First, a fan is banned from Shea from shining a flashlight into the opposing pitcher’s eyes…
...and then a week later, they hand out flashlights. (“No batteries,” TBF pointed out.)
In Arizona, we lose a home run because of a fan’s popcorn box, and now this:
When we were down at Spring Training this year, one morning, there was an animated conversation going on between one practice field and the other, between Jose Reyes and one of the minor leaguers. I had left my pocket Spanish dictionary in the car, but there was a lot of laughing and joking and even with zero knowledge of Spanish, it was clear that two friends were giving each other a hard time.
“I think that’s Carlos Gomez,” TBF said. “Jose says he’s even faster than he is.”
“How is that even possible?”
Saturday’s debacle involved me getting in the car to drive home around 3pm, turning on Howie and Ed, and sending TBF a text message at 3:46pm (while I was sitting in traffic on the Hutch) that read ‘OH THE HUMANITY’.
We kind of completely ignored baseball last night as a result, got home very very late, and slept in very very late. By the time we came home from a very very late breakfast, the game was well under way, and we both studiously avoided the internet so the game didn’t get spoiled. I was going to do some cleaning first, and then TBF said, “I think we need to watch the game. Carlos Gomez got called up.”
“But yesterday, they said that Pelfrey—”
“Yeah, I guess not.”
Wasn’t that outfield a pleasure to watch? Wasn’t Perez dynamite? What a fantastic, fantastic game. I like Gomez, and TBF is showing the kind of affection for OP that he previously reserved for Duaner. Reyes in the dugout, finally getting with the program (telling Ben Shpigel that he waited because he was filming a reggaeton video - WHICH ONE? inquiring minds beg to ask), rubbing heads with a newly-shorn Gomez in the dugout. Loving OP’s leaps, his unbridled enthusiasm, his tip of the cap in response to the well-deserved standing O as he left the field in the 9th. (I don’t know which I liked better, that applause or the one he got as he came up to bat in the 8th.) It was the kind of game that made me sorry we weren’t there after all, despite the chock full week o’ baseball we have ahead of us. It’s starting to be the kind of year that will make me say, ‘Yeah, we should go,’ when the impulse arises to see that extra game.
On that note, I have a day off on Thursday and Friday. Although I have my day planned and am totally happy with it, and will get to Shea early on Friday in time for BP, there is something that makes me want to find a really, really good ticket for Thursday afternoon and spend the day in the sun at Shea.
I *loved* tonight’s game. I loved the excited hopping tiny adorable Little Leaguers lining the warning track before the anthem. I loved that it was Friday and the week was over and I got to meet TBF at 6:00 sharp and run down to the 7 train together. I loved that it wasn’t hot but it wasn’t cold and I didn’t need sweatshirts and wool hats and gloves and scarves and hand warmers. I loved “PLAY BALD” even if the joke is already old and tired. I loved that the stadium was respectably full, that there were no endless ‘YANKEES SUCK’ chants, and that only once did I have to yell at a moron with a cell phone to please not stand at the top of the tunnel while the Mets were up. I loved watching Delgado’s smile beam up at us in the mezzanine while Professor Reyes taught us how to ask for a napkin en español.
[MORE, and PHOTOS, after the jump. Click below to page 2!]
Click to continue reading THANK YOU (FALETTINME BE MICE ELF AGIN) [5-11-07]
As if you thought I’d forget who’s coming to visit next week. This week’s Friday Photo is dedicated to Mr. Cornelius Cliff Floyd, who we dearly miss in left field. Call it sentimental, call it irrational, point at his injury record - but I never worried about that corner of the field when #30 was on duty. Welcome back, Cliff!
Alyssa Milano, eat my dust. The first items in the MetsGrrl store are now available.
More coming this weekend.
The Portland Mercury interviews Craig Finn of the Hold Steady about baseball and the Minnesota Twins. (Seriously, there’s not one music question in the thing.)
Here’s the best part (well, at least for me):
Are there a lot of people in the Minnesota music scene that are Twins fans?
Definitely. Especially the older crowd, like the Jayhawks and Golden Smog. I was at Twins’ spring training this year and I saw Paul Westerberg at the game.
What? [MG note: that was about my reaction, too, when I read this.]
I went down to Fort Meyers, Florida, for two games, and had a lot of fun. I was talking to this guy Jim Walsh, who is doing the Replacements oral history [MG again: WHAT?]and he told me Paul would be down there. I kind of had my eye out looking for him, and sure enough, he was there with his son. I’ve never met him before, so it didn’t seem like the right time to go bother him. It’s funny because even before we did “Take Me out to the Ball Game” for the Twins, I was at the Metrodome last year and noticed how great the music was during the games. They played a lot of the Replacements.
Okay. So the Metrodome plays the Replacements, and had the Hold Steady record “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” for them, and the Great American Ballpark plays the Afghan Whigs. Not only do I appreciate the hometown nod to the hometown band, I appreciate the little thing called RELEVANCY.
And we, at Shea, are being serenaded with freaking “Sweet Caroline” (he’s from BROOKLYN, don’t start).
What do we have to do to get some New York songs by New York bands played? I mean, I appreciate that Yo La Tengo isn’t exactly going to get the crowd pumped up, but they can certainly make more of an effort. Do we not have the ability to branch out beyond classic rock?
“Howard J. Rubenstein, the spokesman for the Yankees’ principal owner, George Steinbrenner, said the policy was an expression of patriotism.”
Reminds me of one of my favorite TBF quotes: “God blesses Bangladesh exactly as much as he blesses America.”
[likely stealing this post title from the boys over at Misery Loves Company, but it was too good not to use]
So I could make some kind of witty comments about how when the Mets go to San Francisco, they can’t wear flowers in their hair any more, but that’s even below me. I know, I wasn’t supposed to watch the game, but plans got reshuffled and I didn’t have to get up at 5:30 after all (6:15 instead), and no matter what, I absolutely could watch the pre-game show.
“David Wright cut his HAIR?” That was TBF, not me.
From there, of course, the incredulity only grew.
We started trying to guess who would (and wouldn’t) cut their hair, or who had cut their hair.
I was backing Beltran from the outset, while TBF was dubious.
On the other hand, I couldn’t believe that Reyes wouldn’t (chicken!).
The pre-game finished, and I ran off to brush my teeth. TBF appeared in the bathroom door a few minutes later.
“The haircuts are working. I put it on pause.”
By the end of that first inning, the night before was just a bad dream. This is the Mets we know. This is how we do things.
I went to sleep with Howie on the radio and even one Barry Bonds home run couldn’t give me bad dreams.
We need to find a way to get out to AT&T Park, and soon. There is wi-fi in the entire stadium! And my friend Shirley told me tales of the past when Palm users could have the starting lined up beamed into their devices each game as they entered the park.
(TBF both loves and hates this idea. I told him that if he lived there, he’d get the lineup electronically, but then still keep the box score manually. He says I’m probably right.)
It kills me to think of all the times in the past I was in various cities on business (or pleasure) with time to kill, and all the ballgames and baseball parks I could have seen by now.
This 10:15pm game start time kind of sucks. I was excited to see the OP-Zito matchup, and I totally thought I’d make it through. What I didn’t take into account was what would happen if we didn’t do well. It’s easy to fight sleepiness and agony when it’s 9pm. It’s a lot harder when it’s 11pm and the team is going from 3-1 to 6-1 (when I gave up) and then 9-1 (when I was brushing my teeth). I went to sleep with Howie on the radio, making the astute observation that the Mets looked tired, but it was only early May.
Yeah.
Add to all of this how unbearable TBF becomes when the Mets lose, and me getting cranky about the time Easley made that error, and then the two of us being mutually cranky at the Mets and each other:
“You said they were playing sloppy baseball!”
“But they were!”
“Not until you said they were!”
“You’re overreacting!”
To be fair to everyone involved, two bad home run calls on consecutive days would knock the wind out of me, too. On the other hand, I feel like I don’t know who the real Shawn Green is, and I will never, ever feel comfortable with Alou in left field, no matter how far and how often he hits.
David Wright. Needs to stop saying “yes” to every magazine cover and PR opportunity unless it’s for his charity foundation. I used to think - of course he’s going to take advantage of every opportunity, that’s exactly what he should be doing, who knows when the spotlight will stop shining. But now - I won’t blame all of the distractions for the slump but I feel like something’s gotta give.
Finally, was anyone else as disappointed at the SNY “Take the 7 Train to shea with Joe Smith” segment as we were? Maybe if they hadn’t hyped it up so much and just showed it as color, but aside from the technical problems (did no one think about the issues of lighting and sound before you got on the subway?), the segment had so much potential but ended up being long and bland. Plus, he doesn’t take the 7 train, ever - he drives (hence the constant parking tickets) - so I’m not quite sure what the point was. Hey, dude, Glavine and Wagner carpool from Greenwich, you and Johnny Maine could share the drive from LIC.
I will miss the game tonight because I have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow, and we’re going to see Arcade Fire at Radio City on Wednesday night - so there go my game-viewing options for the next two days. I can’t tell whether this will make me more or less cranky. But, provided we survive the rest of the week, we’ll be at Shea Friday night to watch the Mets play the Brewers.
I am sitting in my home office, working, when I hear something coming from TBF’s computer. The now-infamous Suzyn Waldman - exclamation - of A Certain Pitcher’s return to the Bronx. (In this house, this individual truly is He Who Shall Not Be Named.)
“I heard that last night on WFAN,” I tell him.
TBF appears in the doorway.
“It’s terrible,” I continue.
“See, people are saying things, and I could say things, but I don’t want people to think I’m an icky guy.”
“You’re not. It’s terrible. It sounds like she’s having an orgasm.”
“That’s what other people are saying, only not so nice.”
“Yeah. Well. It’s terrible. I’m embarrassed.”
“I think you should write about it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
When I first got into all of this, I remember TBF telling me there was a female radio announcer for the Yankees, and that she was, unfortunately, not very good. And part of me feels like, damn, this is one hard profession to want to be in that badly, and then the other part of me listens to the occasional Yankee broadcast and asks TBF, “Do I hate her because she’s announcing for the Yankees, or just because she’s not very good?”
That call yesterday was terrible. It was over the top, excessive, and embarrassing, because all the icky guys out there are going to take advantage of it to make every piggish comment they can possibly make. By all means, show emotion, by all means, convey to the fan listening on the radio the feeling of the moment in the stadium. By all means, do not be a bland blonde bimbo, freely display your intelligence and personality.
That call, unfortunately, did none of those things.
And now I just want this to be over with, because TBF’s middle finger is going to fall off from his need to brandish it every time we see Clemens’ face anywhere, and now his arrival is going to overshadow anything that happens the weekend after next, even if he’s nowhere near Flushing.
[Audio link via Toasted Joe.]
