Tuesday, October 03, 2006

NO PANIC ZONE

As much as I like to start my blog posts with some related (at least tangentially) song quote or title, and as much as “Panic In Detroit” was going through my head as I started writing, I didn’t want to use the first line of that song (as much as it might be amusingly semi-relevant), nor do I want to panic.

Okay. No El Duque. El Duque himself being the harbringer of doom, saying “It’s not a cramp.” Okay. Okay. Okay.

I’m just not going to panic. I’m not going to panic because the media is going to do a damn fine job of foisting their disaster scenarios upon us without us buying into it. What are we going to do - not show up? Not watch the games? Should the Mets just roll over and play dead because their starting rotation has been decimated? I mean, the Baseball Experts [thanks, Greg] have already decided that there is no point in playing any games, you should just give the trophy to the Yankees because they’re going to win all of the games anyway, no one stands a chance.

Am I foolish? Stupid? Newbie? Probably all of the above. But I am also a great believer in the will to triumph over adversity, that sometimes when you are put to the greatest test is when you rise above the strongest.  Here’s where not being jaded by previous years of defeat comes in handy: I am silly enough to BELIEVE.

That’s the word, right? That’s the word I saw the first time I came to Shea with TBF, the sign boards just below the box level. BELIEVE. You can be jaded about professional sports (and most of my friends are) but isn’t the whole point here that we can believe in something bigger than us, something improbable, something illogical, something that on paper, rationally, only dictates one possible outcome?

If you can’t believe in the impossible, what are you doing here? No, seriously. Isn’t this the whole point?

So that’s what I’m going to do.  Tomorrow I am meeting TBF at the back of the 7 platform at 2:45pm and we are going to Shea where we are going to cheer our Mets from our seats in the mezzanine. We’ll be there Thursday. We’ll be there for as many games as we have tickets for, because we’re going to believe that we’re going to use all of them.

Besides, TBF’s mom won the NLCS lottery today and we bought tickets for Game 7 this morning. We now have tickets for 8 out of 10 potential playoff games.

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The A’s fans are calling the Commissioner’s office to bitch about that 10am start time. Hell, I’m pissed I don’t get to watch Zito vs. Santana. Send a note of support.

Monday, October 02, 2006

the left fielder, #30

CLIFF FLOYD has started a blog!

Cliff Floyd’s Playoff Blog

I have high hopes that his blog will be less lame that his friend #5’s....

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Sunday, October 01, 2006

kingdoms rise and kingdoms fall

and now we are in October.

Now we are in October, and I am concerning myself with warm socks and where are my gloves and buying a telephoto lens, and outfitting the new baseball purse (burnt orange, waterproof, pockets for binoculars and water bottles and safe for the camera). October baseball. Me. I am going to watch October baseball. The same person who would never have understood what that meant a year ago.

At the end of today’s game - half of which we watched on SNY, the other half we listened to on the radio; a TBF tradition which he could not explain, but that I happily accomodated - I made him get up from his desk so I could give him a hug.
“End of the season hugs,” I explained.
“Not the end of the season, though,” he corrected me, smiling from ear to ear. “You know what we’re doing on Wednesday?”
“Going to see playoff games,” I answered.

We have been indulging each other in call-and-response on this theme since the night we clinched, the night we were at Shea until just before they threw us out, where we stood behind the dugout and yelled and cheered and Lo Duca sprayed water on us and we watched hugs and jubilation and exchanged the same ourselves and with anyone else who was around. I have this tremendous photograph of TBF from that evening, wearing the NLDS shirt, scoreboard behind him, looking satisfied but stunned. His team getting this far, and he was there to see it, not watching it at home, but here, at Shea, with me. He calls me his baseball sweetheart and unlike other boyfriends where shared enjoyment of a mutual pursuit (say, love of Bruce Springsteen or the Rolling Stones) ended up being a competition, with us it is just a joy.

Even his surprise at certain declarations on my part - say, my irked-ness at not being able to see Barry Zito face off against Johan Santana since that game is going to start at the crack of dawn - is getting old. He is no longer surprised or astonished when I offer statements like that. It is almost a little sad that the wonder is fading. However, I still have so very much to learn, so much to catch up on, that I doubt it will ever entirely disappear.

He is updating me every five minutes all day, what time the game will start, what’s up with the Pirates, what’s happening with the Dodgers, where are the Padres, congratulations to the Twins (which he agrees with but disgruntledly, he does not want us to have to face the Twins). We discuss when we are getting to Shea on Wednesday and who is bringing what and what the weather will be and where can you get handwarmers in Manhattan in October?  We have tickets to 7 out of 10 games, and that is without whatever wheeling and dealing TBF will be doing to get us into another World Series game (those tickets still up for trade, btw).

“I’ve never been to the World Series,” I said the other day, when the tickets were out on the table.
“Um, neither have I,” he reminded me.

Let’s Go Mets.

Saturday, September 30, 2006

PNC Park: Roadtrip Report and day 2 photos

PNC PARK: the review

This ballpark has been at the top of TBF’s out of town park visits wishlist since it opened. It was pure coincidence, mixed with boredom and a paycheck rich with overtime hours that sent us to Pittsburgh this particular weekend.

TICKETS: The Pirates have a ticket resale option for season ticket holders, but since Pennsylvania law prohibits selling at any kind of markup, there isn’t a lot of inventory. We did, however, get great behind-the-dugout seats that way.  There was a reasonable selection on eBay as well, and we bought front row outfield seats from a season ticket holder.  If it hadn’t been the Mets, I understand it wouldn’t be that hard to get a ticket. Besides the Mets, the big competition this weekend was Jack Wilson bobblehead night (EVERYONE gets a bobblehead! Everyone! Even people showing up at 8pm!) and Pirate Parrot Build-A-Bear day on Sunday, both of which would have drawn a big crowd even if the Mets weren’t expected to clinch.

FOOD:  TBF has been salivating over the concept of Outback in the Outfield for as long as I have talked to him about baseball. That said, it’s $150 for a table for four, without the food.  We had planned on takeout, since they do advertise Outback at your seat, but all you can get is a hamburger, cheese fries, and a blooming onion. Instead we opted for the onion to go with excellent barbeque from Manny’s BBQ, the purview of former Pirates pitcher Manny Sanguillen, who does indeed preside over the area and signs autographs. I opted for a handshake and a sweet inquiry if he would let a Mets fan eat his food.

Sunday we opted for the famous sandwiches from Primanti’s, which I have known about since the last time I was in Pittsburgh and friends who were locals took me there after a concert. They might be slightly bigger at the actual restaurant, but they were fresh and delicious. The guy in front of us in line was ordering sandwiches for Gary and Keith. It wasn’t until we got back that we heard that this had been a big on-air thing.

THINGS YOU WOULD NEVER HEAR AT SHEA STADIUM:
“Yuengling! Cold Yuengling!”

The only other food item we consumed were two Lemon Chills on Sunday, which were 75 cents cheaper than Shea, as well as BIGGER than their Shea counterparts. They also had strawberry flavored. This is our #1 food consumed at the ballpark so it was a big deal.

No food allowed into the park, and you’re technically only allowed one sealed bottle of water no larger than 24 ounces. Our liter bottle got a little bit of hassle the first night, but security waived it since it was sealed. On Sunday, no one ever looked at us sideways.

THE PARK: This is a real city ballpark with a view of downtown that’s absolutely stunning. You can see it from everywhere, not just the cheap seats or the good seats. They could have built another level of bleachers in the outfield, but it would have blocked the view. No matter how nice the New Shea is going to be, it’s still going to be a suburban ballpark.

ACCESS: Park for $5 downtown and walk across the Roberto Clemente bridge. We didn’t have any trouble parking at the lot closest to the bridge, but we also got there 2+ hours beforehand. There’s a Starbucks and a 7-11 one block away from the bridge.

BULLPENS are easily viewed from ramps near the outfield.

BATTING PRACTICE: we got anywhere we wanted to before the game, except for the $200 seats, which are a very small section behind home plate. The outfield gate opens half an hour before the other gates do, and if your tickets are season tickets, you can get down into the lower seating bowl before anyone else does. Very sweet deal that got us in prime location for BP on Saturday.

MASCOT REPORT: There is the Pirate Parrot, who reminds me of the Philly Phanatic (the same shape, I guess), but who is very acrobatic, does backflips, dances around a lot. There is also an actual Pirate. I thought the Parrot was a reasonable mascot, and appreciated its trash talking (as it were) on Sunday, when they were on top of the Mets dugout, took a hat off of a fan down front, made rude gestures at the hat, and then wiped it on its parrot behind.

PARK TRADITIONS: the pierogie races are l-a-m-e. They are somewhat like the Cascarino’s Race to Shea, in that most of the race takes place on the screen - and then they cut to the park and run from the left outfield corner to the finish line at first base. Majorly unimpressed. I did not purchase pierogie dolls.

The whole pirate thing gets to be a little over the top at some points. There’s a Diamondvision pirate narrator all full of ‘avasts’ and ‘matey’s and ‘arrrghghgs’ which got really old by the second day. I could not imagine seeing that every time I went to the ballpark.  The Pirates are referred to as the ‘Bucs’ (short for ‘buccaneers’) and everything is ‘bucco’ this and ‘bucco’ that, the homerun count is a ‘bucco blast.” A little too Disney for me.

That said, I would have expected to see a lot more skull and crossbones flags in the bleachers and around the park. You can get one on ebay for about $6 including shipping (I know, because I got one for my nephew’s recent birthday).  Kind of lame.

“It’s time to shoot some hot dogs, it’s time to shoot some hot dogs, it’s time to shoot some hot dogs - and catch yourself some meat.” Yes, the infamous PNC Park hot dog guns are true. This could not EVER happen at Shea because some drunk morons in the upper deck would make lewd comments about catching meat.

Wait, no - THIS COULD NOT EVER HAPPEN AT SHEA BECAUSE IT’S TOTALLY MORONIC.

Who would EAT a food item that had been SHOT at them? Clearly, people do, because they clamor to catch them.

The pre-game warmup animation isn’t of the actual team, but shows animated pirate ships firing at each other.  You see the Pirates’ ship taking down the Cubs and the Reds and the Cardinals, and then when they’ve sunk everyone else, aiming for the visiting team’s ship. This would all be very inspiring if one couldn’t turn one’s head and see the playoff pennants from 1909.

TBF and I both really appreciated that the seat upgrade promotion took place BEFORE the game started, and you were moved to prime box seats.

FANS: I was favorably impressed. They had spirit and attitude, but weren’t assholes. TBF manages to always attract the old-time baseball folks in a park, whether it’s the ushers or the concession vendors and those people treated us with warmth and good hospitality.  Even the guy at the box office on Sunday who, with a straight face, informed me that there were problems with our tickets - and right before I had a heart attack, continued with “Yes, we can’t let Mets fans sit that close to the field,” before handing us the tickets with a genuine wish to enjoy ourselves. They’re proud of their baseball stadium, and they should be.
They even brought brooms en masse on Sunday. Hey, I would’ve too.

WALK ON MUSIC: Jack Wilson uses “Jumping Jack Flash.” Someone else uses “Mother” by Danzig. There were one or two reggaeton songs. Xavier Nady is still using “X” by Xzibit. Other than that, nothing that notable. They did use “Worldwide Suicide” by Pearl Jam during the t-shirt toss Saturday night.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

pedro, shmedro

What’s got MG in a lather is THIS:

Not only is Bruce sitting in the House of Evil - in Steinbrenner’s personal seats no less - he’s admiring the wave, at least according to the caption.

But back to our main event. I made a comment on the Daily News blog earlier today that Pedro was this mythical creature to me this year. I saw 34 games in the regular season, and I never saw Pedro pitch once. It certainly wasn’t intentional; it just didn’t happen. And I realize I know [] this much about baseball, but frankly, I’m relieved in a way. I’m not happy that Pedro isn’t healthy, I’m just going to be happier not sitting there biting my nails while Willie tries to give him yet another chance to dominate.

[OOOOH! I was telling TBF the other day I’d managed to get through the entire regular season without using that word once.]

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Wednesday, September 27, 2006

a meaningful night in september

No, I’m not talking about Atlanta, the game we rushed home to watch, the one TBF insisted we needed to watch, it was going to be an important game.

Somewhere around the 576th home run, noting that TBF had retreated to his desk, I asked if we could turn off the $#@! game.

To add to injury, Bruce Springsteen is spotted in the crowd at Yankee Stadium. I am the one of the two of us who refuses to believe that Bruce is One Of Them. I almost made TBF a shirt with a quote from Al Leiter from an interview he gave Backstreets Magazinea few years ago (after Al was onstage with Bruce at Shea), about how Bruce really isn’t a Yankees fan. Unfortunately, we have enough connects down the Shore to know the truth.

The only bright spot of the evening was TBF wheeling and dealing, finding trades for our extra playoff tickets. We have NLDS game 1 AND game 2 now. He found a trade for NLCS game 1 that he will deal with tomorrow. He is doing this like an old hand, like he has done this for years—and he has, just in his imagination.

I thought we were done with baseball for the night except TBF is updating me on the standings every 3 minutes, and we finally turn on the Phillies-Nationals game (which is still on as I write this, and I have to be up at 6 tomorrow). We find ourselves enthusiastically rooting for the Nats. TBF mocks the behavior of the Phillies fans that keep showing up on ESPN, and while they are Phillies fans, I do point out “Pot, meet kettle,” and that TBF looks like that on a random Tuesday night at Shea, much less at a critical road game, where he would likely be so unbearable that I would move several seats away from him.

Over at Faith and Fear in Flushing, Jason is threatening to head for the Brooklyn Bridge. The Williamsburg is closer for me.

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Tuesday, September 26, 2006

post-season ticket delivery: the saga

9/25, noon

TBF: “I called the Mets office and got the tracking numbers for our tickets.”
MG: “How did you get MY tracking number??”
TBF: “I had all your info, including your account number.”

9/25, 6pm
I am rushing into the subway to head home. I check the phone on my way down the stairs and notice I have had three phone calls from TBF. I assume there is an emergency on hand.
“Our tickets are on the way.”
“Can I get on the subway?”
“Yes”

The rest of the evening, TBF obsessively checked the UPS tracking system, informing me that our tickets had left Fort Smith, Arkansas, which is where the largest printer of ticket stock in the country is located (or so I was informed).
“You scare me,” I said.
He continued to smile that little smile, the smile that could only be described as GODDAMN, MY WORLD SERIES TICKETS ARE ON THE WAY.

9/26, 10:27am. email from TBF:
“updates
Both packages have arrived in Maspeth and are “out for delivery.” Maybe we can get them tonight.”

11:21am
“Tracking shows delivery was attempted for both packages. :)”

12:01pm, from me:
“fine. so call UPS and see if we can pick them up tonight at maspeth. we get there at 7:45 and camp”

[this is because our UPS facility gets lines around the block. they are only open from 7-8. if you are smart you get there close to 8.]

7pm, Zero Hour

We are in the car heading for the UPS facility in Maspeth, when we pass a UPS truck parked a half a block away.
TBF: “Maybe that’s our UPS driver?”
I pull over. “Go see!”

He returns 5 minutes later with two envelopes in hand:

We sat there huddled under the streetlight, reading every bit of fine print on the tickets, before I turned the car back on and we drove off.

Now, we still had to do the rest of our errands. However, now TBF does not want me to get out of the car. He wants me to stay with the tickets. We compromise by putting the envelope into my purse, while we walk around the grocery store discussing our new arrivals:

“If we sit in the upper reserved box for THE WORLD SERIES, we could bring a sign.”
“Is there a difference for photographic purposes whether we sit in the front row of the mezzanine reserved or the front row of the upper deck boxes for THE WORLD SERIES?”
“Which seats should we trade for THE WORLD SERIES?”

Every possible way we could work the phrase “our tickets for the World Series” into a conversation during a 10 minute grocery store visit, we did it. My god, we are a pair of sad, pathetic dorks.

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Sunday, September 24, 2006

an ode to section 12

Section 12. Row E. Seats 3 & 4.

It’s not so much my seats I want to celebrate here but the ones of the people around me, the section 12 regulars from Tuesday and Friday:

ROW E, SEATS 1 & 2: Julia & Miriam are two sisters from Middle Village. More than anyone else in the Tuesday/Friday crowd, I owe them a debt of gratitude. I am gregarious by nature and befriended the other T/F folks in the row behind me anyway, but having the girls - passionate fans but not number freaks - made it warmer and a little less lonely in those early days, when I would be text-messaging TBF throughout the games. Miriam kept score, and we all shared a love of Jose Reyes and Cliff Floyd (and Mike Cameron to boot). They always wore player number shirts to each and every game, and we shared binoculars to stare at the antics in the dugout ("Look! Reyes is dancing!") and to keep tabs at the various fights that broke out during the season (which always seemed to fascinate Julia more than the game). They are the only ones who I ever exchanged names with - we even got to know their parents (who sometimes took their seats).

ROW F, SEATS 1 & 2: These were owned by a father from New Jersey, tall and lanky, who had an endless supply of red-headed sons of various ages. So in addition to his two seats, he would always have extras for the other kids, who would sneak into the section when it was empty. Of particular note were the adorable twins who were about 13 or 14, always wore the uniform of jersey and khaki cargo shorts, and talked a mile a minute because they were so full of baseball that they just needed to talk about. They were an absolute joy to be around.

ROW F, SEATS 3 & 4: Shared by a father & son. The son was a Springsteen fanatic, which gave us much to talk about in the early days of the season. They liked their beer and they kept a running commentary of deep baseball knowledge. Just eavedropping gave me access to facts I never would have run across any other way. They were obnoxious as hell and equally amusing.

ALSO FURTHER DOWN ROW F: Two cousins, one tall and thin, who would move around when he was nervous. The other was slightly more portly, quieter. They were funny and sarcastic and always talked to me as though I actually knew something about baseball, gently tapping me on the hat in greeting each night as they walked behind me to their seats. Sometimes the latter gentleman would bring an attractive, jersey-wearing blonde woman - I eavesdropped on them a few games and although they swore they were ‘just friends,’ you know they are the kind of ‘just friends’ that will hopefully give up on that pretext some day because they are a match made in heaven.

These are the people who kept me company until TBF came home, who cheered with me and debated with me, who kept me company through extra innings and through rain delays and Yankees games and endless Trachsel outings, the lonely souls who were there in April and May when we had the section to ourselves, spreading out across multiple rows. And they are the people I regretfully said ‘so long’ to this week, exchanging handshakes and hugs and ‘see you in the post-season’. These are people I would never have run into, much less spent any time with, in the course of normal life. I can’t say we’re friends - we didn’t even exchange names for the most part - but they were part of my life over the past six months. I saw them more than I saw my parents, which is probably not something to be proud of, but it is what it is.

It is sad in a way for it to be the end of this part of the adventure. It seems so long ago that I drove out to Shea on a snowy Tuesday to pick out these seats. But there are more games ahead, and another year after that.

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Friday, September 22, 2006

AN ACTUAL CONVERSATION.

TBF and MG sitting on couch a day or two ago, watching SportsCenter baseball highlights.

TBF: “Uh-oh, the Twins beat the Red Sox.”
MG: “Good”
TBF: “We don’t want the Twins to win.”
MG: “Well, I’m not rooting for the Red Sox. You can.”
TBF: “We’re rooting for the Tigers.”
MG: “Why? Because of your father?” [TBF’s dad is from Detroit.]
TBF: “Yes.”
*pause*
MG: “Well, I’m rooting for the Twins. They played a very scrappy game this year, came from behind, and their fans had a bad year with the threats of contraction.”
*silence, as TBF considers the monster he has created*
MG: “Can you argue with that logic?”
TBF: “Not really.”

[CLARIFICATION: I am NOT rooting for the Twins over the Mets should they face each other in the playoffs! Geez, people! :)]

Thursday, September 21, 2006

dedicated follower of fashion

Over at Pick Me Up Some Mets, Zoe unleashes her mighty power upon Photoshop and creates an imaginary store full of awesome clothes that real female Mets fans might like to see (and that male Mets fans might want to buy for their girlfriend, sister, or Mom).

[Don’t worry, we’ll both be writing about baseball again soon. Go look at the pretty pictures below if you don’t want to read our ranting.]

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