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ABOUT LAST NIGHT. | metsgrrl.com

ABOUT LAST NIGHT.

About Last Night

I never keep score at games. I don’t do it mostly because I can’t take pictures and take notes during games and keep score (although I know people who do all of them). But I am tired of taking photos sitting upstairs. I have some sort of creative block that is making me bored in the extreme and I don’t take any pictures and then I go home and have nothing to work with. So I decided I would stop lugging the camera, and would instead bring the lovely scorebook I bought from Eephus League at the beginning of the season, which I have never used.

The verdict: it’s a nice little scorebook. I needed some binder clips to keep the page from dog-earing on me, and my pen was awful, but I was scoring easily and well, and only needed to consult with TBF when Dewayne Wise was caught stealing at the top of the 7th.

I like keeping score; I get keeping score. I never thought it was weird or odd or geeky, but then again I am the woman who takes notes at concerts and used to write down setlists. I always viewed keeping score the same way. I never had the need to do it because TBF keeps score, every game, every single game, even some at home on tv (he always keeps score during the All Star Game). He designed his own scorecard, and tweaks it every year. There are things he tracks that I did not bother to – like pitch count – and there were things he marks that I decided to mark differently (he writes PU for pop up, and I decided to just draw an arrow in the bottom right hand corner).

You will notice, of course, when I stopped keeping score. I am actually lucky that I did not fling the scorecard off of the Promenade in frustration. The worst part about that play – okay, maybe not the worst part, but it didn’t help – was the visiting family behind us, who were from France, or had relatives who now lived in France. There was a parent explaining baseball to the various children, including the little girl sitting behind me, who was sharp as a tack, and understood everything her father was saying. Even that girl asked, “Why did he do that?”

Why indeed.

I used to tweet during games, partly because it was fun and partly so I could remember things I wanted to write about later, but now that Citi Field is officially an AT&T dead zone by about 6:30, that’s no longer an option. The keeping score helps with stopping me from going crazy from dumb things being around me, from people doing the wave out in left field, from noticing that there is no more t-shirt launch during the 7th inning and instead the Pepsi Party Patrol does this inane thing behind Mr. Met that looks like a 6th grade interpretative dance performance while he sings “Take Me Out To The Ballgame.”

Most of all, it helps me concentrate. Baseball has not been my friend since the passing of my mother; my brain has an extreme case of monkey mind, and instead of baseball calming it, all it did was make me anxious when I lost concentration or couldn’t figure out what was going on or realized that I’d zoned out for four batters and didn’t realize the Mets were up. I like the idea of filling up my scorebook with the games of the season, and having that to put away with my ticket stubs and other souvenirs at the end of the season.

I want the season to be over as much as I don’t want it to be over; I want something to be definitive, I do not want to keep teetering on the edge of almost being good and giving us hope and then two games later playing like the Banana Splits for the rest of the series.

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