Saturday, June 16, 2007

GIVEN TO FLY. [06-15-07]

[If you don’t get it, read this. And this.]

We are all home now, safe and sound, tired and happy, relieved and exhausted from the adrenaline rush, the murmurings of silent (and not-so-silent) prayer, the shouted entreaties and shared rollercoaster of emotions. They did it; the Mets triumphed over Bora$$ and the hired mercenary with the strained groin, the 26 rings, the Gold Gloves, the MVP’s, the arrogance and entitlement that is still so fresh and new to me. Sitting in a bar in Jersey (I shoulda thought about that) with Coop, at the bar in our Mets hats, staring at multiple television screens, holding our breath, clapping, shouting, banging on the bar (at least towards the end). The food was there for sustenance and I ate as quickly as possible because I knew I would need my energy and I knew my appetite would disappear as the game went on, no matter how the Mets played.

How the Mets played. Our heroes and our missing heroes and our new heroes. TBF txting, “DELGADO = KILLING US” and just feeling sad that he of all people cannot get through the mental block. Al Leiter being permanently placed on my shit list; if he used the word “INCONSISTENT” just ONE MORE TIME, I would have made them turn the volume down (Channel 9 - again, we were in JERSEY). Then he made fun of Rick Peterson and started giving away trade secrets, trying to zoom in on that rolled-up lineup card Rick takes notes on. “AL, SHUT UP,” my notes read. Al, you were onstage at SHEA with Bruce f’ing SPRINGSTEEN - oh, nevermind. “He’s struggling” - yes, Al, that’s why Willie left him in for so many innings - not that it would be beyond Willie to leave someone in once they were starting to char around the edges, but not Ollie, not tonight.

Sad that Ollie’s leaps were more subdued. Or maybe that was the Channel 9 / YES camera angles. We certainly didn’t get any home run dances either, although we did get to see the butt-smacking, hand-grabbing that ensued when He Who Shall Not Be Named returned to the dugout. What a fraud.

How bad is it that we were hoping that Julio got ejected for arguing with the ump? How bad is it that in the next breath I loudly made sure to admonish the Yankees fans next to us for cheering the ability to catch Moses stealing: “It would be like getting your GRANDFATHER out” I believe was the comment.

And it all came down to that one moment. In left field. When it’s going back and the Yankees fans are on their feet cheering and I am wondering just how much I can hide underneath my hat and

and
and
and

Carlos Gomez launches himself into orbit and does what he probably didn’t even think he could do.
“He’s got it! He’s GOT it!” small cries of joy and disbelief and relief.
“Was it going out?” TBF txt. “YES,” I hurriedly type back.
Channel 9 wasn’t going to show that replay as many times as they showed the questionable (in their opinion) stolen base.

Until the very end - the very end - I was on the edge of my seat, so much so that when it was over, despite the presence of Billy Wagner on the mound, the end came as almost a surprise to me. Breathe. Relax those shoulders. Hug Coop. Get on the PATH train. Transfer to the L train. Stand on the corner of Bedford and N. 7th, starting to txt TBF that I am here and will wait a few minutes - when a familiar face in a David Wright jersey walks up to me.
“Fancy meeting you here,” TBF smiles.
As we walked down Bedford Ave., we kept being felicitated with random “LET’S GO METS!” cries. At one point, I spied a #7 shirt ahead of us, and started chanting, “Jose, Jose, Jose, Jose…”
He turned around, smiling, and finished it for me.

The blue and orange side of the Empire State Building guided us home. TBF sound asleep, me wrestling Photoshop and the muse.
No matter what happens tomorrow, we got one. This one. The one They said we didn’t have a chance to win.

Friday, June 15, 2007

tickets for sale REDUX

Here’s what’s for sale:

The seats are located in Mezzanine Reserved 29, Row E.
$62 per pair (face), offering to MG readers at $52 per pair.

Sat 6/23 vs. Oakland Athletics 7:10 PM Mr. Met T-Shirt
Sat 7/14 vs. Cincinnati Reds 7:10 PM Ralph Kiner Night
Sat 7/28 vs. Washington Nationals 7:10 PM Travel Mug
Sat 8/11 vs. Florida Marlins 7:10 PM David Wright Jersey Bag

Email to metsgrrl at gmail dot com.

ARE YOU READY TO TESTIFY?

I’ve started three articles so far about tonight’s game and the weekend’s series and have tossed out all of them. I wrote an open letter to TBF that essentially said, please try to assume some kind of zen warrior mode when you go to the House of Evil this evening because I do not want to have to go bail you out in the Bronx in the middle of the night, I started a list of reasons I hate the Yankees, I considered writing about how a gentleman’s baseball affiliation can basically tell them everything you need to know about them.

But nothing came close to accurately describing why my stomach hurts when I think about tonight, why I wanted to wear my Jose Reyes jersey on the subway this morning, why I understand how fights happen in a sports context when some Yankees fan starts with “26!” and won’t stop to consider the question, “Right, but what about last year? Or this year?” or when they actually try to pretend that Roger Clemens actually gives a crap about anything except money, or any of the truly horrible things that that team represents.

All of which is not news to any of you reading this right now. But it’s still as new to me as it was to you when you were 13 years old.

• I hate that every newspaper in this goddamn town acts like it’s the second coming of the Messiah when the Yankees beat the PIRATES (for example)
• I hate that tourists come to New York and buy Yankees hats and then wear them everywhere because they think that’s what real New Yorkers do.
• I hate that none of the Canal St. vendors sell fake Mets hats.
• I hate that non-sports fans root for the Yankees because of the myth.
• I hate that non-baseball fans root for the Yankees because they can’t be bothered to learn about any other team.
• And finally: I hate that Steve Earle, Bruce Springsteen and Bono are Yankees fans.

I am going to Hoboken tonight to watch the game with Coop, because I would go insane if I had to watch it at home alone. We need to win this game big time. The Mets know this better than we do. No one even has to say it. we need D.Wright to be D. Wright, Lo Duca to be Lo Duca, OP to be OP, Delgado to be Delgado, Beltran to be Beltran. Ee have everything we need already.

I leave you with this exhortation (which would have been more appropriate for Detroit, I fully realize, but):

“Brothers and sisters, the time has come for each and every one of you to decide whether you are going to be the problem or whether you are going to be the solution! You must choose, brothers, you must choose. It takes five seconds, five seconds of decision, five seconds to realize your purpose here on this planet. It takes five seconds to realize that it’s time to move, it’s time to get down with it. Brothers, it’s time to testify. And I want to know—are you ready to testify?”

Kick out the jams, indeed.

And LET’S GO METS.

FRIDAY PHOTO.

TBF: “At least they’re both hitting.”
MG: “The mushroom cloud could be rising over Manhattan, and Lo Duca would be hitting a single to advance the runner.”

Thursday, June 14, 2007

METS JEOPARDY.,

“Alex, I’ll take ‘Pitching Voodoo’ for $500.”

Click here for the question. (a search query hit to MG this morning.)

Whatever he had, I’d like to order 1,000 of them for our starting rotation - to go.

GOOD NEWS.

...the Mets can’t lose tonight.

[Courtesy the 8 am comedy stylings of TBF.]

“METS EAGER TO STOP SCUFFLING.”

“The guys are not happy,” manager Willie Randolph said. “They’re not ready to cut their wrists or anything, but they know tonight is the time to get it done.”

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

FROM THE METS’ DEPARTMENT OF HUMOR AND DOUBLE ENTENDRE.

If you have a cool five C note to spare, you may wish to attend this shindig.

How about some alternative activities, like:
“Clown Clinic with Pedro Martinez”?
“Fitness After 50 with Julio Franco”?
“An authentic Japanese tea ceremony with Rick Peterson”?

Leave your suggestions in the comments.

As someone who lived in Stamford, CT, for many years, it makes me laugh uproariously to see all the Mets who live in Greenwich now. I especially adore that the various sides of the tracks that were once only the territory of the WASP are no longer so. (If you’ve ever seen “Gentleman’s Agreement,” I can assure you it was still alive and well in the Fairfield County of my youth.)

ALL THINGS ARE UNTIED.

TBF: “I’m not going to watch the game tonight, or listen to it on the radio, or have Gameday up. But, of course, that doesn’t mean that you can’t.”
MG: “That’s probably a good idea. I have to get up at 6am again tomorrow anyway.”

:::dinner:::

TBF: “Ah, crap.”
MG: “What?”
TBF: “Justin Verlander just threw a no-hitter.”

::TV set goes on. Baseball enters the house.::
:::10pm:::

MG: “I feel like eating some watermelon.”
TBF: “You should go to bed.”
MG: “We could eat some watermelon and watch the beginning of the game.”
TBF: (Pauses, relents.) “Okay.”

:::watermelon:::
:::SNY:::
:::Hong-Chih Kuo:::
:::Johnny Maine!:::
:::David Wright!:::

MG: “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”
TBF: “Maybe you’re right.”

:::TV left on:::

1. Wilson Betemit
(No one says anything. It’s only one run. He won’t do it again.)
2. Matt Kemp
(TBF storms over, turns off television. I go into my office to research Chicago hotels, and furtively put on WFAN.)
3. HONG-CHIH KUO.
(Radio abruptly shut off.)

A few minutes later:

TBF: “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
MG: “What now???”
TBF: “NOT AGAIN!”
MG: “Notice how I didn’t say anything. I thought you weren’t watching!”
TBF: “I opened up Gameday.”

Luckily I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, and didn’t know the score until I got off the train in downtown Brooklyn around 8am. Running late, I couldn’t really stop, but while standing at a traffic light, I managed to txt “mets score” to GOOGL. (It’s very handy. Try it some time.)

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I yelled as the light changed.

“Early-season test, gentlemen. Early-season test,” Randolph said. “We’ve got to keep grinding it out and find a way to get a win tomorrow before we go back home.”

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

GOIN’ CALI.

Well he’d been hearing too many voices and feelin’a little off-rack
Like there was something big pressing down on his back
So he called up his friends and they said come on out west
It’s a place where a man can really feel his success

From Lone Star Mets:

“Ok, Willie’s autobiography should be called: Leaving your starter in 3 innings too long when it is obvious to everyone in the ball park except me that nothing good could possibly come of it, this sort of thing is my bag, Baby by Willie Randolph.”

From Marty Noble:

“The Mets are looking for what works and trying not to lose their minds in the process.”

From the New York Times

“The Philadelphia Phillies have lost more games than any professional franchise in any sport.”

[Sorry, I threw that one in there for morale.]

From Jessica:

“I’m tempted to just recap what I had for dinner on Saturday instead of talking about the Saturday and Sunday games. I mean, really, why would I want to write about those damn seagulls all over the field and the inability to hold a lead and Delgado being Del-Godawful with RISP and those seagulls and Gomez going back and forth between “Endy 2.0” and “Milledge at Fenway” and that atrocious CW11 commercial for the Subway Series that made my ears hurt and FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, CAN WE GET PLACIDO POLANCO OUT FOR ONCE?”

From Metstradamus:

“I, my friends, am grumpy. And at this moment, I sincerely don’t feel like putting things in perspective, keeping a happy face, turning the other cheek, noting that before tonight Hernandez has been nothing short of spectacular, or anything else that resembles positivity. This blog post, as are all blog posts, are not a reflection on how things will go the rest of the season, but rather a snap shot of how I feel at the moment. And guess how I feel right this very moment? I feel grumpy.”

From Zoe:

“Of course almost as soon as I write this, the lead gets trimmed to 3-2. And then the Dodgers friggin’ tie it up. Usually, I would blame the Evil Eye. Today, I blame Posh. Ok, not really. But if we lose this one, it might just want to smack the frosted lipstick off her face. Yikes, did I write that!? Sorry, Posh! It’s transference. Oh, but you’re still tacky, and get your hands off the ball. Yeah, sometimes I forget I really shouldn’t live-blog.”

From Alyssa:

“This is just depressing. I mean really. The Mets are coming. The Angels are coming. Both of which have solid pitching and that is not a good remedy for an anemic offense.”

[WHERE? WHERE WAS THIS ALLEGED ANEMIC OFFENSE??!]

From MG:

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Whaddya want? I had to be up at 6 a.m.