Friday, October 20, 2006

only love can break your heart

I was going to blow off posting and go hide on the couch with the cat for a little while, but this is not how Mets Grrl rolls. No.

It was there. It was so close. We had every chance in the world. Endy rescued us from the pit of gnawing despair with the one of the best catches you have ever seen, the kind of catch Cliff Floyd would have made when he could have, a miracle catch. Watching TBF’s face as that ball headed towards the Cardinals’ bullpen, seeing his heart sink, and then explode as Endy made that catch. “He saved the season,” his best friend sends in a text message.

And I was there in the front row of the upper deck boxes with TBF, just behind the Mets dugout, fantastic, fantastic seats. It was perfect. I was even singing along to Bon Jovi like I meant it - hell, tonight I DID mean it.  The vantage for photographs was fantastic. (And some day I will likely feel like putting them online. Some day. Just not now.) We should have won this game, easily. Easily. Even at the end, snatching victory from the Cardinals in true New York fashion when we loaded those bases and came back to the top of the order… the fairytale ending had written itself.

Except it wasn’t a fairytale and the ending was less than happy. And with that, the season is over, we leave Shea for the last time in 2006, and life goes back to normal.

At the end of it all, TBF was standing there at the railing, looking at the field. This is the same guy who leaves road games we are losing in a tearing hurry, he doesn’t want to see the other team celebrating.
I grab his hand.
“Come on.”
“No. I need to see this.”

I vaguely recall that he and his best friend had a tradition about sitting and watching all the award presentations for playoff games. That is fine and dandy when it is not your team that has lost and when it is not happening in your house. I did not want to sit through that, and rationally, I knew he didn’t either. So I pack everything up and then when I am ready, I grab his hand again. All this time, I have not looked at the field once. I am not going to look at the field, and I do not regret that I did not. I finally managed to coax him out of the box and up the stairs and onto the concourse and through the sea of humanity and onto the 7 train, where I sobbed like a 12 year old boy and TBF sat there stunned and we held hands because we couldn’t fucking SAY anything.

I finally said: “You know, I have no idea how to handle this, I have never been through this before. You kind of have to help me here.”
“It’ll take a few weeks,” is all he said.

Now, here is my vent:

The worst thing about the night was that there were two Cardinals fans next to us. I could have dealt with it if they had had some guts and stood up and supported their team. They only got loud when things picked up, and the girl next to me was a pink hat girl: not that she was wearing one, but she was exactly the kind of girl those hats are made for. When we applauded Oliver Perez as he ran out towards the bullpen, she turns to me and says: “Who’s that? Why are they clapping for him.”
“He’s the *pitcher*.”
“Oh.”
Who the FUCK goes to a playoff game AND DOESN’T KNOW WHO IS PITCHING FOR THE OTHER TEAM??
And, again, I could have dealt with it if she had just been a Cardinals fan. But she would clap for the Mets and then clap for the Cardinals, get angry at bad ump calls against the Mets and then get angry at dumb things various Cardinals did, even though it was so clear she had no real idea what was going on.

To make things worse, she talked ALL FUCKING NIGHT, the exact kind of nightmare girl every guy dreads: she talked non-stop about everything except the game, and when the guy she was with didn’t pay her what she felt was the right kind of attention, she would get upset and pout and make a big deal out of it.

YO! GIRLFRIEND! YOU’RE AT A FUCKING BASEBALL PLAYOFF GAME! IT CAN WAIT, WHATEVER IT IS! Trust me here.

She complained that she had no place to put her phone. She complained that she was hungry. She complained that hot dogs made her stomach hurt. Several times. And then went out and came back with a tray of nachos, because, you know, that won’t make your stomach hurt.

Thank god they both left as soon as the game ended, because I could not have dealt, not that they had the temerity to try to trash talk.

===

Sitting on the 7 train, I called our friends in Seattle, like we have after every other win this year. TBF was not talking and I had to talk to SOMEONE, and I figured if I was talking to Alan TBF would finally relent and get on the phone, which is exactly what happened. I hear him say, “It’s only five months until Spring Training,” and I perk up. I have been talking about going to Spring Training since last year and this is the first time TBF has professed any interest in going.

The train ride would have been better if people had been quiet. Getting on the train would have been better if the NYPD were not assholes. And the whole thing would have been better if losing tonight meant all baseball was over for the year.

I will put up the pictures from the game, because I got some gorgeous shots, and I am proud of that. But, not tonight. Now it is time to go hide on the couch with the cat.