Sunday, May 09, 2010
SHOOT THE FREAK. [5-9-10]
Mets v Giants
5-9-10
It was windy and bitter cold today. The weather advisory said the high winds were only supposed to last until 11am, but I had to hold my Mets hat on my head for the distance from the 7 train to the Jackie Robinson Rotunda. There was a brief meeting at the Shea Bridge with Stacy, a visiting Mets fan from the UK - don’t you complain about your Jersey commutes! - and then TBF saw Mr. Met down at the bullpen gate and in pursuit of a photograph, sprinted down the stairs. Mr. Met was busy since it was Kids Club day at Citi Field, but it did get me down to the bullpens in time to stake out a spot, something I had been thinking about attempting today. The reason I say “thinking about attempting” is because of our ridiculous bullpen setup. I knew you couldn’t see much and I knew that photographic opportunities would be even worse. I was not wrong.
This is the best you can do, with a good camera where you can manually focus. You are shooting through two layers of chain link and one layer of plexiglas into the Mets bullpen, and THREE layers of chain link and TWO layers of plexiglas into the visitor’s pen. You can’t get access into the sections that are on either side of the bullpen after BP is over, and the pitchers for the game don’t come out to the bullpens until well after BP is over. So this is your only vantage point.
I liked that all of the bullpen pitchers lined up for ceremonial fist-bumps as Oliver left to start the game:
There were a lot of Giants fans at the ballpark today, and there were a lot of them down at the bullpen (even if no one could tell us who carried the pink backpack for the Giants. I had a guy say that he didn’t care about ‘off-field issues’ and after it was explained to him that every bullpen had the rookie who carried the embarrassing backpack, his only response was to offer us a printed copy of the roster. I could totally understand needing to carry a printed copy of the Mets roster if I was a Giants fan going to a game but his own team?).
I can tell you that there are heating units in the ceiling above the bullpens, and I can also tell you that when the pitchers are warming up, they are on, and you can feel them if you are standing there. Between that, and being out of the gale-force winds, I did not arrive at my seat in 515, Row 5 until about 30 seconds before Oliver’s first pitch. It was cold. It was miserable cold. It was so cold that I put on every single piece of clothing I had brought with me, and thanked my lucky stars I had decided to go with the wool socks and LL Bean moccasins more suited to April baseball. I was optimistic, however, that I was not going to feel the cold, as Good Oliver would show up and earn his money and we would be done quickly and go home. After all, these were the Giants, whose offensive lineup consists of (and I quote), “Pablo Sandoval, and the giant vacuum of suck.” (Copyright: TBF)
Someone made the decision that during the first time through the lineup, they would list the names of the players’ mothers - in pink, of course.
“Angel Pagan’s mother is Gloria,” I said.
“Could you spell that for me?” said TBF, barely containing his mirth.
“Funny guy.”
“I was hoping you would just answer it.”
“‘And her name was G- L- O- R-... yeah, yeah, I was trying to come up with a witty retort and failed.”
There was the observation that having this information would be beneficial to hecklers, but then again, it was Mother’s Day, and we are (mostly) nice people in Flushing. People around us were involved in the game, were talking through strategy and previous performance and how mother effing cold it was. Then there was the woman next to me, who was wearing ballet flats with no socks, a raincoat so flimsy it could have been a summer jacket, and, well, no gloves or hat or anything warm at all. In her defense, her escort was also not wearing suitable clothing for the weather. There were also two dbags in the front row of the section: one guy wearing a David Wright jersey and a NY Giants hat, and his companion who was wearing an old Shea STAFF jacket and a St. Louis Cardinals hat. You know these guys - they need to insert themselves into the game action whenever possible, and they do that by standing up constantly, whether or not the situation warrants it. (Mr. STAFF stood up at the top of the 9th inning and was asked to sit down, and then yelled at to sit down, to which he replied, “IT’S THE 9TH INNING! ARE YOU BASEBALL FANS OR WHAT?” I wanted to answer, “No, we’re actually synchronized swimming fans, we just had nothing better to do today than sit out here in the arctic fucking cold” but TBF beat me to it by pointing out the team on his hat and how they weren’t playing today.)
And then there were the two Giants fans in front of us, who made a big show of plugging their ears whenever we started “LET’S GO METS”. They left early. Most Giants fans didn’t, however, and http://www.flickr.com/photos/metsgrrl/4593217133/in/set-72157624028416546”>some of them even brought their faux-Snuggies from a promotion earlier this year. Really, they were fine, as visiting fans go. (Then again, the bar has just been set so low.)
Oliver was terrible. He was just awful. We were all united in our wish for him to man up, throw strikes, in our disdain at Jerry. “How do you sleep at night??” asked a 15 year old behind me, his cry trailing off in the wind. Nothing anguishes TBF more than walking the leadoff man, so you can imagine what we went through today. They walked Uribe FOUR TIMES, and then the fifth time… yes, he was HBP, which for all intents and purposes, might as well have been a fifth walk.
I can’t get mad at the bullpen. I can’t. They’ve been overused and mismanaged. I can’t get angry at little baby Jenrry Mejia. I mean I could, but it would be misplaced anger. I can get angry at bad calls, but I can also get angry at the Mets’ inability to take advantage of the breaks they got over the course of the game, which is worse than a bad call, because if they had taken advantage of all of the LOB then that bad call wouldn’t have killed us. If there had been run support, the carnage wreaked upon us by OP’s arm would have been minimized, and soon forgotten. If David Wright had not gone for the golden sombrero today, things would have been much less painful. If Jason Bay was not hitting .239… I could go on, but I am not telling you anything you don’t already know, and have thought, likely repeatedly.
Oh, and there was a Cy Young winner pitching today for the opposing team.
Brian Wilson comes in, and I commence making Beach Boys-related jokes.
“Wouldn’t it be nice… if David Wright could hit a home run.”
“God only knows… I’d like Brian Wilson to choke here.”
Coop from My Summer Family had to Tweet me and ask me to stop. However, I am vindicated when the Citi Field AV team play “Good Vibrations” after Aaron Rowand misses that bloop double from Jason Bay.
Top of the 9th inning. After David gets himself thrown out, there is lively discussion in Section 515 about what happens if we go into Bonus Baseball. Because, of course, the bench had already been depleted.
“You put a pitcher in the outfield,” I said.
“Pelfrey in LF,” TBF says. “And then Davis at third.” A pause. “No, Bay at third.”
Of course, by the time we had it all worked out, Francoeur had struck out and it was all moot, and all I could think about was bolting for the 7 train and out of the upper atmosphere to where it was warm.
Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.
*Disclaimer: the title of this post comes from a now-defunct boardwalk attraction at Coney Island, and refers to my proclivities towards shooting photographs of baseball, and not any malice intended towards Mr. Lincecum.
