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RIDE THE LIGHTNING. [06-10-08] | metsgrrl.com



I was happy to head out to Shea tonight, believe it or not. No one at my office could believe that after a day in sitting in an unairconditioned office (it is freezing in that place every single day of the year – except today) I was voluntarily going to sit out in the ballpark in sweltering heat. But I know, like you do, that it wasn’t going to be 97 at Shea, and that the breeze would come in and it would be almost pleasant. Really, the question tonight wasn’t the fact that I was going to sit in the heat, it was that I was voluntarily going to sit in the heat and watch These 2008 Mets be their wacky selves again.

At one point during tonight’s game Mrs. W. (mother of Miriam, AWOL tonight) said, “I’m convinced they’re just going to find a way to lose this ballgame.” And, as the game progessed, there wasn’t much the denizens of Section 12 could do but grimly agree with her. John Maine, who is our ace, clearly not understanding that he is the ace and he should just throw strikes. Moises Alou with his first hit off the DL almost driving a hole through the retired numbers. Delgado belying his nickname of “Mr. Contribution.” And David Wright, getting that HR just when he needed it most.


So there were good things, and then there were stupid things, and I do not want to talk about the stupid things because it will just be a rerun and I could go and cut and paste from just about any game this season and it would make sense – wait, it wouldn’t make sense, but it wouldn’t seem out of place.


And then the wind blew in.
The Older Brothers in Row F put on their sunglasses. It didn’t help.
“Has a game ever been called on account of wind?” I asked TBF, more hopeful than I cared to be.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Has a game ever been called on account of the quantity of crap on the field?” I asked, trying another tack.
“Not except when it was a large quantity of demolished disco records,” was his response.

Mr. and Mrs. W. left.
The Older Brothers stood up almost immediately and yanked their thumbs in the direction of the exit. The Twins followed.
I looked over to Section 14 and Coop and Mr. E. were AWOL.
I briefly enjoyed the diversion of Billy Wagner, and what looked like one of the bullpen staff, running out to help the grounds crew.
“I’d feel happier if it wasn’t our million dollar closer out there,” I offered.
“Why don’t we send out HEILMAN!” TBF yelled. “Or Schoeneweis!” A pause. “Oh, wait.”


And then I said the unthinkable.

Yep, we left the game early.

I’ll admit it. I wanted to go home. I didn’t want to get rained on, I didn’t want to sit at Shea for two hours waiting out a rain delay. I had been sick all weekend, I start a sort-of-new job tomorrow (same company, different branch, different office) and I was just TIRED. I didn’t want to sit up until 12:30 in the morning. This is me, veteran of 40 degree weather ballgames and hearing “Walk Around The Clock” over the PA because we’ve just hit midnight. At this point, if someone wants to say that I am a lesser baseball fan because I left this game early, please, feel free, have at it.

And, just maybe, I didn’t want to sit at Shea until 11:30 and then watch the Mets lose a game they had won… and won again… and then gave up in their usual pathetic, mind-blowing fashion.

Which is of course exactly what happened, once we got home and turned on the tv.

I will, however, apologize (again) to TBF for dragging him home with me.

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