Tuesday, September 08, 2009

GET BACK. [9-8-09]

Mets v Marlins
9-8-09

It was only the second inning, and already, TBF was grumbling in the general direction of Tim Redding. “Paging Dan Warthen. DAN WARTHEN.”
“Please come to the white courtesy phone.”
“‘Coaching visit to mound.’”
Redding walked Dan Uggla. Now they had runners on first and second.
“Hey, Uggla. You’re UGLY,” I ventured, resorting to the tried and true.
“He is ugly,” TBF agreed.
Finally, Mr. Warthen emerged from the dugout and jogged out to the mound.
“I don’t see this ending well,” TBF said, sighing. “Do you want some ice cream?”

When Citi Field is only partially full, you can go get ice cream whenever you want, because there will be no lines, and because it will be frozen. If you do not get ice cream early in the game, before the machine runs out the first time, you will receive a dish of ice cream soup for $6.50, because the Aramark workers never, ever wait long enough for the custard to freeze to the correct consistency again.

(Before you sigh and leave the site, I’ll point out that this is priceless knowledge I am imparting to you. You can use this data in your favor the next time your child or significant other wants ice cream on a hot day. “Well, sorry, I’d go get it for you, but it wouldn’t be very good. Let’s stop on the way home.”)

Tonight was the emptiest I have ever seen it at Citi Field. This wasn’t empty at the anthem because everyone was out in the food court, this was empty, period. This was so empty you could have gone to Shake Shack and been back to your seat in an inning (maybe an inning and a half, depending on where you were sitting). This was so empty that when obvious newbies walked up the aisles, tickets in hand, carefully counting seat numbers, we would yell ‘OH GOD JUST TAKE A SEAT, ANY SEAT, IT DOESN’T MATTER,’ and it really didn’t. This was so empty that we went in through the Jackie Robinson Rotunda in less time than it would take us to get through the Right Field gate any other game this year.

Even with Citi as empty as it was, we still did not win any prizes. Although, given that the “Lucky Fan Of The Game” prize tonight was not a David Wright or Francisco Rodriguez signed jersey, it was an autographed Luis Castillo baseball, I am not sure I am terribly disappointed to not have been the recipient of one of those treasures.

However, none of this mattered to me early in the game, as we ascended to our seats and I pulled out my camera in eager search of a jersey with the number 15 on the back. Tonight was The Return of Carlos Beltran. Tonight was remembering what it was like to never, ever worry when a ball got hit into center field.  We applauded Carlos Beltran. We applauded “El Esta Aqui” (and were mortified that they were messing around with some other song right before his first at-bat and we had to wait for it to finish so we could hear that familiar refrain. Everyone cheered.) We applauded him every chance we got. There is nothing like that warm and fuzzy feeling of Carlos Beltran in your outfield. Nothing.

I wish I could say the same thing about the presence of Carlos Beltran at the plate.

It did my heart good to see John Maine’s stork legs splayed across the bench in the dugout. If the Mets weren’t playing the Phillies on Sunday, I would go to that game to see him start. But I will not go to Philadelphia, not even for John Maine.

There were some questionable scoring decisions tonight. There were some questionable coaching decisions tonight; the loudest the ballpark got was when Razor Shines did not wave Angel Pagan home, the first time in our recorded history that he decided to be conservative, and it was so completely the wrong decision that the entire ballpark leapt to its feet and emitted a mighty roar of protest. There were some questionable player facts displayed on the video board. I do not think that anyone in the ballpark needed to be reminded that Dan Uggla hit the last home run in at Shea Stadium, on 9/28/2009. (As I have previously mentioned, I will never ever forgive them for their behavior that day.) I also question whether anyone cares that Tim Redding’s great-aunt is Joyce Randolph from The Honeymooners.

“That’s random,” TBF said.
“What else can they say about him?”
“He looks like Todd Helton.”
“And Kevin Youkilis.”
“They all get their beards trimmed at the same place,” he noted, as Mr. Redding hit a fly ball out.

I do not like Tim Redding. I do not know why he is signed to the Mets. I do not know why he is in the rotation. Or rather, I know why he is, but I am infuriated that this is the best that we could do. During the 6th inning tonight, when Gary, Keith and Ron were doing their Mr. Met imitations, I mused that this would be a great time for fans to get some chants started regarding Omar and Jerry and the Wilpons. (That was far more graceful than what I had to say about my hands being up during the idiotic “Hands Up,” however.) Tonight they had Jeff Francoeur up on the screen, thanking us for welcoming him with open arms, and that he hopes to come back next year and go all the way. All I can do during these bits is roll my eyes. Do they really think we are that stupid? Do they really think that a few “thank you’s” and handing out prizes between every inning is going to change our minds about whether or not we’re renewing our ticket plans next year? (I will tell you that if we could find a season ticket holder who would sell us 30 games in a decent location and with the same playoff rights we had at Shea, we would not be renewing.)  Giving out coupons for free hot dogs (which they are doing tomorrow night) is the kind of thing they should be doing all along. And before you point out that they don’t have to, neither do the Red Sox, who treat their fans a million and a half times better than the Wilpons have ever treated Mets fans.

I’m sorry, let me go back to the game.

Josh Thole got his first major league RBI. Josh Thole also needs to pick a song or someone needs to give him something that’s not “Rock Me Like A Hurricane”. Could we at least get a default song that’s from this decade? (Although we did not complain later in the game when they put on “Rosalita”. ‘Do I contradict myself? Well, then, I contradict myself.’)

Everyone warmed up in the bullpen tonight, and I got excited when I saw this:

...even if he never made it out of the pen.

The thing is, the Mets could have easily won this game. This was not a huge reach. They could have come back. I didn’t even want to get up and go get food or go look for people I wanted to meet up with because, idiotically, I thought that the action would start any second. They got on the board, and then they got another run, and then they were only down 2 runs, and that was perfectly reasonable, perfectly possible, perfectly achievable. In the 7th I had on my rally cap, thinking happy thoughts. Jeremy Reed emerged out of nowhere, and got on base, and Tatis got on base, and then Luis Castillo got on base… and even David Wright STRIKING OUT WITH THE BASES LOADED didn’t dampen our spirits, because Carlos Beltran was up next, and he hit that ball and although we pride ourselves on not leaping up when the rest of the stadium is cheering a home run that is really a fly ball, this time we were on our feet, willing it out of the park with every positive thought we could muster… only for it to land in the hands of Cody Ross.

I can’t really blame the people who bothered to show up for leaving early, because the mass exodus started after DW struck out with the bases loaded. I mean, on the one hand I can, because if this is your first game of the year (and by the posing and picture taking and mall walking around the place it clearly still is for so many people), you haven’t been through enough pain in person to earn walking out early. On the other hand, the fact that you didn’t just eat your tickets and not bother to show up at all has gotta earn you some points.

We didn’t leave, of course, and I was even thinking we could rally at the bottom of the 9th, and was hedging my bets by not putting my camera away… when a phalanx of security enters our section from the side, evacuating people as they walk through. I saw them point at a bag so I thought someone had reported an unattended bag as a bomb threat… only to hear one of them point and say, “It’s a raccoon.”

No seriously. I am not kidding. A raccoon, scampering around behind the last row of seats, requiring half a dozen security guards to detain it. None of them were carrying a net or a pole or any kind of trap, so I am not sure what they were going to do once they trapped the raccoon, nor did I care to stand around watching, or trying to photograph it.

So I missed Wilson Valdez’ out, but was relocated in time to watch Angel Pagan ground out, and then all we cared about was getting to the 7 before the polo-shirt-and-loafers crowds from the tennis beat us to the train. Because we are back tomorrow… for free hot dogs and Pat Misch.

P.S. JOSE PHONE HOME.

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(Pathetic) Photoset from 9-8-09