Saturday, June 19, 2010

SATURDAY, IN THE PARK. [6-19-10]

Mets v Yankees
6-19-10
Subway Series

When a post title is the title of a song I hate by a band I hate, you have to know that it was a miserable day for me in the Bronx. It was miserable because we had our newly-minted ace on the hill, who was not acting at all ace-like. It was miserable because Jose hit two HR’s and it didn’t make a difference. It was miserable because the bats had vanished. It was miserable because the Yankees decided to bring some offense.  Oh, what am I saying - it was miserable because we lost. On the road. At Yankee Stadium. On a Saturday afternoon. Even if you sit quietly and applaud appropriately, you are walking around with a target on your back. That is an easy burden to bear if the team actually wins.

The day started out so well, too. I wanted to believe that the offense would be there and that Hughes wouldn’t have anything good and that Pelfrey would be Pelfrey. Even when the Yankees got ahead of us, it was only two runs. Two runs, even down to the wire, is something you can come back from.

Jose is officially Hated Met #1 at Yankee Stadium now. I would boo him too if he came into my ballpark and hit home runs the way he has been. I just wish they had been home runs that helped win a game. That is not entirely his fault. There were some great at bats, and there were some terrible at bats. I had to avert my eyes when David Wright came to the plate.

Of course, I had the misfortune of being in the line for the steak sandwich when Granderson hit that cheap-ass HR that put them in the lead. If there is something I actively dislike, it is when fans of an opposing team think that they some how have carte blanche to put their arms around me and ‘console’ me. The last time that happened I was at a Pearl Jam show in Philadelphia during the World Series and some ass in a Victorino jersey took me for a Phillies fan - that time I waved at security, who moved the dude, who was not in his correct seating location. But in the Lobel’s steak sandwich line, all I can do is grit my teeth and pray the line keeps moving forward.

Here’s what I don’t get about Yankees fans who start with the trash talking. The exchange is generally something like this:
“So what happened, Mets fan? This is your ace, this is Mike Pelfrey!”
“Um, we won last night? Remember? And we took two out of three last time.”
“27!!!!!!!!!!!”

I always want to say something like, “So why do you guys bother to play? Because your 27 rings mean that you automatically win every game that is ever played, I guess.” Instead, we get this:

Every time this guy stood up, mothers would point him out to their sons and said, “Please, don’t ever be like that guy.” (And yes, the mothers were Yankees moms.) This was the guy who converted “JOSE JOSE JOSE JOSE” into “You’re gay, you’re gay, you’re gay, you’re gay.” Even my 8 year old nephew rolled his eyes at that.  I do not mean to turn this into “Caryn bitches about stupid Yankees fans” because not all Yankees fans are like this and there are plenty of Mets fans that do dumb things too, but Saturdays are just miserable. My sister, who accompanied my nephew this year, is not a big baseball fan, and she was kind of appalled at the whole thing. When I informed her that this had all been relatively mild and that she should never take my nephew to the 400 level, she didn’t know quite what to say.

On the glass half full side: these seats were free, courtesy my dad, who gets them from clients; the weather was lovely; and I got to spend time with my nephew. Yes, he is still rooting for the pinstripes. We took him to the team store and told him to pick out what he wanted as an early birthday present. He now owns a lovely Yankee blue hoodie. I feel good about this. He can take it home and show it to all of his friends and tell them how he picked out the sweatshirt at Yankee Stadium and the Yankees won. I hope this gives him bragging rights among his friends. It was cute encouraging him to boo the Mets when the starting lineups were announced. He was a little tentative at first, because in Little League, of course, they are taught NOT to boo. But his mom was off getting a snack and some good-natured booing of the visiting team is perfectly appropriate. (Hi, Tracey!)

I’m not worried about Pelfrey; on the way home from the Bronx, we made a detour to the Mets Clubhouse store on 42nd Street where I had it on good authority I would find Mike Pelfrey player number shirts. There were two, both with stains; I passed. But I would have happily purchased one had it been available. I am not thinking about tomorrow’s game, I am looking forward to the Tigers series.

Oh, and - we need to vote David Wright into the All Star Game. I know, 25 votes is idiotic, but - Placido Polanco??! Really? We gotta do something about this. TBF is insisting that despite already going to games on Tuesday and Thursday of this week (his AL team is the Tigers, since his family is from the D), we now have to go on Wednesday so we can acquire the David Wright #1 foam fingers the Mets are handing out.  I like this move on their part; it’s fan-friendly, and it serves the purpose of getting fans to the ballpark. (Although it woudl be great if they realized that maybe the brand new $4 per ticket fee and $5 per order service charge might be preventing some folks from buying tickets in advance, but I digress.)

Maybe the Twins fans could help us out and then we can help them out - hold that thought.