Saturday, June 20, 2009

RAY OF LIGHT. [6-19-09]

Mets v Tampa Bay Rays
6-19-09

Tonight, the Mets Welcomed… the members of the Downtown Little League Association. I am fond of the Downtown Little Leaguers because these are city kids, they are tough and street-wise, but put them on that field and they are happy as clams. Especially darling was watching a particularly young group of them leaving the field, all of whom decided they needed to jump over the foul line, but they weren’t leaping like Oliver (RIP) or El Duque, they were hopping with both feet. Some of them were so excited by the idea that they were going to do this that they were hopping down the warning track before they even got to the foul line. Only the crankiest of curmudgeons wouldn’t get a little softened up by that sight.

Of course, I am finding this charming and adorable and worth mentioning now because the Mets won. The Mets won a game! They played well and won a game! Dear god in heaven, we needed this win. Every single last one of us.

The oddities of Citi Field continue. You cannot possibly expect to see first pitch and get one of the premium food items - I dearly wanted the tacos tonight - unless you get to the ballpark when the gates open. Between the mallwalking first-timers and the inefficiencies of the food court, it is simply impossible to get food there even 40 minutes before first pitch. I mention this not because I want to bitch about it - even though I do, this is something that will either work itself out, or not - but because I think it contributes to the fact that the park will appear incredibly empty even when it’s time to sing the National Anthem. I was looking around at this empty stadium and thinking, “Did everyone buy their ticket plans as an investment and not manage to sell these tickets? Did the weather report keep everyone away? It’s Friday, it’s interleague, wtf is going on?”

And then, by the time Sandy Alomar Sr. was down there walking the umpires through the ground rules - this was a crew that had not been to Citi yet (and before you get impressed, it’s TBF that keeps track of these things, or somehow just knows them) - I looked around and suddenly everyone was in their seats. At Shea, there was nowhere to go hang out before the game, so you went straight to your seat, more or less. Now, there is no shortage of places to hang out, so people do.

(Speaking of places to hang out, have you been to the patio on the upper deck behind home plate? On a beautiful summer evening, it is definitely the place to be. We have picnic tables and stand-up tables and a Mama’s outpost and all the other ballpark food, and a view of the Unisphere and the Manhattan skyline, and it is a perfectly lovely place to hang out. It is never as crowded as the outfield food court.)

I didn’t really know what to expect about this game. Please forgive me if we showed up tonight more than a little shell-shocked. The guys next to us were trying to get the crowd pumped up at appropriate moments, starting “Let’s Go Mets” chants, and no one was responding. They were muttering something about things being dead and this being a morgue, and if I had had more energy, I would have leaned over and asked them what they wanted, exactly, from this long-suffering crowd after this past week of disasters. I mean, they didn’t even have the energy to boo Luis Castillo with any vigor at his first at-bat. There was more volume at the second at-bat, but no one really got going until they put Pat Burrell in to pinch-hit (how convenient he got activated off the DL in time for this series) and the place erupted with what I felt was the appropriate level of disdain. Even the 13 year old kids behind me were getting into it, encouraging our pitcher to throw high and inside.

Of course, the real story was hits and runs. Brian Schneider! Daniel Murphy! And Fernando Nieve pitching a gem out of nowhere, seemingly, you think, Okay, he did well last week but lightning cannot possibly strike twice, right?
But apparently, it can.

There were some actual Tampa Bay fans walking around, a couple scattered LONGORIA jerseys. I particularly appreciated the one fan who politely waited until the break between at-bats to grab a photo at the top of the aisle, and then promptly crouched down when the next batter was up.  However, of course, it was not the Tampa fans who were the problem. The problem was Mr. “I am wearing an A-Rod Shirt” one section over, who felt the need to do the get-up-and-point-at-my-back thing, until security showed up and had a chat with him. Or the grey-haired old lady a few rows up wearing her 2008 World Champion Philadelphia Phillies shirt, still with official hologram stickers attached. TBF muttered something insulting about the stickers and I pointed out her age, to which he said, “I don’t care if she’s my 97-year old grandmother, you don’t wear a Phillies shirt to the Mets-Tampa Bay game.” (For the record, neither of his grandmothers would have done such a thing.)  But Douche Of The Game honors had to go to a gentleman on the other side of TBF, wearing a Hawaiian shirt over a Mets Suck t-shirt, crowned with a Yankees hat. It must be hard to not be able to afford tickets to your own ballpark and have to go out to Flushing to actually see baseball, but that’s another story.

Things we need to stop doing: instantly throwing out Shoeneweis or Heilman comparisons when an otherwise competent reliever gives up a run. Or two.

Things we need to keep doing: winning. Getting an insurance run or two. Stealing bases (it was a KFC Three Base Game or whatever they call it, where a random section gets a coupon for chicken at KFC because the Mets stole three bases. Do you know that in St. Louis, if the Cardinals score six runs - win or lose - there are 25 cent drinks at Hit and Run the next day? For everyone. You don’t even have to give up your ticket stub. Everyone gets 25 cent drinks. When we were in St. Louis the guy behind us would not stop talking about it. But here, a lousy section gets coupons for chicken they will likely not eat, even if they could find a store in NYC that will redeem them.)

I am getting random now.

I wanted to talk about my love for Francisco Rodriguez. I didn’t know much about him before he came out East, besides the obvious (that he was the closer for the Angels on whom had been divested the unfortunate nickname of ‘K-Rod’, one we do not use in our house. My shirt says RODRIGUEZ 75.). I knew he was awesome and I knew he was Good For Us, but how many Angels games have I watched in my lifetime? Frankie is freaking awesome. I love the energy, I love the ritual, I love that he does the exact same thing every single time in the exact same way. The music starts (anyone know who it is?). The bullpen gate opens. He takes a few steps out, pauses, and then starts to run. He runs as hard as he can until he is a few steps from the infield dirt. He stops. That’s about the time Alex says “Number 75, Francisco Rodriguez,” and Frankie stops and claps his hands together. He then walks across the infield dirt to the side of the pitchers mound, picks up the resin bag and tosses it. Another hand clap. Then he steps on the mound, turns around, and smooths out the dirt on the front with his left foot, marking the place that he’s going to land. He steps to the rubber, takes a breath, pauses, stares down the catcher, and then throws his warmup tosses. He and Santos have a thing going now where Santos will wait for him on the mound, so they can have some quality time when he arrives.

I love his delivery. I love his windup. I love the crookedness of his landing. I never truly saw it until we were in Baltimore and sitting behind home plate. I love the point heavenward at the end, and do not get why people find it arrogant. People who are in the habit of thanking the guy upstairs do it all the time. (There is a reason “El Esta Aqui” is Carlos Beltran’s at-bat music, ya know?)

And of course, I love that he gets batters out.

We won a game. At home. Finally. We won a game. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, or Sunday, or next week, but today, at least, there was a win, which washed a way a little of the bad taste that had been accumulating for too long.

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Tonight’s photo set from the game