Friday, September 05, 2008

YOU CAN’T SIT DOWN.

This was a frustrating evening to say the least. Pelf was just fine; but there were “some really crappy at-bats,” to quote TBF, and as you know, zero offensive production from the Mets. Zero. Nada. Zilch. It irks me beyond all comprehension that we got shut out by The Spouse Abuser (sorry, I can’t type his name here). Our only salvation was that, for a change, the fans of the visiting team seemed to be at the top of section 16 (although we did get two in the front of Section 12, very much on the down low - so much so that someone who shall remain nameless was trying to take photos of “the hot guys” in the section, only to be sharply reprimanded. “He’s wearing a red shirt, and he did an obscene fist-pumping motion during that two-run HR,” I hissed).

But we didn’t get off that easy. Of course, we got the token solo Phillies Phan genius on the 7 train, who felt the need to boast, but, as usual for most Phillies fans, had no actual grasp of the facts. TBF finally resorted to, “Even if you sweep us - which the statistics don’t indicate that you will - we’ll STILL be in first place.”
“If you say so,” was the retort.
That’s about the time we gave up.

I have a bet with one of the beer vendors who we always see in the first car of the subway train. If we time it right and I don’t need a pit stop after the game, we can get on the first Super Express out. We have to jostle for space with the vendors who are also doing the same thing, but they’ve been on their feet for the past few hours and we haven’t, so we just lean against a door. She’s been declaring the Mets dead for 6 weeks now, as I reminded her tonight. She reminded me that while there is an emotional component for her to see the season continue past September, there is a not-unsubstantial financial component as well. “I know where you work,” I said, “Because I’ve heard you talk about it. I’m going to come find you in October and get a beer.” “And if I’m there, that beer’s on me,” she agreed.

Speaking of beer, tonight was The Section 12 Semi-Regulars Official Tailgate:

I don’t remember how the subject came up, but Mr. D. (the guy who pays for the redheads to sit in Row F) invited Row E to a tailgate, and we picked this game as one we would all be at but not right at the very end of things. The older brothers wouldn’t be seen at something quite so hokey, but Miriam and Julia and Mr. W were in tow (Mrs. W. being out with season-ending surgery, as I put it, much to her delight), and Mr. D and William and Andrew of course. While I realize there are friendships at Shea that span years and years longer than ours, it doesn’t make it any less important or special because our tenure was just a few years. It’s the most improbable group of people - can you find me another section at Shea that has TWO sets of identical twins, much less sitting one row behind the other? It is not an unique baseball fan story, but it’s a good one, and not to get all “my summer family” on you or anything but I would be very, very happy to be sitting near these people again next year. I want to hear about Andrew and William graduating high school, want to know the older brother gets out of the Police Academy unscathed, that Mrs. W. finishes her physical therapy. I’ve always felt that sitting at Shea sometimes feels a lot like being part of a little village, with its hundreds of stories and subplots and relationships and friendships and personalities. We know these people’s cousins and aunts and uncles and former boyfriends, because they’ve all been at Shea over the course of the past few years. We’ve issued stern reports on the succession of boys the daughter of the gentleman who sits on the other side of TBF brings. We find ourselves policing the seats of the Walrus in front of us, even though we don’t much like him (or the parade of yuppies he gives his tickets to) - they’re HIS seats and it’s OUR section, and we take care of our own.

I don’t want the seats but I would love to have the sign:

It’s sad, because no one knows what’s going to happen next, and it wouldn’t have to be that way if the Mets would bother to communicate. I mean, look at this:. It’s irksome in the extreme that That Team In The Bronx has made the grand public announcement: that ALL plan holders of any shape or size will be accommodated; that there are lovely mini-plans (there’s a 41 game plan that’s driving TBF nuts: “It’s 41 games, which is every other game, PLUS opening day, PLUS your seats for a selection of playoff games!” he keeps bemoaning. “Honey, there’s one small problem with that,” I keep reminding him. The sad thing, of course, is that the Yankees don’t need to accommodate ANYONE, and their ticket office is apparently still back in the days of the horse and buggy (based on what I have heard from Yankees season ticket holders) - but yet they are offering this, and the Mets can’t be boethered to make any kind of public announcement. We can’t plan or save (well, we’re saving, we just don’t know how much we’re going to need!) or discuss our options, and they’re probably going to spring it on us in December and give us two weeks to pay up, probably right after we’ve bought all the Christmas gifts.

Other plan holders in our section just shrug and say, “I guess I’ll just buy a handful of games.” How incredibly STUPID - not the fans, of course, but that the Mets would go out of their way to alienate repeat, loyal customers.  It makes it tough to be excited about the new stadium.

It’s raining softly in North Brooklyn as I write this; I’m hoping against hope that they play the game tomorrow night, and hoping against hope we stand and deliver. That said, GIVE DAVID AND JOSE A DAY OFF ALREADY. (Obviously not at the same time. Doh.)