Wednesday, July 23, 2008

I WAS BRUISED AND BATTERED.

There’s a neighbor on our block, an old-timer, owns the entire brownstone. He’s fond of the seasonal decorations, you know, those big blow up snowglobes and turkeys and Easter bunnies. He’s also a Mets fan, which means that the Mets flag hangs outside the front door whenever the Mets are in town. Seeing it hang there yesterday morning on the way to work made me feel proud and happy. Not that our neighborhood isn’t a Mets neighborhood, but it was one of those moments when the sun hits the brick just right and it’s quiet for two minutes and it just *feels* like Brooklyn should feel.

I was excited and happy to get to the game, even if I was so exhausted that I almost slept past the Willets Point stop. When we pulled in, I was sure we were at Junction Boulevard, and had to scramble to get past the tourists and confused and slow people. I was early, and I was happy that I would have a few minutes of peace in Section 12 before the madness began.

I do not fault the Phillies “Phans” for coming north. If I was them, I would be heartily tired of us turning CBP into Shea Stadium South for the past few years. However, the fact that it took an organized effort on the part of Philly Phandom to put the idea of the northern migration into the phanbase’s head says all you really need to know about them.

But no, wait: let me introduce you to the foursome who sat in the first row of our section. Two guys, two girls. With signs:
“JAYSON, YOU’RE WERTH IT” [no comment]
“PETE HAPPY #1” [this was for Pedro Feliz. Don’t worry, it took me a minute too.]
“BOO? PHUCK U” [apparently, they thought the All-Star Game was played at Shea]
There was another one that I never got a good look at, but you get the idea.

Our heckles in the course of the evening in response:
“GOT A SIGN FOR *THAT*?”
“WHERE’S YOUR SIGN FOR BRETT MYERS?”
“HOOKED ON PHONICS WORKED FOR YOU!”

All of this was quite amusing for a time. You can imagine about when it started to become less so. Giving a standing ovation for every single seems just a tad out of place. The normally quiet resident of seats 5 and 6 behind us finally snapped at one point and yelled, “Win with some class, you dick.”

TBF became catatonic. The women behind me in seats 8 and 10 assumed various positions of prayer. I myself wished for some kind of religious medal for baseball. (Who is the patron saint for baseball, anyway?) “It’s going to be okay,” TBF said at one point. I, however, knew that So Taguchi was a demon disguised as a pinch hitter, sent from Evermore by the forces of evil with his only mission being to demoralize the Mets until the dawn of time.

So Taguchi.

I will go on record as saying that TBF was in favor of taking Santana out in the 9th, and, for what it’s worth, I agreed with him. Row F did not agree so much, but I am not sure they were right either. I don’t know that there was anything that could have helped the team last night, except for it to be 2009.

TBF is going tonight. I backed out of it, given our busy dance card for the next two weeks (Springsteen and family and our forthcoming trip to Houston). I feel guilty now, leaving him to sit in the upper boxes all alone, but I am exhausted, and will be back at Shea on Friday and Saturday. Despite my best intentions, I know I will be glued to SNY tonight. And so will you.

I am, however, less sure about the necessity of the playoff fund this year.

End notes:

• There’s a spirited discussion going on in the comments over at the Citifield post, regarding the Citi Field pricing. You may wish to join.
• We are heading for Houston and Arlington next weekend, and any advice you have - baseball, culinary or otherwise - would be welcomed.