palate cleanser.

So Coop went back to Jersey and we sprinted home to Brooklyn in time to move the car before alternate side kicked in, with the obligatory stop to peer in the window of the Turkey’s Nest at the televisions that would have the game on them:
“Is that number 9?”
“9-5? That can’t be 9-5”
“No, that says 9 and Mets.”
“It’s 9,” said a Mets-hat-wearing smoker on the sidewalk, “But man, they had to pull Glavine out.”
Hmmmm.

So it is late by the time we get home and even start watching the damn thing, and we can’t check email or talk to anyone about what is going on and why Glavine got pulled out because of spoilers, and so we watch the first inning and then we fast forward until we see why, exactly, Tommy G. got pulled out, me screaming at the television GARY WE DO NOT CARE ABOUT TOMMY’S 300TH WIN, HE IS KILLING US RIGHT NOW, and then remembering the neighbors, and the cat is not happy because we are alternately yelling invective at the television and high-fiving each other, and before we know it the clock says 1:42 and suddenly we have to try to go to sleep or we will be completely worthless at work in the morning.

I could write about all of that, and I guess I just did. So while I am writing about all of that:

I’D LIKE TO EXTEND A HEARTY “WELCOME BACK” TO MR. MARLON ANDERSON. Who I always quite liked.

I know we all feel like we have been writing the same blog post over and over and over. But I feel a little bit different after last night, combined with the trouncing we gave Mr. Peavy earlier this week. I don’t know if it’s HoJo or the extra BP or what, but I think the tide is turning.

Tonight, however, I have other priorities. But there will also probably be some time for baseball because, after all, there is always time for some baseball. Always.

Have I mentioned my father is coming with us to the game on Tuesday? Stay tuned.

And we are looking to sell our tickets for the 7/28 evening game. Mezz Reserved 29, row E. $52 for the pair ($10 discount for MG readers), includes free express mail shipping. Email MG at metsgrrl dot com (new address!)