New York Mets

Post-Traumatic Mets Disorder: We Remember

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tom_lasordaDid you know that all-time great Dodger manager Tom Lasorda is, like, BFFs with Mike Piazza’s dad, and serves as godfather to one of Piazza’s brothers? True story.

When Piazza broke the catching home run record in 2004, Lasorda came to Shea Stadium to say a few words for his BFF’s son, on a night the Mets honored him.

When Lasorda wobbled his way (he didn’t walk) to the podium, I clapped.  I mean, he’s not a former Met or even a manager for the team, but show some respect for the guy.

Not to Uncle Gene.  He bellows a big BOOOOO and yells in cupped hands, “WE REMEMBER EIGHTY-EIGHT!!”

I probably cringed.  But 1988 was the first known chain of events that led to my chronic post-traumatic Mets disorder.

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The year was 1988.  I was in my fifth year of being a Mets fan.  I first started to pay attention to baseball in 1983, when my dad couldn’t stop talking about some guy named Keith.  In 1984, I had attended my first three games.  In 1985, I felt like I went to Shea every Sunday game.

By 1986, I had punched my Mets loyalist card, by attending game seven of the 1986 World Series.

In 1987, the Mets had become a form of escapism.  I had talked about that year in a previous series, when I realized that the end was nigh for my parents as a couple.

If 1987 was the test for me learning that the Mets wouldn’t win the World Series (or even win the division) every year, 1988 renewed my faith in being a Mets fan.  They were not just good, they were dominant.  Again.  So dominant that Darryl Strawberry and Kevin McReynolds canceled votes from each other in the MVP voting that year.  A budding young pitcher by the name of David Cone won 20 games.

Their opponent in the NLCS that year was the Los Angeles Dodgers.  A Dodger team, I’d like to add, they beat 10 out of 11 times that year.

This was the first playoff series that I remember watching mostly with my dad.  I do have some warm fuzzies associated with it, mostly, namely when my hero Bart Giamatti tossed Jay Howell out of Game Three for his tar-ball.

There was no doubt in my mind that the Mets would win the series and go onto the World Series again.

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I often wonder what it would have been like had the Mets won that series and went to the World Series.  I wonder if they would have dropped to the Oakland A’s, like they did in 1973, or would they be a two-time champion in the 1980s?

Alas, that would have meant a series win in the NLCS.  Just one more win in the series would have made the difference.

And to that I say, FUCK MIKE SCIOSCIA.

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I begged my dad to take me to Game Four.  I truly believed they would win the National League Championship in Game Five.  But I wanted to be there for a playoff game.  We went, with just one ticket.  Not sure what we would have done had I not been able to get in.  But I did.  It was, of course, the ’80s.

Who knew that a home run would be not just a game changer, but a series changer?

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Davey Johnson’s Mets management legacy, is that he was a very emotional manager.  He was emotionally attached to his “guys.”  Guys like Doc and Darryl, Keith and Ronnie.  Mostly, these same guys would call Davey a “player’s manager.”  Yet, sometimes the manager needs to be the grown-up, the adult in the room, and make the big boy decisions.  That wasn’t done in this instance.

True, Doc looked good.  He had only given up two runs at that point.  Pitch counts weren’t nearly as critical as they are in today’s game.  Yet he had thrown well over 100 pitches by the time he faced Mike Scioscia, with one runner on.

I guess it’s sort of like the captain of the Titanic.  Years of experience would trump all.  Whatever fate was for the Mets, Johnson as manager was certain to face in due time.

In a way, I wonder if 1986 World Series Game Six was somehow a blessing and a curse.  A blessing in that the Mets won and they lived to play another day, and ended up winning the series.  A curse in that, I guess they truly believed that somehow, they’d always emerge victorious.

But Doc was Davey’s “guy.”  Doc, up to that point, hadn’t a win in any postseason game as a Met.  Probably against reasonable judgment, there Doc stayed.

I was diligently taking score during the game, as I was wont to do in those days.  I was so excited…two outs away from being up 3-1 in the series!!  This was gonna be awe….

Shit.

Mike Scioscia hits a game tying home run.  TWO FUCKING OUTS AWAY FROM WINNING GAME FOUR.  Unfuckingbelievable.

And yes, I believe at age 12, I was saying those exact words.

When you are a Mets fan, you have nothing else but to believe.  I think we all believed, at that point, the Mets would not win that game.

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I sometimes like to imagine a world where Scioscia didn’t hit his home run.  Maybe Doc had pulled through and officially won his first postseason game, or maybe Davey put in a reliever for the 9th inning who went 1-2-3.  Mike Scioscia was never a huge home run hitter.  This was easily the most clutch in his career.

That home run doesn’t get hit, they go up in the series 3-1.  They win Game Five on the momentum at home.

kirk_gibsonKevin McReynolds has his Kirk Gibson Moment during the World Series, endearing himself to Mets fans forever.  But then, we would never know a Kirk Gibson Moment.  Because had the Mets won that series against the Dodgers, we’d never see him limping around the bases.

Shit.  The Mike Scioscia home run changed baseball COMPLETELY.

Perhaps he would have struck out in embarrassing fashion.  Never to be seen again after this series.  Scioscia would then never get the tutelage of Lasorda and wouldn’t have become a well-respected manager for the “I’m Calling Them California” Angels.

Perhaps Kirk Gibson wouldn’t be the manager of the Arizona Diamondbacks.

You just don’t know.  Baseball is a game of chances and odds.  What are the odds that Scioscia doesn’t hit that home run?  The odds were against him for sure.

And this has led to several years of post-traumatic Mets disorder for not just this Mets fan, but several.  Metstradamus still shudders when he hears Scioscia’s name.

I think to that night.  I was a pre-teen taking score at a game that I was sure the Mets would win.  It was the first time I learned that my team could break my heart.  Sure, I lived through 1987.  The team wasn’t the same.  The 1988 team though looked like a rebirth.  Like they would rise from the ashes and be the dominant team that Frank Cashen had set out to make.

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As a baseball fan second, I will always respect and admire both Tom Lasorda and Mike Scioscia for what they’ve done and accomplished as major league managers.  But as Uncle Gene said at that game in 2004, we’ll always remember what happened in 1988.

A little part of me died that night, as a fan.  I’m sure most Mets fans in attendance thought that, still think it.  The Mets after that night were never the same.   They never quite rebounded.

I learned what it truly meant to be a Mets fan.

Post-Traumatic Mets Disorder: It’s ALL Mike Bordick’s Fault

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I went away to school in the mid 1990s.  Since there was a baseball strike in 1994, I lost interest for a little bit, even when it returned.  But also since I was a poor college student, I didn’t have funds to go up to Queens at a moment’s notice like I would as a carefree child (oh, and that whole thing of being paid for by my parents).

It wasn’t till around 1996 that I started to go to games again, and be interested in baseball and most importantly the Mets.  I saw Fuckin’ Franco give up late inning saves.  I saw Bobby Valentine bring the Mets back to a semblance of respectability, just by showing up and bringing a new aura.  I saw the league’s best hitting catcher come via a trade in 1998.

Perhaps 1999 was the most fun I’d had as a Mets fan.  Most of it was so unexpected that I didn’t care how they got there.  They just got there.

Post-traumatic Mets disorder officially set in for me in 1988.  I’m sure Metstradamus would agree, with the name Mike Scioscia.  Tom Lasorda (whom I always loved, in a self-flagellating way), Kirk Gibson, Orel Hershiser…oh em gee.  Just the names make my skin crawl.

Funny though that Hershiser was a critical component in 1999 for the New York Mets.

He was not, though, in 2000.

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Mets fans had some high expectations in 2000.  They put up a good fight in 1999, and anything less than a trip to the World Series would be uncivilized.

Not to say there weren’t several holes on that team.  Take for example, the outfield.  See, it’s the leaning on the past that makes Mets fans like myself rationalize the abysmal looking outfield going into 2013.  Usually the whole “Agbayani, Payton and Perez” argument is backed up whenever we look at a future outfield of well, whatever shit the Mets decide to stick to the wall.

Another perceived black hole was the shortstop role that year.  See, Rey Ordoñez was a great defensive shortstop.  His glaring weakness was his failure to hit out of the infield most of the time.

Again, this is an argument that Mets fans generally lean on when we want to justify keeping a guy we like.  “Oh, but his DEFENSE!”  Which is BS.  That was the argument used to keeping a guy like Jeff Francoeur around, who could barely hit his weight, free swinging hitting into a double play, and couldn’t take a walk if his life depended on it.  Actually, wasn’t it he who hit into the triple play against the Phillies in 2009?  (I’m too lazy to look it up – this is not a rant against Francoeur, whom I’m sure is quite nice once you get to know him).

True to form though, once Ordoñez stopped making defensive gems in the infield, his uselessness transcended to the fanbase.  In fact, he called the Mets fans “Too stupid,” once they started to boo him.  THEN the offense is what matters.

But Ordoñez, in a way, is indirectly responsible for one of my biggest sources of post-traumatic Mets disorder.  After all, it was his season-ending injury that made the Mets make a panic move for then-Baltimore Oriole Mike Bordick.

The PTMD stands out in more than one way.  What has made me think about this source of PTMD came up in my household, recently, because my husband who is head nut over at Studious Metsimus, has been writing a series on certain Mets players that got away.  Last week’s topic was on Melvin Mora, who became not only a fan favorite but almost a cult-like hero during the late parts of the 1999 season.  Again, a team that fought tooth and nail, one of the most entertaining Mets teams I’ve had the pleasure of watching.

We had an argument while he was writing it though (an intellectual disagreement, not of the type of slamming doors, we never have fights like that).  When I started to complain that Bordick sucked, he’s the reason why I hate the “half-year rental” moves, he must have hated playing in New York so much because the second his contract was up, he high-tailed it back to Charm City, where he is now immortalized in the Orioles Hall of Fame (and so is Brady Anderson, which speaks volumes to the rich history of Baltimore…and the not-so-rich recent history).

Hubby says, “Yes, but where would Melvin Mora have been put?  David Wright was the third baseman, he would have had to move anyway.”

To say I blew a gasket would be an understatement.

“DAVID WRIGHT WAS A COMPENSATORY PICK FOR MIKE HAMPTON!!! REMEMBER HIM???? THE NLCS MVP IN 2000!!????!!! PERHAPS IF BORDICK OR ANYONE ELSE HIT OVER A BUCK-TWENTY FIVE IN THE WORLD SERIES, HAMPTON WOULD HAVE FOUND REDEEMING QUALITIES IN NEW YORK SCHOOLS TOO!!!!”

Someone needs to take her meds.

There’s an element of truth in trying not to justify regrets.  If you regret something, then maybe your life would be completely different.  Sometimes I miss living in Hoboken.  Had I not moved, however, I may not have met my husband.  I say the benefits of that move certainly outweighed the risks.

But by trading Mora, the Mets might have indeed changed their history.  Perhaps he would have taken to playing shortstop during the 2000 season.  Perhaps he would have been more of a threat at the plate than Bordick, who really DID hit .125 in the World Series.  IT WAS ALL HIS FAULT!

Okay, maybe it was the questionable pitching.  Maybe it was Timo Perez not running full-out in game one.  Yet, there was no margin of error in that series.  The difference between someone hitting .125 to, I dunno, hitting over .200 could have meant the difference in winning more games.

You just don’t know.

But most of all, in 2000, there was no David Wright in the Mets organization.  When Mike Hampton decided to go where the schools were in Colorado and signed with the Rockies prior to the 2001 season, the “sandwich pick” that year was a guy named David Allen Wright, who recently signed his long-term contract with the Mets.

Mike Hampton Poker FaceYet think about if the Mets won the World Series in 2000.  Perhaps Hampton would have stayed to win again.  (And maybe he would have cracked a smile during the celebrations then).

Perhaps there would have been no David Wright in that offseason.  Let’s say Mora wasn’t traded away.  Let’s say Mora became a fan favorite and was a leader in the Mets organization, as opposed to one in the history books with Baltimore (which, by the way, he is).

Mets history would be completely different.

But I ask you this.  Sometimes, when we talk about 2006, and the post-years of 2007 and 2008, we wonder what would have happened had the Mets gone to the World Series, had won, or even weren’t eliminated in such humiliating fashion in 2007 and 2008.

Would 2009 – 2012 (and going into 2013) be a different feeling?  Would we be more accepting of it?

Perhaps if the Mets won in 2000, and beaten the Yankees, this would all be moot.

Yet, I can’t help but think how Mike Bordick is singularly responsible for fucking up Mets history.

Am I being irrational?  Don’t answer that.  But the blowing up earlier that I had with my husband was not exaggerated.  I even did a Rafael Palmeiro point in the face while arguing.

Rey Ordoñez gets injured.  Steve Phillips trades Melvin Mora, along with several others, to Baltimore for Mike Bordick.  Mora was hitting .260 when he left Queens; Bordick was hitting .297.  Certainly seemed like a decent move on paper.  Yet, Bordick was a free agent after 2000.  Perhaps Phillips should have learned something with thinking with his dick back then, as it got him into trouble in subsequent years in his personal life.

Mora was 28 and made his debut the year prior; Bordick was 35, had 12 years under his belt.  Theoretically, Mora had his career in front of him; Bordick was in the twilight and at best, a few okay years, good but not great.

But it was true.  Mora did have his career in front of him; Bordick went wee-wee-wee all the way back to Baltimore as soon as the season wrapped up.  Yes, the Orioles weren’t exactly world beaters (2012 was the first year they made the playoffs since 1997) during Mora’s time and after Bordick returned.  Yet, don’t you see, the Mets’ history could be completely different.  Of course, it could be similar or the same, without a 2000 World Series win.  But let’s think of the alternate universe for a second.

Ordoñez gets hurt.  Mora transitions to shortstop, not without growing pains, but he overperforms, and the Mets go on to the postseason.  Perhaps Mora makes such an impression at shortstop that the Mets actually do the right thing and trade Ordoñez or better yet, when he returns, Mora makes the move back to third base.

Maybe Mike Hampton stays; maybe he goes.  I know that his career wasn’t exactly noteworthy post-Mets.  In fact, I may be cringing at the thought of him being tied to a long-term contract from which he kept trying to make some kind of triumphant return.  What we wouldn’t have known wouldn’t have hurt us, re: David Wright.  Maybe in 2004, the Mets would have had a higher draft pick (one slot higher, actually) and got Justin Verlander instead of Phil Humber.  Yes, Phil Humber got us Johan Santana, who got the Mets their first no-hitter.  According to Coop vision, however, Verlander has had two.

A stretch?  Oh, certainly, I freely admit that.  It’s fun though, to play 20/20 hindsight GM.

In the grand scheme of things though, my hatred for the time Mike Bordick spent on the Mets, albeit short, transcends rationality, history, and regret.

It’s post-traumatic Mets disorder to the nth degree.  No sense makes sense.  But the sense of it all is that I blame, directly and indirectly, the Mets not winning the 2000 World Series and their floundering in subsequent years on the Mike Bordick trade.  Perhaps he’s a nice guy.  Perhaps we can argue that it was Steve Phillips’ fault.

I prefer to blame the guy who was traded and an empty uniform on the field.

Post-Traumatic Mets Disorder: The Origins

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I’m sure many of you find it hard to believe that in my household — in which resides two Mets bloggers and fans — there is a lot of baseball talk.  Not just Mets talk, but all of baseball.  From the Hall of Fame Snubs of 2013 to Breaking the Color Barrier to Babe Ruth, baseball talk around here is like, “So what would you like for dinner?”  It’s just natural.

But all baseball talk makes Coop and Ed a very dull girl and boy.  So we spice it up a bit.

Like each year since 2011, Ed has done a weekly post on a theme that brings us from the dawn of the New Year to Opening Day (which is like the New Year for baseball fans…the only date on the calendar that signifies the beginning of “something”).  I tried my hand at doing a column on how I was Married to the Mets last year.  That was fun, but I like to write about stuff that makes people laugh or smile.  Because if we know anything as Mets fans, if an event is painful, we sometimes just have to laugh it off.

If you follow me on Twitter, or anywhere else really, you’ll know that I have a catch phrase called “Post-Traumatic Mets Disorder.”  This is just as it sounds.  Many Mets fans have great memories, but then there are the memories that have a lot of heartache attached to it.  We can only but laugh at them.

But it’s not necessarily attached to the Mets nor a player.  It can be an outside force.  It can even be a player we LIKED or loved.  There’s typically a circumstance around why we suffer post-traumatic Mets disorder, but one thing is for sure: it has to do with an event or tied somehow into Mets history.

Starting this Friday, I’m going to go over some of the names or moments that make Mets fans cringe, cry, barf or smack their heads — sometimes, all four. Maybe more emotions if I can think about it.

The point is, I’ll be writing about some of my most famous interactions with post-traumatic Mets disorder, or PTMD, and the inspirations behind it.  And hopefully we can cringe, cry, barf and smack our heads collectively at the memories.

Make Love, Not War

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Mets 50th Anniversary CollectionI have what we deem as a “Christmas birthday.”  While everyone on planet Earth (okay, maybe just **here**) is prepping for the holidays and transition into the New Year, a day celebrating me is thrown in the mix there.

Being a sports fan, it’s never been out of the realm of possibility to get a sports-related gift to celebrate.  This year, the big “get” was the Mets 50th Anniversary DVD collection, which was kind of a family gift (my husband has had his eye on this sucker for a WHILE now).

I was super excited to see that in the collection, one of my favorite Mets videos, An Amazin’ Era (a chronicle of the first 25 seasons of the Mets), was available on the DVD set.  Super excited probably doesn’t get it – super-duper is more like it.  Of course, the DVD was extended to include the 1986 championship and the NL East run in 1988…something that was a “To Be Continued…” part of the original VHS.  And yes, I still have that thing somewhere.

I often take for granted that the Mets won a championship in my lifetime.  Sometimes though I imagine what life might be like if I didn’t have that year.  If watching the 1969 highlights is all we’d have for going all the way…but so many close calls, like the 1973, 1988 and even the late 90s.

Mark Messier 1994Then the night my husband and I watched the video, he fell asleep, and I was there in insomnia land.  Not only did I get to relive the Mets championship years, I got to see a retrospective on the New York Rangers 1993-94 Stanley Cup run.

I guess I’m a little more than fortunate when it comes to my teams.  Some fan bases have never seen a championship in their lifetime.  I’ve seen one for each of my teams.

I said last year that the team closest to a championship would have been the Rangers.  It’s only cruel and unusual punishment that they have not been able to drop the puck this year.

The Mets seem to be making some moves to ensure that in the future, championships will be dancing in our heads.

I suppose it is only fitting that when I look at the last time the Mets had “relevance,” it was 2006…life would be so much different if they were able to make it the World Series, let alone win it.  Yet, 2006 was a long time ago.

The same could be said for my third team, the Jets.  Two years in a row, they did not make it to the playoffs despite high expectations.  The two years PRIOR to that though, they made it as far as they could go without going the furthest, if that makes sense.

I’m trying to take the football victories where I can.   I can be happy for my friends and family who root for different teams.  My husband is a big Seahawks fan.  We even went to see them play the Jets in Seattle in November.  He was in Hawks Heaven…I’m typically found in Jets hell.

Today, though, I heard that while Mike Tannenbaum was let go, Rex Ryan is staying on  I really don’t know how to feel about it.  I know the buck stops there, but ultimately, how many times can changing the coaching staff really help?

My thought was…I was brought back so many good memories of having my teams winning in my lifetime.  This is a gift I not only cherish but also do not take for granted.

Yet, I don’t have the warm fuzzies with the Jets, except maybe the time from 2009 and 2010.  Some other years there, but I guess deep down I knew it just wasn’t their year.  I had such high expectations only to be dashed at the last moment.  I would then have higher hopes for the future, only to get pooped on later.

My point is wondering why I stick around.  Sometimes, especially after seasons like this, make me wonder why I just don’t go root for another team.  I wonder if things will ever change.  I doubt they will.  Yet, I don’t want to be that fan who gave up when it was so close.

I could only imagine what it was like for people like my dad, who stuck around with the Rangers though they didn’t win till he was a long-time fan and was even lecturing me on the prospect of the Rangers not making it past game six in the 1994 Eastern Conference final versus the Devils.  It became evident, watching the highlights, that the blueshirts were “going for it all” that year.  They wouldn’t have had a better chance after that season.

The Mets started to fall apart after 1986.  I sometimes wonder why I stick around with such inept management and even more inept finances.  Then I think there’s no way they can be that bad forever, right?

But I have the championships from those teams.

Then there’s the Jets.  There are certainly bigger Gang Green fans than I am, but we explain it all away when love a team, we make excuses but the reality is…we all want the same thing.

To survive the war together.

So when people ask me why I am a sports fan, it’s the prospect of winning it all…that’s one thing.  It’s the surviving of it together.  It’s the experience of it together.

I named my first Mets blog “My Summer Family,” after a line in the movie Fever Pitch, which is what Jimmy Fallon’s character says about his Red Sox family.  He later said that he wanted to be involved with something bigger than himself.  It’s why I’ve stuck around with the Mets, the Rangers and the Jets.  To experience that feeling again.  I’ve been fortunate to experience it with two of my teams.

I guess I have to believe there is some payoff at the end.  That during the wars, and the battles, we stick around for the love of the team.

The love of the team though trumps most of the wars and battles forged though.  It’s part of our life, it’s part of our culture.

It’s part of who we are.

The Passion of the Tebow

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You all know me.

DSCN5633I am not a Tim Tebow aficionado.  I probably make more excuses for Mark Travis John Sanchez than his own mother (or worse, his coach Rex Ryan).  Yet, I’m pretty much done with him too.

But I have to say, I feel bad for Tebow.  He did not deserve to be a part of this green shit show this year, at all.

He has served as a pawn in a clueless management that seeks to win headlines over actual games.

He has served as an icon for a hype-driven market.

But most of all, it’s one that has been completely unfair to him.

Mark Sanchez clearly cannot handle whatever it is he can’t handle (the voices in his head telling him he sucks, or the “death threats” he received on Twitter after Monday night’s loss).

Tebow did not deserve what he’s gotten from the Jets, which is a big gigantic ZERO.  Nothin’.  A turd, if you will.  A big fat smelly turd.

Do I like Tebow?  Look, I’ll be the first to say he’s all hype and a self-promoting media marketing machine.  Does that mean I think he’s a bad person?  Quite the contrary.  I don’t believe he’s a bad guy at all.  And he’s certainly not the bad guy in this story.

What did he do to deserve the treatment that he’s gotten from the Jets?  I certainly think at age 25 it’s unfair to pigeonhole him as “finished,” as the Washington Post said today.

First, John Elway made his role obsolete by “going for it” with Peyton “I-Look-Like-A-Milwaukee-Racing-Sausage” Manning when Manning’s job was obsolete in Indianapolis.  This was AFTER Tebow had given the Denver Broncos the chutzpah to make it in the playoffs last year.

Second, what the frigg was Mike Tannenbaum thinking?  Whatever warts and all Rex Ryan has as head coach, clearly he is Mark Sanchez’s number one supporter.  I’m sure it was with a heavy heart he decided to go with Greg McElroy in this week’s game, rather than Sanchez or Tebow for that matter.

Which leads me to this.  I’m not a Tebow fan, but I was of the frame of mind that if he was capable, he should certainly be in there, at least when Sanchez was floundering.  Which is entirely possible, as we’ve seen.  Talk about mixed messages.  First, Sanchez was given an extension, THEN Tebow was traded to the Jets.  What the hell were they thinking?  I don’t even know if THEY know what they were thinking!

All at the expense of a man’s career.  Beautiful.

Look.  You all know I am a Mets fan, right?  (If not, whose blog have YOU been reading??)  It reminds me of the situation with Aaron Heilman (before you laugh, I happen to have some Stockholm Syndrome going on with him, deal with it).  Remember he was a starter?  Typical Mets story when they rush a prospect, only to see him fail, then not know what to do with him.  They brought him back for a start, and he rewards them with a shutout one-hitter.  How do they pay him back?  By putting him in the bullpen, a role he was NOT suited for, with the carrot dangle of “If you do well, you’ll be a starter again.”  Well, guess what?  He becomes too valuable in the ‘pen, which didn’t say much because the Mets notoriously NEVER have a good bullpen.  Then what happens?  Heilman ends up blowing some significant games, and cannot gain the confidence coming into a game.

Sure, I can call him a pussy, but the moral of the story is, just another one biting the dust of Mets mismanagement when they don’t know what the hell to do with a player.

I can adapt that story to the Jets.  Why ruin a team when you can ruin the career of a decent guy who is talented and can succeed and do so much more?

Look no further than Tim Tebow.

As I’ve said, I am no Tebow fan, but he does not deserve this smear of his young uprising profession this soon in his career.  Shame on the Jets for making him a pawn in this situation.

Baseball Hell For This Fan

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I freely admit to having some irrational hate towards some players.  As a wise man named Metstradamus once told me, though, YOU (the collective “you”) LOVE TO HATE.  Tis true I suppose.

Some of my irrational hate comes from my own team.  Like Nelson Figueroa and Joe McEwing?  Take a flying leap, both of yas.  Angel Pagan can kick rocks as far as I’m concerned.

For teams not my own, I do not like Cody Ross — though I had to root for him (blech) in 2010 when he singlehandedly kicked the Phillies asses.  I react to him much like Bluto reacts to seeing Kent Dorfman’s face on the screen in the Delta House.

Oh and don’t get me started on the Phils.  I hope Cliff Lee’s wife got to see the “best” of what Philly has to offer once they started losing this year.

But the ALCS and NLCS in 2012.  This is unique because none of these teams have any redeeming qualities to me.  None that I can get behind and root for.  Not that I like to have an active rooting interest.  I guess without my team in these games, it’s tough to get emotionally invested.  So while I can have a benign interest, I typically like to look at these games at I would any regular season game that I happen to be watching on TV or in person when my team is not playing.  Like being able to acknowledge a good play.  Seeing a monster home run.  Protesting a bad call (trust me – on the sides of a bad call, the opposing team agrees, the team in question disagrees).

This year is tough.  I don’t like any of the teams.  Possibly irrationally, possibly good.  But if irrational hate is wrong, I don’t wanna be right.

The Cardinals.  It’s funny why I don’t particularly care for them this year.  You’d think I might like them more since Tony LaRasshat isn’t around.  But no.  It’s more than that.  I could say that it was 2006 that did it for me, but I’m not gonna go there.  Fact is, the Mets beat themselves more in that series than the Cards did.  But no.  It’s what @Mezzanine76 said, and it’s what I’m thinking about Carlos Beltran.

 

I want Carlos Beltran to win a ring…I do NOT want him to win one with the Cardinals.  I mean, that’s almost too easy.  The team he has absolutely owned in postseasons, that he always kills…hell, he’s just a monster in the postseason.

Is that selfish of me?  Well, of course it is.  I hope Beltran hits like .900 in this series.  I don’t want his team to win.

Plus I guess I still have some sore bones about last year’s World Series.  Fuck the Texas Rangers for making that happen, and fuck the Cardinals.

(And I’m still upset that the Nats had to lose that way in Game Five.  For more on that, read Dave Nichols’ post at District Sports Page – you will not be disappointed).

That would probably make you say, then you’d be rooting for the San Francisco Giants. Well, no.  Not exactly.  The cruelest joke is that I love their stadium, love the city (only other place I’d live besides New York City), but their fans do NOT deserve this team at all.  I was there in 2010, prior to them winning.  I never met more of a douchelord fan base in my life (up there with Yankees and Dodgers).

I realized something though.  They were antsy.  If we thought that the lack of Mets history in CitiField was bad at first when it opened, it had NOTHING on AT&T Park, where they celebrated pretty much everything from the New York era.  Prior to 2010, no San Francisco Giant team had ever won a World Series…the New York Giants had.

I pitied them. Then they won.  One of my favorite pitchers is Tim Lincecum.  I had his bobblehead.  They have a great mascot.  Yay, Lou Seal!  So I was okay with it.

Since then, every single Giants fan comes to CitiField and now travels well.  I do not like their fans.  Probably more of a hipster-esque Phillies fan base, if you can believe it.  Maybe they’re better now these days, but I have yet to come in contact with a more angry fan base.

Angel Pagan.  Never cared for him as a Met.  Now a postseason hero.  I *heart* contract years.

Which is probably the ultimate in Mets hell, really.  Cardinals have Beltran, Giants have Pagan.   Mets have Andres Torres.

If there is a baseball god, he’s not a very nice one.  And (s)he certainly does not like the Mets.

Then there’s the ALCS.  I was excited about the possibility of the Baltimore Orioles advancing, and I really liked the Oakland A’s story this year.  Neither team advanced.  Therefore, the other teams can go fuck themselves.

Okay, maybe Detroit has something good.  I like Justin Verlander, Max Scherzer and Prince Fielder.  But I still have some irrational hate towards Miguel Cabrera for Roger Dorn’ing a ball during the All-Star Game in 2006.  Also because he was a Marlin.  Oh and Jose Valverde can take a long walk off a short pier as far as I’m concerned (and this was before the blow up last night).

I have no choice but to get behind them because of who they are playing in the Series.

That’s the Yankees.  After Raul Ibanez hit a game tying home run in the 9th inning against the Tigers last night, @DyHrdMet had this to say.

And it’s true.  The sense of entitlement is astounding.  Not to say that there aren’t some really true fans…but their justification of lack of sellouts during the postseason, moving the riff raff from the top levels to the seats behind home plate that clearly weren’t full, pricing their own fans out during a prime time game on a weekend…quite possibly the bandwagon is falling apart.  Honestly, though, I was ripped apart for suggesting that there are only Yankee fans who come out during October.  Why?  THERE ARE AND THAT’S THE PROBLEM.  I say I don’t get emotionally involved during playoffs…they have fans who ONLY get emotionally involved during the playoffs.  They are not fans.  They suck.

Oh and the booing.  The friends I have who actually ARE lifelong Yankees fans were calling out the fans who actively booed (in no particular order) A-Rod, Curtis Granderson (really???), Nick Swisher (okay, maybe he deserves it).  Say what you will about A-Rod and Swisher (and I have plenty to say about that dickhead), Granderson, folks??? Really???

Of course there are things I’m not going to gloat about.  As much as I don’t like the team or particularly care for him, you wouldn’t want to wish Derek Jeter’s injury on anyone.

But can I find a more completely unrootable team?  Probably not.

A-Rod – BWAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Okay, look.  I defend a guy like Jason Bay because you can tell his downturn bothers him, and he still cares.  But is there more of an unlikable character than A-Rod in sports?  No, not really.  And say what you want about Bay – he’s only getting paid an average of $16.5 mm per year AND has only one more year left on his contract.  A-Rod gets $27.5mm.  No question who the bigger bust is…especially since A-Rod has FIVE MORE YEARS left.

Raul Ibanez.  Is there a more cruel joke than to see a former 2009 champion Philadelphia Phillies and seeing him absolutely turn the heat on in the playoffs?

Nick Swisher is just in general a dislikable douchebag.   Robinson Cano is a big baby.  WAH!  And if the term “run support” wasn’t invented for a guy like Philip Hughes, then I don’t know why it was ever coined.

Joba Chamberlain, Rafael Soriano…all of ’em.  Can’t stand a one.  Maybe it has to do with some irrational Yankees hatred.  But I’ve liked some players on the Yankees over the year.  At least, I think I have.  Hell, I’ve even admitted to liking Chase Utley on the Phillies.  I have had to have liked somebody on the Yankees…right?  Right?

Maybe Mo Rivera.  He seems like a decent human being.

Lastly, watching the last few games they’ve played, it amazes me just how far the Yankees have gone this year.  With all that power (on paper) in their lineup, you’d think they wouldn’t leave RISP after RISP all the time.  If the Tigers don’t take them down in four games, they’re nothing but a fraud.

But you see, there I go again.  Caring about the outcome of games that my team isn’t even playing.

So ya happy now???

No, not really.  The playoffs suck when your team isn’t in it.

But they really suck when you can find no redeeming qualities about any of the teams playing.

Right now, I’m rooting for a flood.

Holier Than Thou

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I’m a pretty fortunate chick that I can travel around to visit ballparks around the country. At current count, I’ve seen Fenway Park, Yankee Stadium, CitiField, Citizens Bank Park, PNC Park, Nationals Park, Camden Yards, Tropicana Field, Wrigley Field, Miller Park, US Cellular Field, Ballpark at Arlington, Dodger Stadium, AT&T Park, Petco Park, Angel Stadium and Rogers “I’m Calling it SkyDome” Centre. (I’ve also seen three stadiums no longer with us: Shea, the “first” Yankee and The Vet in Philly).

I’ve met some shitty fans (San Francisco was by far one of the worst fan bases I’ve ever come in contact with), fans who couldn’t care less and probably have a better reputation than they should (like Toronto), and some fanbases that get a bad rap that actually I didn’t get to see (like Dodger fans). I’ve seen what bad finances can do to a fan base (like mine), and I can see what happens when ownership gets in its own way (like Miami or Baltimore).  I’ve seen what happens when a team gets good and all of a sudden “lifelong fans” come out of the woodwork.

I’m all too familiar with that last part. I’ve seen it happen with my own fan base, especially in 2006. EVERYONE wanted to be in on the fun. Then again, I’ve always said that the best times to be a Mets fan would be during the down years anyway.

I digress.

The playoffs brings out the worst in every fan base, I believe. The worst of the bandwagoners.

But the whole “he who is without sin” and “casting the first stone” has come out in full force, probably more than ever, during these baseball playoff series.

And mostly, I find that Yankee fans in my feed are casting those stones.

This is not meant to be an attack on Yankee Nation or their fans. I have a great amount of people in my Twitter feed and in my real life whom I consider good friends who are Yankee fans. These are FANS not in quotation marks, but people who live and die by the team. I get that there is a lot of history and passion related to the topic. These aren’t the people I have a problem with. In fact, they’re the people who I feel are the most level-headed.

I find the whole topic of “fairweather fans” in the playoffs kind of funny.  I mean, Yankee fans should speak from experience.  I should know: I am a Mets fan who has rooted for the blue and orange, lived and died with them since I was seven years old.  Yet, over the years, with the peaks and valleys with how poor the team has been run, I’ve seen my share of people who show up only when they are good.

Yet there is a population of people who just stop going to games.  Why spend money on a product that is faulty?  I can certainly see the validity to that statement.  What I hated though was going from 2004, where the real fans were still showing up, drinking beer and talking about trades that would never happen, to 2006, when people said, “Oh I like this Mets team better than the Yankees, so I’m gonna root for them.”  No.  Seriously.  SOMEONE SAID THIS TO ME.  I don’t remember if I said anything back because, well, I just couldn’t believe someone would admit it to me.

I have family members who claim to be lifelong Yankee fans, but I can put an asterisk *since 1996 next to their fandom, since we sat in front of the TV and rooted for the Mets in the ’80s.  I wish I could have it that easy.  Just start rooting for another team without a conscience.

Like I said, this isn’t meant to be a rant against Yankee fans.  I just find it mildly ironic (okay – HELLA ironic) that their fans would call out Orioles fans for “just showing up” now.

Here are some things I’ve taken into consideration about this year’s playoffs.

One is, I go to probably more Orioles games than any others outside of my own team’s.  It’s mostly a geographic necessity.  I’m certainly not going to go to a game in Philadelphia for the hell of it.  Same for the Bronx.  I hate Boston, and DC and I don’t mix.  But I like Baltimore.  It’s a quick bus ride for me.  I can find cheap accommodations, and food is really really good there.  And if there is a game going on when I happen to be there, you better be certain I’m going to attend.  (There’s also this little obsession I have with a guy named Cal Ripken). I may be a little biased for their fans but that’s because I interact with many of them in a given time frame.

Two is, take into consideration economic factors.  Typically, if a region is hurting or there is less discretionary income going somewhere, chances are baseball games will get hit.  I have a family member who admitted he stopped going to games because it wasn’t economically feasible this year.  I can understand that. For what it’s worth too, the Mets have taken note of this phenomenon and at least have tried to make it more appealing for families to come to the ballpark.  My husband and I don’t have children.  We like baseball.  We make it a priority to attend.  Therefore, we make it a factor for us.  That and road trips.

But that’s just the thing.  I feel like the road trips I go on make me maybe a little conscious of what’s going on in outside markets.  True, New York is expensive, but so is the cost of living and generally prices and incomes are in line with that.  Take into consideration Los Angeles, when I went to a game when the Dodgers were actually good, and I could get a seat in the Loge level for TWELVE DOLLARS on Stubhub.  I could go to the Cell in Chicago’s South Side and spend less than $30 for two tickets for a team that gets a good draw in the upper deck in the secondary market (lots of fees went into that $30, I think it was like $13 per ticket).

Mostly, when I go to Baltimore and there is a game going on, I can walk up that day and buy tickets, get good seats, cheap.  Is it indicative of the fan base?  Maybe.  But I definitely think that local economic factors in “smaller markets” account for this too.

The third is, again the irony calling out the Baltimore Orioles fan base in general.  The AL East, save the Yankees and MAYBE the Red Sox, never sell out their games.  And even those two teams don’t come close to it most nights (maybe the Sox do because their stadium is so small, therefore fewer seats to fill).

I was in Toronto in May, and there were tons of fans dressed as empty seats.  In fact, Rogers Centre was a barn.  You could not fill it up, and they actually closed off some sections.  I believe though, that they might have raised prices on tickets there to account for the lack of seats that were there.  I don’t think they can do that…but I feel like my upper deck ticket was really high.

Look at the Tampa Bay Rays, who have actually been a good team for the past four years, couldn’t sell out a game to save their lives, then they became good.  THEY COULD NOT GET PEOPLE TO COME TO THEIR GAMES OR THE PLAYOFFS.

You know what I saw last night at Camden Yards?  I saw passion.  I saw excitement.  I saw people who now had a reason to go to the games.  Not complaining that Peter Angelos was running the team into the ground, and they’d never compete again.  I remember reading an article a few weeks ago about how the fans were not coming to the games, but viewership was at an all-time high for MASN (the local sports network in that region).  I don’t think that’s bandwagon-ism, it’s more of a “Hey, I can justify putting my discretionary income into these games now.”

The first game was a clusterfuck for sure.  I heard that Orioles fans were leaving when the game was still close.  In a close game, in the playoffs, that’s a total party foul.  I can’t say that I blame them though.  I’m not one to leave a game early unless I’m ill or something, but you know, it was cold Sunday night.  Some people had to work the next day.

What got me though is that Orioles fans are not the only folks to do such a thing.  I remember in 2010 fans leaving the Yankees/Rangers series at Yankee Stadium.  I talked to a coworker then who admitted he left early.  When I gave him “the look,” he said, “Look, judge me all you want, but I have kids.  I need to be in the office at 8 A.M.  It was close to midnight.  They were losing.  I had to pick up my car in Jersey City.  I wanted to go home.”  I guess, you know, he wasn’t banking on a comeback, but hey, he had a point.

What I’m saying is….these things happen.

In the past year and change, I’ve had the opportunity to meet some great fans from other fan bases, something I can say would have never happened without the advent of social media.  And mostly, I find it intriguing to watch because I am a Mets fan and they sucked all year.  Then there’s my friends from the Washington Nationals fan base that I’m really happy for, because they’re so much fun to watch getting excited over their team.  Prior to this year, it was an easy ticket to get (do I need to bring up how the Nationals ticket people openly recruited Phillies fans to come to their games?).  Do I think these people are bandwagoners?  Absolutely not.

Last year, I went to a “meaningless” game in September at Camden Yards, and met the two fans pictured above.  The woman, “Stretch Lady,” made it a point to go to all 81 home games last year.  Let that one sink in.  The gentleman, who writes for 2131 and Beyond, follows the Orioles around like I follow the Mets around.  Are they exceptions to the rule?  Hardly.

I watched with glee as the Orioles took out the Red Sox in Game 162.  Nothing against the Red Sox.  I know a lot of their fans too.  But because my misconceptions about Orioles were cleared up, I found that this team had scrap.  And it carried over into this season, surprising many.

I could point out that Phillies fans had nothing to cheer for prior to 2008, and were merely distracted from their Eagles watching with a decent few years from the baseball team.  Now those fans are not showing up to games.   Then again, that’s a bad example because save maybe Flyers fans, Philadelphia sports fans are probably the most fickle in all of sports.

I make it a point to not actively root for teams during the playoffs.  Honestly, I don’t like the stress that goes along with it.   But I do like watching from an objective point of view.  And my objectivity makes it clear that those who are pointing the amount of bandwagon jumpers in these particular playoffs have no fucking room to make that judgment.

To prove my point, The 7 Line found this shirt today, made by Majestic. 

A shirt that is an official shirt maker for MLB.

His response was, “The bandwagon will love that.”

I got some defensive responses from some of the Yankee fan base the other night, when I commented about those who come out to roost during the playoffs.  “That’s not true!” they say.  “They’re just as passionate as other fan bases,” they say.  But…what about those people I see who never wear a stitch of Yankee clothing during the regular season, never make a comment about going to a game, watching a game, never make a peep about a good pitching performance from CC Sabathia, or make a comment about how they don’t like A-Rod (trust me: real Yankee fans DO NOT like A-Rod).

Guess when they show up and won’t shut the fuck up?

I’ll give you a hint: It’s a month that begins with “O.”

I’m not saying that none of these fans aren’t bandwagoners.  Clearly, every fan base has them.  I’ve seen plenty infiltrate my team.

But to say the experience is somehow “less than” or that your team’s fans are better because they’ve been to the playoffs 100 years in a row and can’t get rid of these lunatic fringe element that goes and starts shit, well congratulations.

You’re a Holier-than-Thou fan.

Autumn In New York

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Like many business people in New York City, I work for myself and I’m able to make my own hours.  In that vain I’m able to attend to real life issues such as declaring whether the Whole Foods Market salad bar is better than Westside Market’s, or to make my Trader Joe’s shopping list (which being able to go in the afternoon rather than after traditional working hours is a godsend, since everyone and their uncle goes after work).

And like many people in New York, I’m often running errands boasting my team colors.  Today, I was bumming around in my New York Rangers shirsey, bearing the number and name of one Bradley Glenn Richards.

So it’s autumn in New York.  It’s not just a one sport town, but a multiple sport town.  There is not one but several phenomena occurring this time of year. Typically, you can count on Yankee fans getting ready for the postseason, and Mets fans get ready to root for whomever plays against them.

Football season is a few weeks old.  Jets fans typically change their mind on the team more than the weather.

Yet there’s a gaping hole this fall, and it’s not the fact that I left the Giants out of the equation (come on, no one fucking talks about them until the playoffs)…and that’s hockey.

I’m a Mets and Jets fan, yet when I wear their attire, not much gets said to me when I’m walking down the street (unless I’m with my husband, and we get the “Hey, going to the game today?” comments).  I would gather that Yankee and/or Giants fans might feel the same when they sport their team colors.

Today, as I’m walking in Trader Joe’s, not one, not two, but THREE people (each from different walks of life — one an employee, one guy who looked like he just came in from the gym and someone who was probably working in an office setting still in their business casual clothes) made a comment about the team.  Whether it was, “Man, what do you think about the lockout?”  Or “We got Nash, and now we’re not playing?”  Or “Brad Richards, huh?”  (I get that a lot, but sue me, I was excited to have him on the team last year).

Come to now with the threat of no hockey this seasons I would be willing to argue that the true heart of a New York sports fan lies in their hockey allegiance.

That’s not to say that I don’t think there are super passionate Yankees, Mets, Giants, Jets, hell even Knicks and Brooklyn Nets fans.  They certainly exist.  Hockey fans are from a different cloth.  There’s a deep rooted passion, and it’s almost as if being in a room with 18,000 like minded people, indoors mostly, makes it seem like we’ve survived a war.  Perhaps we’ve survived several different battles, each game a mini battle in and of itself.

The battles these days aren’t being drawn out in the ice, but rather in board rooms, with Gary Butthead, the owners and players.  Someone pointed out to me that it’s probably not the best sign that players are going back to their homeland (Russia, Sweden, Czech Republic) to play in those leagues.  It dictates that they expect this to be drawn out for a long time.

Do I need to break out the world’s smallest violin, again, for the millionaires who are arguing over pennies while the diamonds are being passed over.  Diamonds in the form of long-term relationships with the fans who support and buy into the product.

What’s most nauseating being here in New York is that I know it’s not James Dolan’s fault.  He’s a money guy, sure, but he knows that the only way he’s gonna MAKE money is if his team gets out there and plays and his fans are happy.  Fans are not happy.

But what’s more.  I am a Mets, Jets and Rangers fans.  These three teams have brought me more sorrow than joy, but there are glimpses of hope as to why I stick around long term even though they are destined to break my heart more often than not.  Two years ago, and two years in a row, the Jets made the conference championships.  The Mets…well…let’s not go there.  But let’s just say that I do remember ’86 and think that sometimes those feelings are what keep me around.

The Rangers though.  For a fan with the teams I have, this is the closest I’ve had to a championship for a long time and a team I looked forward to the last few months to watch.  A team that could take me away from the drama of Rex Ryan land and the Wilpon Follies.  As someone else pointed out to me, we get Rick Nash, and pieces are falling into place, and now these people are just agreeing to disagree and getting absolutely nowhere.

Today would have marked the first preseason game for 2012-13 season.  Yet the only thing we are marking is time.

It’s autumn in New York.  And before we know it, it will be winter in New York.

As the seasons change, one constant may not be there.  And that’s not a pleasant thought.

A New Era

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Something about the chill in the air in September that gets me wistful.  I think about baseball season coming to an end which is always sad.  I think about when I was a kid and school would start, which meant that leaves would change, plant life would die, and birds go south for winter.  Growing up at the shore it meant the bennies would all go home and make it enjoyable again.

Now that I’m older it reminds me not only of that piece of information (that I’m not getting any younger that’s for sure), but as sure as death and taxes, the Mets leave me wishing for more.

What’s more: I was also reminded of better days.  I remember watching Mets games in October as a child.  I remember watching Mets in the playoffs as an adult in October.

But ultimately, I was reminded of Chipper Jones not only in my youth but in his youth.  And though I rode him mercilessly, it brings me back.  To the simpler days.  To when I watched Mets postseason games at Uncle Gene and Aunt Melissa’s house.  How when my dad told me when we were leaving San Francisco one year that Chipper Jones won the MVP award, I muttered, “Larry Fine.”

Some things will remind me that I’m getting older.  Like the fact that when I drink a milkshake my ass jiggles for a week. Like that I’m training for the marathon, and I’m not recovering from harsh workouts like I used to.  That I might need to invest in plastic surgery because gravity is taking toll.

But mostly that something weird is that I was sad to see Chipper Jones leave us at Not Shea for the last time.  Not that I’ll miss him kick our ass.  That part I won’t miss.

It means I’m no longer young.  The retirement of Chipper Jones means part of my youth is also gone.  Gone are the days of watching the Mets and Braves in the playoffs.  Yes, I know those were long gone.  But those memories I hold near and dear to my heart. The Mets will always be around, testing the very limits of futility.

I first learned about him in my 20s during the Braves hey-day in the late 1990s.  I got to know him intimately during the late season runs with those lovable black jersey wearing Mets in those years.  As sure as death and taxes, like the Mets leaving me to wish for something more, Chipper was going to stick it to us no matter what.

And yesterday we got to show some respect to the man who probably played the game the right way.  His name was never tarnished with PEDs.  His team was always in the thick of things late in the season.

As the pre-autumn chill hit the air, and the first football games were played for the 2012 season…I saw Chipper Jones take his last at-bat in Flushing.

And I was actually sad about it.

Like I said, it’s mostly for selfish reasons.  Most people know my slight obsession with Cal Ripken from the Baltimore Orioles.  When he retired, I was in my 20s still.  I drove down to Baltimore to see him play at home one last time for this retirement game.  I was sad to see him go but in a different way.  I never saw him intimately involved with killing my team personally.  I was sad for baseball that a great was leaving.

This time around is different.  It’s really the end of an era, for me as a Mets fan.

A generation has passed.  A generation of futility.  The one person to remind us of it was Larry Wayne Jones.  Now he’s no longer around to do it.

The only person reminding us of our futility is ourselves.

That’s no fun.

Let’s face it.  For years and year, Larry Jones made it a habit to kick our ass when it counted.  Now we just kick our own ass when we’re down and it doesn’t even count.  That’s no fun.  At least there was an element of collaboration there.  Now it’s simply self-defeatist.

A wise man once sang that “Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes,” and it’s time for goodbye again.  This time it means something.

It means we’re getting older.  It means another fall is going to pass, and turn into winter.  It also means that spring and summer will be around the corner once again.

It means that we’ll never see Chipper Jones play against the Mets anymore.  Some people are happy about it, but I’m sad.

It means that I have to acknowledge that I, too, am getting older.  And that’s no fun at all.

Fitting In With The Misfits

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“Dear Ma,  You might find it hard to believe…But I think I finally found a home.  The weather’s lovely, there’s so much to see, and people who know what I know.  Now I’ve got friends that do want me and take me as I am.  Now I’ve got friends that do love me.  I’m all right with them.  Fittin’ in with the misfits.”

A Man Called E!, “Fitting In With the Misfits”

I know you might find someone like me who talks and drinks like a sailor surprised to find that growing up, I was very much a loner.  I didn’t have many friends and the shit I liked was NOTHING like what anyone else liked.  I was into New Wave and Brit Pop bands way before it was ever cool or emo.  I listened to music no one else was listening to.  I was a baseball fan when girls weren’t supposed to like it.

Instead of encouraging it, I feel that I was made to feel like there was something wrong with me as a result.  Kids thought I was weird and well, I guess I sort of agreed with them.

So I kept to myself mostly.  But being an only child, it wasn’t that difficult, especially an only child of divorced parents where both worked.  I had a lot of downtime for sure.

But the funny thing was, as I got older and met more people, I found that baseball was a connecting fiber for communities of people.  I remember during the Brooklyn Dodgers documentary “Ghosts of Flatbush” that was on HBO a few years ago, Louis Gossett Jr. said that when the Dodgers left Brooklyn, there was nothing to homogeneously identify with being in Brooklyn.  Baseball brought different races, creeds, characters from different parts of Brooklyn together, and nobody questioned it!

My baseball community started small, with my dad and his best friend and their family.  Then it grew when I started going to more games.  Then it blew up really during the era of social media.  I started my blog and met some amazing people, and even got a husband out of it.

But mostly, this was my happy place.  It’s sometimes not easy being a Mets fan.  It was the fans and the people who drew me in.

These days, I rarely go to games alone.  I’ve had no problem doing it, but usually just traveling to the game is a joint effort, with myself and Ed and the bears that usually come in tow.  There were two games recently that I traveled to CitiField all by myself, though, which is odd.  I’m used to traveling on trains and around the city by myself.  So I had my iPod queued up and ready to take the 7 train on Monday night.

I was invited to the game by a friend who was able to get four seats together.  Our friend Ray Stilwell, aka Metphistopheles, was joining us from the north and we got the Grand Poobah of Mets blogging to join us too, Greg Prince from Faith and Fear in Flushing.

You may remember my misadventures with Metphistopheles in May, when I got stranded in Buffalo, and he volunteered to drive me across the border.  To this day, I’m still grateful (though my trip didn’t exactly pan out the way I wanted it to).  Ray doesn’t make it down here all that often, so to take in a game with him is a treat.  Three out of the four of us made to the Hofstra conference in April.  This was the first time we got the band back together since then.

 

(Photo to the right was taken by Sharon Chapman)

The game itself was uneventful.  R.A. Dickey was masterful again, and deserved better from his offense as per usual.  Yet, I couldn’t help but be reminded of a song as I sat there with my friends.  Mostly me banishing Greg to the Caesar’s Club corner (for reasons I won’t disclose here, but it was pretty funny).  We talked about my husband and I almost got divorced over Angel Pagan (he’s Pro-Pagan, I’m Anti-Angel).  Talked about the previous game where our friend Sharon’s son was celebrating a birthday and he got the Carvel gift card they give out in the birthday inning.

On the way to the park that day, I had some time to kill on the train.  And I found an old album (gosh, it’s 20 years old at this point) that I once upon a time had on a cassette tape.  Ouch.  The artist was “A Man Called E!” and the song was “Fitting in the with Misfits.”  It’s interesting listening to that song 20 years after the fact.  At the time in my life, I was very alone.  I was a sophomore in high school.  I never fit in really anywhere.  That song always kind of struck a nerve with me.  I never quite liked it as one of my favorites, but I did like it enough. It was fresh in my mind as I sat at the game Monday.

Mets fans are an interesting lot.  We stick with the team, when sanity could reason that we should not be.  We root for a perfect game each day, knowing that our team is far from perfect.  And yet, CitiField and the Mets is where I belong.

Thanks to Sharon Chapman for the great photo!

This was us on Monday night.  At some point our Mets fandom and baseball fascination has brought us ridicule from others, but we found each other, in the “lost and found” as A Man Called E! sang about his misfit friends 20 years ago.

Later on that night, I went to go visit a friend of a friend…the infamous Darth Marc, from Metstradamus fame.  Turns out, he and I have a larger connection than Metstradamus…we know a lot of the same Blondie’s gang who hang in the Brooklyn Met Fan forum.  Talk about a bunch of “misfits” right there.  These are the guys who encouraged me to be myself and to blog, and were my very first supporters in the blogosphere.

More irony is when he posted this pic on Facebook, a mutual friend from Blondie’s and Brooklyn Met Fan, IrishMike, commented.  I never knew his last name.  We were only friends in Blondie’s name only.  Regardless, I was surprised to him friends with Darthy, though I dunno, I probably shouldn’t have been.

“Coop’s a brunette, Marc is at a Met game – I don’t know what’s going on. Well the Mets sucked again so there is some normalcy.” – IrishMike

The game sucked balls.  There’s no nice way to put it.  But hanging out with some of the misfits I know makes the games more enjoyable.

I was asked last night on a podcast why I was still watching games.  It has nothing to do with “believing” or thinking something might happen.  It’s not even about being mathematically alive or dead at this point.  But I’ll say this:  I watch because I know in a few months, there will be no baseball.  I may have hockey.  I may have football.  But baseball is my heart and soul and comprises so much of my personality.

I watch because it’s finite.  If you don’t stop and take a look once in a while, you might just miss it.

But on Monday night, I got to hang out with mostly Mets folks (disclaimer: Darth is an “Evil Empire” fan – figuratively and literally.  Or literally and literally.  Whatever).  People who are like me.  People who get it.  “For lost souls don’t know where they’re bound,” as E! once sang.

But we’re only lost when baseball isn’t around.