Tuesday, April 24, 2007

JACKIE ROBINSON DAY 2007.

I was childishly pleased that the official Jackie Robinson Day was rained out and moved to a day that I had tickets. This has all recently become a passion of mine, and I wanted to be there for it.

It’s not that I don’t want to know about the history of baseball. I want to know about the history of just about anything. But I kind of had my hands full over the past year learning about baseball and about the Mets. I certainly knew who Jackie Robinson was, and what he’d done, but I wouldn’t have ever told you that I knew the whole story.
But it wasn’t until about a month ago, with Jackie Robinson Day pending, that I turned to TBF and asked, “What’s a good book to read about the Dodgers?”
“That’s easy. The Boys Of Summer. Roger Kahn.”
So I ordered it online, and it sat around for a few days - I was still in the middle of my now-annual (hah) re-read of Roger Angell - until I grabbed it one morning on my way to work.

And almost missed my stop.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

AH, CRAP.

I’m too cranky to write anything else. At least right now.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

“7 TRAIN TO THE BASEBALL GAME”

That was how the conductor greeted us as we stepped onto the 7 express at Grand Central on Friday. This wasn’t the train to Flushing, or Main Street, or Willetts Point, this was the train to the baseball game. I liked that.

We crowded inside, and as the train pulled out of the station, TBF nodded in the direction of the other end of the car, where a handful of Braves fans were standing.
“Oh, don’t…” I said. “Please, the evening is just beginning.”
“I just want to ask them how they feel about John Rocker, given the fact that, well, we’re on the 7 train,” and, of course, the added fact that these fans were Latino and African-American.
Even I had to agree that it was an interesting form of taun, erm, discourse, but the train was too crowded for the discussion to take place (until after the game, when TBF was so cranky and a Braves fan so arrogant and preening - as if we wouldn’t have been had the game turned out different - that I not only let him start the discussion, I facilitated it).

QUOTE OF THE GAME:
“‘Books never written: ‘Bullpen Usage’ by Willie Randolph.” (said by TBF in disgust at some point during the Burgos/Feliciano nightmare).

And there’s really nothing else much to say that hasn’t been said on other sites. We lost. We sucked. We were even sloppy at some junctures.

But TBF is at Shea right now as I write this, and we’re both back there tomorrow.

More on the Jackie Robinson ceremonies in a separate post.

Friday, April 20, 2007

PHOTO OF THE WEEK.

I wrote on Wednesday, forgot to publish it on Thursday, and now it’s Friday, but never too late: Johnny Maine is MG’s Photo Of The Week.

Inspired by Johnny Maine’s Almost-No-Hitter: Last September, we journeyed to Pittsburgh to see the Mets play two games against the Pirates at the beautiful PNC Park. This was a random trip inspired by baseball fever combined with seeing the park during the All-Star Game and wanting to see it in person. We believed the Mets were going to clinch long before that weekend, but instead, it turned into The Weekend The Mets Were Supposed To Clinch (But Instead Got Swept By The Pirates). Instead of images of Pirates fans carrying brooms across the Roberto Clemente Bridge, enjoy one of my favorite shots of Johnny Maine.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

“you have to go to the back”

The new New Era commercial, showing baseball’s best and brightest camped out on the sidewalk in front of the New Era store on W. 4th Street in the Village, is quite possibly the funniest commercial EVER.

Jose Reyes. In a beach chair. And a Mets fleece blanket. Put him on the other side of the street and he could be camping out in front of Tower Records for tickets - back when 1) there was a Tower Records and 2) they let you camp out for tickets.

Saturday, April 14, 2007

A Sort of Homecoming

For all the big deal that Opening Day was made out to be, or that I thought it would be, or that it believes that it is, the truth is that its significance paled in comparison to tonight’s game. Tonight’s game, the first game for those of us in the Tuesday/Friday plan holders group. The first tickets to be torn out of the ticket book. The first time this year of packing the clothes for the game to take to work, the familiar arrangements and accouterments.

On that last note, while I fully understand that April baseball is not for the meek, and have endured TBF’s tales of sitting at Shea while light flurries swirled around the upper deck, this week has to be an all time low. In an email sent to my companion for the evening, the lovely and charming Ms. Zoe (TBF is in Florida on business. He may have warmth, but at least I have baseball) in which I related items I was bringing for the evening, I feel the need to display this here for the record:

“fleece blanket, fleece scarf, gloves, wrist warmers, mets hat, warm hat, sweater, tights under jeans, wool socks.
i have handwarmers too.
it’s not a baseball game, it’s an expedition to antarctica”

We know that it will be cold and we go anyway. We know that it will be unpleasant and we go anyway.  We go gladly, we go happily, and at no point during the course of the evening, no matter what our discomfort, does it actually occur to anyone crazy enough to attend a baseball game in April (except those shepherding small children, perhaps) to leave the game EARLY.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

the fashion statement

My office is one big square and while I am in one corner, half the people I work with are in the other corner. So I am continually taking the long way to the color printer in order to make sure I see people’s faces at least once a day.
Today, I walked in to the room the graphic designers sit in. Lisa, one of the designers I am working with, a lovely Southern woman, is in the corner, wearing a new-looking navy blue t-shirt with a suspicious logo.
“Lisa! And here I thought we were friends… buddies.”
She takes out her headphones.
“I thought we were kindred spirits,” I continue.
“What?” she asks.
“It’s the t-shirt,” the other designer explains to her.
Lisa shrugs.
“You are someone who is on the side of good, not evil,” I plead.
Lisa looks totally confused.
“She just likes the logo,” the other designer explains to me.
“You are from Florida, Lisa, how can you root for the Yankees?”
“Oh, I just went to a game on Saturday,” Lisa says. “I’m still a Braves fan.”
I am satisfied with her answer. That, at least, is something I could respect.

On other fashion statement notes, Zoe (who is coming with me to the game on Friday, since TBF is off on a business trip!) is off to find the new Alyssa Milano Mets shirts. Have you SEEN these things?

I know, all the guys are going to write in salivating. How practical is that to wear to Shea, ever? Or on the 7 train? Come ON. I admit the jeans are cool, though. 

Monday, April 09, 2007

Section 35, Row S: Opening Day, 2007

It was very, very cold.

I know. You were either there, and sitting in the sun on the OTHER side of Shea, or you were watching at home, and the people behind home plate (also in the sun) were busy taking off their layers and smearing on suntan lotion. But for those of us in the People’s Seats, on the shady side of the stadium, it was another freezing opening day (although we can hardly complain, since we’re not in *Cleveland*. That’s freezing.)

Somehow I forgot that the last row of the upper deck was row V. And that row S is only THREE rows away from Row V. I was just so glad to be in Section 35, and not in Section 48 or 48 or 3,321 as we originally thought we were, that that small detail escaped me - until we were climbing up the stairs at a little after 12 noon, and I got vertigo (which, btw, appears to be the new on-field intro song for the Mets. Regretfully, I can’t even freaking tell you about the music that was played at Shea today because the wind blew the PA system in the other direction completely for 80% of the time.)

And, oh yeah, there was a game today.

Opening Day 2007: Photo Gallery

coney island baby

While you wait for MG to warm up and download her photos, take a look at this thing of beauty: “Sister Reyes,” written by Lou Reed - okay, written by Lou Reed in my fantasy dreamland.  If you know anything about Lou, you must read this. Ah, heck, you should read it anyway.

(Unless you’re an uptight white boy from New Jersey or something. Then it will bother you big time.)

Until I realized it was fake, all I could do was sigh and think that there was no point in me ever writing anything about baseball again.