Monday, May 21, 2007

NEW YORK GROOVE.

So I didn’t go to Sunday night’s game. Both TBF and I got second chances from the Mets, and although we evaluated our ticket options, on Friday, we were all about “Let’s save that money for a game that really matters”.

Friday night, as I wrestled with 350+ photos from BP and the game, and tried to wrestle my words into something worthwhile, TBF announces that he thinks he wants to go to the game. Crankiness ensues. We sleep on it. He still wants to go. I tell him to go, and then relent. My reluctance was based on the need to start with a new employer on Monday morning, and knowing just how bright eyed and bushy tailed I am after a windy night in the upper deck watching an 8pm game.

Saturday night, we found two singles in adjoining upper boxes, and then I finally realize I just can’t do it and tell him to go. Crankily, I drive him to the 7 train. Crankily, I take up position on the couch with the cat. Crankily, I ordered chinese and endured ESPN commentary, while firing txt messages at TBF.  I had planned to turn off the TV around 10:30 and turn on Howie and Ed, and then we were near the end and I was already crankier, but knew it was probably better to just finish watching it.

All things considered, the game I wish I’d changed my last minute plans to see was Wednesday night’s game, finding myself out in Jackson Heights for Indian food at about 7:30, and TBF texting me to say, “Come on out! Rain delay until 9:15!” I didn’t go because I was tired and wearing work clothes, but should’ve said “fuck it,” bought a sweatshirt at the team store, and sat with TBF to watch midnight baseball. That’s a better memory than any Subway Series.