Florida - Top of 1st
(Johan Santana pitching for New York)
H Ramirez flied out to right.
J Baker struck out swinging.
J Cantu singled to left.
J Willingham grounded out to pitcher.
My first Mets game was September 8, 1986, against the Montreal Expos. One of my aunts - whose deepest connection to the New York Mets was her undying affection for Lee Mazzilli - got tickets and took me to the game with a friend of hers. I had already been to three Yankee games with my father and one more with other family members, but this was the first time I had ever stepped foot in Shea Stadium.
The game itself wasn't memorable except for the promotional giveaway - a 1986 Mets pennant that hung on my bedroom wall for many years afterwards. But after the game, my aunt let me wait outside the Diamond Club to see if I could get autographs from the players. I saw Tim McCarver and Ralph Kiner and may have even gotten their autographs; Sid Fernandez nearly knocked me over as rushed through the crowd to his car. But the highlight of that night was briefly meeting current Met broadcaster Ron Darling, who stopped to sign my pennant and to talk to me.
"Relax kid!" Darling laughed as he signed his name. "You're only 10 years old and you're going to have a heart attack!"
Florida - Top of 2nd
D Uggla struck out swinging.
C Ross grounded out to shortstop.
W Helms struck out swinging.
I've only been to one Mets game with my father, but it's a game that we still talk about to this day. It was August 20, 1989, and the Mets were playing Los Angeles at Shea. The Dodgers had a young pitcher named Ramon Martinez on the mound and a Dodger fan behind us told his buddy to "keep an eye on this kid, he's going to be good." Martinez would win 20 games for the Dodgers the very next season.
You wouldn't have known it that day; the Mets knocked Martinez out before the fifth inning was over and held a 3-1 lead going into the ninth inning. Don Aase, in the twilight of an unremarkable career, had taken over for Sid Fernandez in the seventh inning and was still on the mound to close it out. Can you imagine - a reliever like Aase being asked to get an seven-out save!?
But there he was, mustache and all, still on the mound after getting the first two batters out in the ninth inning. Then Lenny Harris stroked a single, Alfredo Griffin bunted (!) for a base hit and the game was suddenly in doubt. Manager Davey Johnson had Randy Myers available in the bullpen, but decided to stick with Aase to see things through.
The next batter took the very first Aase offering and deposited it over the right-field fence to give the Dodgers a shocking 4-3 lead. It was his first home run in 463 at-bats that season and, in my opinion, sounded the death knell of the 1989 season for the New York Mets. Had they held on to win, the Mets would've only been 1.5 games behind the N.L. East-leading Cubs. Instead, they went 19-20 the rest of the way and finished well out of the money.
So who hit that season-changing home run, you ask? Willie F***ing Randolph, that's who. The man has been haunting me for nearly 20 years now!
Florida - Top of 3rd
J Hermida struck out swinging.
R Nolasco struck out looking.
H Ramirez grounded out to third.
I didn't start going to Mets games regularly until I was freshman in high school. I don't know how we pulled it off, but me and Joey Walnuts somehow got permission to leave school early to go to Opening Day 1991 against the Phillies. It was the first of 14 straight home openers I attended at Shea, an annual ritual that has spanned so many chapters in my life.
In high school, when tickets at Shea were cheap and plentiful, I used to go to 15-20 games a year. Most of those games were in the upper deck, including June 25, 1992 against the Cubs. It was the final day of our sophomore year of high school, so Walnuts and I rounded up a bunch of people to go to the game. The Mets took the field that season to the tune of "What I Like About You" by the Romantics - the same song playing on Friday night when Mike Pelfrey came to bat for the Mets.
I remember sitting in my seat next to a girl that I met for the first time that day - a friend of Big Boy who he grew up with in Forest Hills - and kicking our feet in rhythm to the song. We were all having so much fun - even after the Cubs put up seven runs in the first inning - that no one really noticed Greg Maddux was pitching a no-hitter. Chico Walker finally broke it up with two outs in the sixth inning, but the Cubs still cruised to a 9-0 win.
Florida - Top of 4th
J Baker grounded out to second.
J Cantu popped out to shortstop.
J Willingham walked.
D Uggla grounded out to third.
The girl from Forest Hills was the first girl I ever went to a baseball game with. At this point in my life, the only girl I'll take to Shea Stadium is my fiancee. Although she roots for the Yankees and only puts up with the Mets out of necessity, she still likes to go to a game with me on occasion. Last month, realizing that she was running out of chances to see Shea Stadium one last time, she asked if I would take her to a game before the season ended. On a Friday night in August, we saw Johan Santana and Roy Oswalt lock horns in a terrific pitcher's duel that ended 3-0 in the Mets' favor. The seats were in the upper deck, but only three rows into the upper reserved seats. It was as high as she was willing to go.
The Franchise and I have been to several games since we started dating five years ago, and each time we go she only has one request. She doesn't like the steep upper deck at Shea and doesn't want to sit in any seat high enough to make her nervous. I know she's going to like Citi Field much better than Shea Stadium - she'll never have to sit that high up again!
Florida - Top of 5th
C Ross singled to left.
W Helms flied out to center.
J Hermida walked, C Ross to second.
R Nolasco sacrificed to catcher, C Ross to third, J Hermida to second.
H Ramirez intentionally walked.
J Baker lined out to right.
I've been to four playoff games in Mets history and the Mets have won three of them. I've been lucky enough to see two of the most exciting moments in Shea Stadium's playoff history - both walk-off home runs by unlikely heroes.
Walnuts and I saw Todd Pratt lift the Mets into the 1999 National League Championship Series with a game-winning home run off Matt Mantei that just missed Steve Finley's glove as it sailed over the center-field fence. As the stadium wildly celebrated afterwards, Walnuts was heard to scream over and over again, "We're the Champs! We're the Champions!" When asked what, exactly, were the Mets now the champions of, he stopped for a moment and screamed, "We're the Champions of the Wild Card!"
Nearly a year to the day later, Suburbia and I braved the elements to watch Benny Agbayani hit a game-winning home run in the bottom of the 13th inning to give the Mets a 2-1 lead in their NLDS series with the Giants. I brain-locked before leaving the house and wore shorts to the game; this even though we were sitting in the upper deck for a night game in October with the winds swirling throughout the stadium. I have never been so cold in my life!
Florida - Top of 6th
J Cantu flied out to right.
J Willingham flied out to center.
D Uggla struck out swinging.
Not all of my memories of Shea are so kind. I was in the ballpark for the final game of the 2000 World Series, sitting in the upper deck and surrounded by Yankee fans. I saw every hop of Luis Sojo's ninth-inning RBI single that proved to be the margin of victory, and I will tell you to this day that Rey Ordonez would've fielded that ball with ease. I saw Mike Piazza hit a ball in the bottom of the ninth inning deep into the Shea night, that I was sure was going to land somewhere in the bleachers and tie the score. It landed in Bernie Williams' glove instead, and the nightmare of watching the hated Yankees celebrate a World Championship in Shea Stadium makes me cringe to this day.
My night didn't end there, though. I had gotten the tickets from an ex-girlfriend who worked for a TV sports outlet, and had to wait outside the stadium for 90 minutes afterwards for their coverage to finish up so I could drive her and a co-worker back to Brooklyn. It was 90 minutes of watching Yankee fans giddily celebrating their third straight championship and mercilessly taunting Mets fans. It was the kind of night that made you question your faith in a benevolent God.
Florida - Top of 7th
C Ross flied out to center.
W Helms flied out to left.
J Hermida grounded out to third.
In 2002, I went on a 12-day "Tour of Baseball" with Scoop and GI Joe, where we saw a ballgame in 11 different stadiums between New York and Chicago. (We spent one of those days, between Boston and Toronto, at Cooperstown). It was an amazing trip that I will never forget, because I got to watch a ballgame in some of the best stadiums in the country.
You see, if you grew up a baseball fan in New York in last 45 years or so, you have no idea how badly you've been cheated. Shea Stadium, for all the memories it has given me, is the worst stadium in the National League. It is ugly, it is dirty, it lacks concessions or other amenities and has all the charm and ambiance of a municipal football stadium from the 1970s. (And trust me, Yankee Stadium is nearly as bad; anyone who waxes poetic about Yankee Stadium is either delusional or has never been in any other major league ballpark.)
I got to see PNC Park in Pittsburgh on my Tour of Baseball, the most beautiful venue for watching a ballgame I've ever been to. I saw the new Comiskey Park in Chicago, which is a lot like Shea Stadium except that it is cleaner, more visually appealing and has an outdoor shower in left field for cooling off on hot days. Even old Veterans Stadium in Philadelphia, a charmless cookie cutter of a ballpark that featured artificial turf for a playing surface, was cleaner and more interesting than Shea Stadium.
The Tour ended at Shea Stadium, where we invited family and friends to meet us in the deepest reaches of the upper deck in left field. After 12 days on the road, it was great to be home and to see friendly faces, but sitting in Shea paled in comparions to the wonderful ballparks we had just seen. I realize now that the 15 or 20 games I used to be good for steadily turned into 5 or 10 a year after that trip. Shea Stadium has always looked better on television than in person.
Florida - Top of 8th
P Lo Duca hit for R Nolasco.
P Lo Duca flied out to center.
H Ramirez grounded out to shortstop.
J Baker struck out looking.
I can't believe that this is happening all over again. The Mets entered the final weekend of the 2008 season with three home games against the Marlins, desperately needing to win at least two out of three to make the playoffs. The Mets lost the first game of the series last night, just like they did in 2007. The difference was that, unlike 2007, I was in the ballpark yesterday to see their lifeless performance in person. There's not much more to be said about the game, other than to say it was so bad that I had to convince myself to go to the ballpark today in the hopes that it would leave me with a better final memory of Shea Stadium.
As it turns out, I was also in the ballpark for the second-to-last game of the 2007 season. John Maine provided what was, to that point, the best pitching performance I had ever seen in person. He went 7 2/3 innings before giving up a hit, to the backup catcher Paul Hoover, who nubbed a ball between third base and the pitcher's mound to beat out an infield single. If I ever meet Paul Hoover on the street I will punch him in the face for ruining my best chance at seeing a no-hitter.
That game was also memorable because it was the only game I have ever seen from a luxury box at Shea, courtesy of my cousin's wife. We stayed in the suite for well over an hour afterwards, watching the Phillies play the Nationals and praying for a Washington victory. Things went completely to hell less than 24 hours later.
Florida - Top of 9th
E Chavez in left field.
J Cantu struck out swinging.
J Willingham doubled to deep left center.
D Uggla struck out swinging.
C Ross flied out to left.
Upper Deck, Section 1, Row K, Seat 9.
This is where I sat to watch the last game I will ever see at Shea Stadium. I've been to over 300 games in the last 22 years and have sat in every single part of the stadium at least once. I have actually been on the playing surface of Shea Stadium on two occasions, one of those times during the off-season when Walnuts and I were still in high school. We snuck into the stadium and ran around like children, leaping against the outfield fence and robbing batters of imaginary home runs the same way Endy Chavez did in Game 7 of the 2006 NLCS. The other time was after a long-forgotten day game during a DynaMets Dash, when Rock Star and I jumped over the field level barrier and ran the bases with the rest of the little kids. Frank Howard was the first-base coach then and he slapped hands with me as I rounded first base.
I don't know what's going to happen on the final day of the 2008 season, so I wanted to write this down before the emotion of what's about to happen clouds my judgment. My greatest Shea Stadium memory was also my last, and I walked out of the stadium today still amazed at what had taken place.
It was the greatest pitching performance I have ever seen in person, in any stadium, and Johan Santana did it under the most adverse of conditions. He was starting on three days' rest for the first time in his career during the regular season. He did it on a rainy Saturday afternoon on a day the Mets could've been eliminated from the playoffs. He did it in front of a fan base that was ready to turn on their team at a moment's notice, and may well do so tomorrow afternoon if Oliver Perez can't turn in a quality start. It was nothing less than heroic.
Tomorrow's game is all that matters now, and I will never step foot in Shea Stadium again. I hope whoever goes to the game tomorrow will get to look back on their final memories of Shea as fondly as I will of mine.
Showing posts with label I Went To The Game. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I Went To The Game. Show all posts
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
I Must Be in the Front Row!
Chicago stopped into my office around 2 pm yesterday and casually asked me what I was doing later that night. Turns out, he had tickets for the Mets-Cubs game and the guy he planned on going with couldn't make it. Something about not having enough time to get a baby-sitter for his newborn baby - is there any better argument for postponing procreation?
Anyway, I jumped all over it and had my student worker run across campus to pick up the ticket from him later that day. I knew something was up when she handed it back to me - Field Level, Section 147, Row AA. I had never even heard of that row, but a quick check on the soon-to-be-outdated seating revealed that we would be sitting in deep right field. Box seats at Shea!
Fast forward to about 6:45, when I hopped off the 7 train and met Chicago in front of Gate D. We walk into the stadium, grab a few beers and find our way to the section. As I start to walk down the aisle to find the seats, I begin to notice that it's taking an awful long time to reach Row AA. As we get closer and closer to the field, our progress was stopped by a simple chain blocking off the auxiliary stands from the regular orange seats. No usher was there to direct us, but all of a sudden it dawned on me - Chicago had come up with front-row seats for the game!
I have only sat front row once before - a Mets-Pirates doubleheader in the early 90s on a sweltering June day that was so hot I actually considering leaving the stadium to find some air conditioning. Those seats were behind the Mets dugout, the seats where you actually place your drink on the top of the dugout itself. These seats had nothing but a small plywood wall blocking access to the field and allowed for a ground-level view of the entire stadium. It was amazing.
Now Chicago, as you may have guessed from the nickname, is a Cubs fan. He is not shy about this fact. Actually, Chicago isn't shy about much of anything, as I soon found out. The last time he went to a Mets-Cubs game at Shea, he happily informed me, he had an entire beer poured over his head for celebrating too enthusiastically. When I asked how that matter was resolved, he cryptically informed me that he "took care of it."
The chatter began from Johan Santana's first pitch and didn't end until Chicago left in the bottom of the fifth because of a late-night staff meeting on campus. He leapt out of his seat in celebration for every Cubs hit and cheered wildly for every Mets out. He happily celebrated along with the many Cubs fans around us and laughed off the verbal assaults from the Mets fans who weren't expecting his antics.
I used to be like that. I used to have so much joy and enthusiasm for being at a Mets game that I would be rooting along with every at-bat, standing and clapping for every two-strike pitch, screaming at umpires for every bad call. Now, I sit sullenly and complain about the noise betwen every pitch, the incompetence of the worst players on the field or the lack of vision the front office has for roster construction.
Somehow, Chicago has retained the simple joy of going to a game and rooting hard for your favorite team. Maybe that's what happens when you still actually like the team you root for, instead of following them out of force of habit.
I realized last night that I haven't really liked the Mets for years. I like individual players, of course, and I want the team to win every time they play, but there is an animosity toward the Mets always bubbling right beneath the surface. It probably started sometime around 2003, when the Wilpons decided Art Howe could light up a room with his winning personality. Things eventually got so bad that I actually began a personal boycott after the 2005 season, in response to how disgusted I was with The Former Manager's ineptitude. In that wonderful 2006 season I only went to three games, all because someone dropped free tickets on me.
Last year, of course, was a disaster that shook the foundation of any Met fan's faith. Watching them spit the bit in 2008 has brought all that animosity right back up again, as you have no doubt noticed in the last few days.
Anyway, Chicago's enthusiasm rubbed off on me a bit. I started chattering as well, exhorting Santana through the difficult early innings and rooting on the Met hitters to finally break through against Sean Marshall. The fifth and sixth innings finally brought some satisfaction, although it was disappointing that I didn't have a chance to give Chicago a taste of his own medicine at the end of a 6-2 victory.
As for the game itself, Santana was brilliant. He strugled through the early innings, no doubt, but acted like an ace by finding his rhythm, continuing to grind away and pitching a scoreless eighth inning to take some pressure off of The Arson Squad. The off-season trade for Santana has been an unqualified success, at least for 2008, and there's no reason to believe he won't be a top-of-the-rotation ace for years to come. If he's pitching in the last game of the season with a playoff berth on the line, the Mets will be in capable hands.
The seats were, as I mentioned before, amazing, and it was a terrific way to see my second-to-last game at Shea Stadium. I'll be there one last time on Friday night, in Row C of Section 24 in the Upper Deck (you can buy me a beer if you're there). Here's a picture of me and Mr. Met last night - don't bother using the tired old joke about who has the bigger head, it's played out!
Anyway, I jumped all over it and had my student worker run across campus to pick up the ticket from him later that day. I knew something was up when she handed it back to me - Field Level, Section 147, Row AA. I had never even heard of that row, but a quick check on the soon-to-be-outdated seating revealed that we would be sitting in deep right field. Box seats at Shea!
Fast forward to about 6:45, when I hopped off the 7 train and met Chicago in front of Gate D. We walk into the stadium, grab a few beers and find our way to the section. As I start to walk down the aisle to find the seats, I begin to notice that it's taking an awful long time to reach Row AA. As we get closer and closer to the field, our progress was stopped by a simple chain blocking off the auxiliary stands from the regular orange seats. No usher was there to direct us, but all of a sudden it dawned on me - Chicago had come up with front-row seats for the game!
I have only sat front row once before - a Mets-Pirates doubleheader in the early 90s on a sweltering June day that was so hot I actually considering leaving the stadium to find some air conditioning. Those seats were behind the Mets dugout, the seats where you actually place your drink on the top of the dugout itself. These seats had nothing but a small plywood wall blocking access to the field and allowed for a ground-level view of the entire stadium. It was amazing.
Now Chicago, as you may have guessed from the nickname, is a Cubs fan. He is not shy about this fact. Actually, Chicago isn't shy about much of anything, as I soon found out. The last time he went to a Mets-Cubs game at Shea, he happily informed me, he had an entire beer poured over his head for celebrating too enthusiastically. When I asked how that matter was resolved, he cryptically informed me that he "took care of it."
The chatter began from Johan Santana's first pitch and didn't end until Chicago left in the bottom of the fifth because of a late-night staff meeting on campus. He leapt out of his seat in celebration for every Cubs hit and cheered wildly for every Mets out. He happily celebrated along with the many Cubs fans around us and laughed off the verbal assaults from the Mets fans who weren't expecting his antics.
I used to be like that. I used to have so much joy and enthusiasm for being at a Mets game that I would be rooting along with every at-bat, standing and clapping for every two-strike pitch, screaming at umpires for every bad call. Now, I sit sullenly and complain about the noise betwen every pitch, the incompetence of the worst players on the field or the lack of vision the front office has for roster construction.
Somehow, Chicago has retained the simple joy of going to a game and rooting hard for your favorite team. Maybe that's what happens when you still actually like the team you root for, instead of following them out of force of habit.
I realized last night that I haven't really liked the Mets for years. I like individual players, of course, and I want the team to win every time they play, but there is an animosity toward the Mets always bubbling right beneath the surface. It probably started sometime around 2003, when the Wilpons decided Art Howe could light up a room with his winning personality. Things eventually got so bad that I actually began a personal boycott after the 2005 season, in response to how disgusted I was with The Former Manager's ineptitude. In that wonderful 2006 season I only went to three games, all because someone dropped free tickets on me.
Last year, of course, was a disaster that shook the foundation of any Met fan's faith. Watching them spit the bit in 2008 has brought all that animosity right back up again, as you have no doubt noticed in the last few days.
Anyway, Chicago's enthusiasm rubbed off on me a bit. I started chattering as well, exhorting Santana through the difficult early innings and rooting on the Met hitters to finally break through against Sean Marshall. The fifth and sixth innings finally brought some satisfaction, although it was disappointing that I didn't have a chance to give Chicago a taste of his own medicine at the end of a 6-2 victory.
As for the game itself, Santana was brilliant. He strugled through the early innings, no doubt, but acted like an ace by finding his rhythm, continuing to grind away and pitching a scoreless eighth inning to take some pressure off of The Arson Squad. The off-season trade for Santana has been an unqualified success, at least for 2008, and there's no reason to believe he won't be a top-of-the-rotation ace for years to come. If he's pitching in the last game of the season with a playoff berth on the line, the Mets will be in capable hands.
The seats were, as I mentioned before, amazing, and it was a terrific way to see my second-to-last game at Shea Stadium. I'll be there one last time on Friday night, in Row C of Section 24 in the Upper Deck (you can buy me a beer if you're there). Here's a picture of me and Mr. Met last night - don't bother using the tired old joke about who has the bigger head, it's played out!
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Postgame Festivities
After the game on Friday night, I hit the links at the Pitch and Putt course in Flushing Meadow Park. T-Bone is getting very serious about golf, while The Franchise usually just swings the club a few times and gives up by the eighth hole. I am somewhere in the middle, but probably closer to T-Bone's zeal for the game. I never liked golf and I don't know if I would enjoy playing an entire 18 holes on a real course, but Pitch and Putt is perfect for me. There's only two clubs to use, no hole is further than 80 yards away and a kid barrels across the course throughout the night bringing me beer at eminently reasonable prices.
The problem is that I am 6' 4", I am left-handed and I don't own a set of clubs. You can rent clubs, of course, but even the longest clubs available are way too short for me to use comfortably. As a result, my swing looks absolutely comical - all arms and legs from a hunched over position. Take a look for yourself; I badly hooked this particular drive.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Two Walk-Offs on Thursday
I saw two walk-offs yesterday - David Wright's game winner off Heath Bell and Angst/Joey Walnuts's bush league tantrum in the top of the ninth.
First, some background. I put the word out earlier this week that I was planning to skip work on Thursday to catch the last "businessman's special" in Shea Stadium history. (Not realizing, of course, that the Mets were shoehorning a make-up game with the Pirates in on Monday afternoon.) Invites went out to a bunch of people I like going to games with, but only AJW (because initials are easier) and T-Bone were smart enough to take me up on the offer.
AJW and I set up shop in the parking lot around 10:30 am with two chairs, a bag of pretzels and a 12-pack in an ice-filled cooler - all courtesy of AJW's forward thinking. By the time T-Bone showed up, about 20 minutes before first pitch, we were down to the last two beers and congratulating ourselves for coming up with such a brilliant idea.
The plan was to buy the cheapest seats in the stadium and sit in the top row of the Upper Deck, to fully enjoy the Shea Experience to stay the hell away from all the camp kids. A random passer-by was nice enough to drop an extra ticket in my hands at no charge - I hope the karma gods shone brightly on you yesterday, buddy. My free ticket was Upper Deck section 31, but AJW and T-Bone each bought a $20 ticket in the upper reaches of Section 44. ($20 for a mid-week day game in the Upper Deck!? Disgusting!!) We all went in together and settled in the third-highest row of Section 40, which was sufficiently child-free. Check out the view (that's T-Bone walking up the aisle, beer in hand):
The game was enjoyable - Johan Santana pitched well and the Mets led most of the way. I only had two beers, because they are outrageously expensive and since I was pacing myself for the Pitch and Putt course that T-Bone and I were going to conquer after the game.
Then came the ninth inning. The three of us were lamenting Jerry Manuel's Randolph-esque bullpen management in the eighth - I know the relievers are struggling, but you're really going to pull Duaner Sanchez after one pitch? Scott Schoeneweis inexplicably started the ninth inning, even though it took Joe Smith four pitches to get out of the eighth inning and Chase Headley was leading off. Yes, Headley is a switch hitter, but he is tattooing lefties this season and struggling mightily against righties.
Scott retired Headley to get the first out before giving up the majestic blast to Jody Gerut to tie the game. What more can be said about Scott Schoeneweis that hasn't been said already? Aaron Heilman came in to get the last two outs and the game went to the bottom of the ninth.
By this time, AJW was already smoking a cigarette in front of the press gate. He threw a hissy fit after the Gerut homer and stormed out of the stadium without so much as a goodbye to me or T-Bone. Lame! I didn't find this out until the middle of the ninth, when I called his cell to find out where the hell he went. After much yelling and several reminders that he wasn't going anywhere with T-Bone's clubs in his trunk, I hung up to focus on the bottom of the ninth.
From our vantage point, I didn't think Wright's blast was a home run. I wasn't sure if it was fair or foul, but it seemed to be too much of a line drive to go over the fence. The replays I saw later that evening made it clear how wrong I was, but hey, you try accurately predicting home runs down the left-field line from Section 40 of the Upper Deck!
So there it was, the most exciting of plays, and AJW missed it all because he acted like a nine-year-old girl. T-Bone stayed until the end but deserves a bit of a reprimand as well; he openly stated that he was going to leave if the Mets didn't score and would've skipped extra innings entirely. What is wrong with my friends?
A good day at the park was made better by 18 holes in Flushing Meadow and a big dinner at 5 Burros with T-Bone. The combination of beer and sunshine finally took its toll; I got home at 8:30 pm and promptly passed out until almost midnight. By that time, CC has called and texted me a bunch of times wondering where on Earth I was. When I told her about the day's events and my alcohol-fueled power nap, she was less than impressed. Hey, days like this are few and far between!
First, some background. I put the word out earlier this week that I was planning to skip work on Thursday to catch the last "businessman's special" in Shea Stadium history. (Not realizing, of course, that the Mets were shoehorning a make-up game with the Pirates in on Monday afternoon.) Invites went out to a bunch of people I like going to games with, but only AJW (because initials are easier) and T-Bone were smart enough to take me up on the offer.
AJW and I set up shop in the parking lot around 10:30 am with two chairs, a bag of pretzels and a 12-pack in an ice-filled cooler - all courtesy of AJW's forward thinking. By the time T-Bone showed up, about 20 minutes before first pitch, we were down to the last two beers and congratulating ourselves for coming up with such a brilliant idea.
The plan was to buy the cheapest seats in the stadium and sit in the top row of the Upper Deck, to fully enjoy the Shea Experience to stay the hell away from all the camp kids. A random passer-by was nice enough to drop an extra ticket in my hands at no charge - I hope the karma gods shone brightly on you yesterday, buddy. My free ticket was Upper Deck section 31, but AJW and T-Bone each bought a $20 ticket in the upper reaches of Section 44. ($20 for a mid-week day game in the Upper Deck!? Disgusting!!) We all went in together and settled in the third-highest row of Section 40, which was sufficiently child-free. Check out the view (that's T-Bone walking up the aisle, beer in hand):
The game was enjoyable - Johan Santana pitched well and the Mets led most of the way. I only had two beers, because they are outrageously expensive and since I was pacing myself for the Pitch and Putt course that T-Bone and I were going to conquer after the game.
Then came the ninth inning. The three of us were lamenting Jerry Manuel's Randolph-esque bullpen management in the eighth - I know the relievers are struggling, but you're really going to pull Duaner Sanchez after one pitch? Scott Schoeneweis inexplicably started the ninth inning, even though it took Joe Smith four pitches to get out of the eighth inning and Chase Headley was leading off. Yes, Headley is a switch hitter, but he is tattooing lefties this season and struggling mightily against righties.
Scott retired Headley to get the first out before giving up the majestic blast to Jody Gerut to tie the game. What more can be said about Scott Schoeneweis that hasn't been said already? Aaron Heilman came in to get the last two outs and the game went to the bottom of the ninth.
By this time, AJW was already smoking a cigarette in front of the press gate. He threw a hissy fit after the Gerut homer and stormed out of the stadium without so much as a goodbye to me or T-Bone. Lame! I didn't find this out until the middle of the ninth, when I called his cell to find out where the hell he went. After much yelling and several reminders that he wasn't going anywhere with T-Bone's clubs in his trunk, I hung up to focus on the bottom of the ninth.
From our vantage point, I didn't think Wright's blast was a home run. I wasn't sure if it was fair or foul, but it seemed to be too much of a line drive to go over the fence. The replays I saw later that evening made it clear how wrong I was, but hey, you try accurately predicting home runs down the left-field line from Section 40 of the Upper Deck!
So there it was, the most exciting of plays, and AJW missed it all because he acted like a nine-year-old girl. T-Bone stayed until the end but deserves a bit of a reprimand as well; he openly stated that he was going to leave if the Mets didn't score and would've skipped extra innings entirely. What is wrong with my friends?
A good day at the park was made better by 18 holes in Flushing Meadow and a big dinner at 5 Burros with T-Bone. The combination of beer and sunshine finally took its toll; I got home at 8:30 pm and promptly passed out until almost midnight. By that time, CC has called and texted me a bunch of times wondering where on Earth I was. When I told her about the day's events and my alcohol-fueled power nap, she was less than impressed. Hey, days like this are few and far between!
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Merengue Night Musings
It's always fun to see the Mets win a game in person, and since the Yankee game last month was such a debacle, last night was the first time this season I sat in the big ballpark from beginning to end. Back in Section 24 of the Upper Deck we were, thanks to the Seven Pack, but I was the only member of the ticket-buying crew to actually show up at Shea. Angst needed a night off after working two straight weeks, Freddie Mercury was probably preparing for the weekend of debauchery in Philadelphia and WJS simply never showed. I grabbed Angst's ticket earlier in the week and offered it to T-Bone, who was happy to accept.
(Oh yeah, no more real names on here, unless specifically requested by that person. Angst will probably ask to be called Joey Walnuts instead, but I won't give him the satisfaction. If I'm going to hide behind my Judge Roughneck moniker, might as well give everyone else a nickname too.)
We got to the park right before first pitch and settled into our seats with a Brooklyn Lager in hand. T-Bone is getting snooty about his beer in his old age and we had to walk halfway around the Upper Deck just to satisfy his alcohol needs. All matter of conversation ensued, so much so that I looked up and it was already the bottom of the second inning. I was pleasantly surprised that the Mets had toned down the white noise from the PA system a little bit last night; the usual noise assault was much more muted. Merengue Night every night, I say!
Sometime around the fifth inning T-Bone and I decided to go back to the Brooklyn Lager stand and ran into The Swedish Chef, who has actually called me earlier that night to see if I wanted to go to the game with him. He was sitting alone, so we offered him one of Freddie Mercury's/WJS's seats and he joined us for the rest of the game. The Administrator texted me to tell me he was in the park too, but never came by to say hello.
The Swedish Chef is not a particularly fervent baseball fan and enjoys going to games more for the spectacle then anything else. Predictably, he is excited about Citi Field and the many food options that will be available to the casual baseball fan. He is also looking to buy his first personalized Mets jersey and offered to buy the black Piazza jersey from me. No dice, my man - but I'm sure you can easily get one personalized at your local sporting goods store.
Other highlights? Pelfrey was super sharp again and T-Bone is so proud of himself for plucking Pelf off the waiver wire of our fantasy league in mid-May. Merengue Night brought a surprising amount of energy to the proceedings; in past years, the park would be half-full into the seventh inning when the Puerto Rican and Dominican flags would suddenly arrive en masse awaiting the postgame concert. Oh, and some day when I'm old and gray(er), I'll be able to tell my kids I saw Argenis Reyes's first career home run.
Manuel's bullpen management in the eighth and ninth innings left something to be desired. Pelfrey couldn't start the eighth with only 103 pitches under his belt? Feliciano couldn't have pitched the last two innings of what was ultimately a blowout? Whatever.
Another postgame trip to the Pines ensued, although T-Bone and I were very close to hitting the links in Flushing Meadows instead. Maybe next time. Angst decided to meet us there and we took over a back booth, yapping the night away while fending off the commercial advances of the Presidente girls. ($20 for a bucket of Presidentes!? Not after having bought a bucket of Yuenglings for $6.75 the night before!)
(Oh yeah, no more real names on here, unless specifically requested by that person. Angst will probably ask to be called Joey Walnuts instead, but I won't give him the satisfaction. If I'm going to hide behind my Judge Roughneck moniker, might as well give everyone else a nickname too.)
We got to the park right before first pitch and settled into our seats with a Brooklyn Lager in hand. T-Bone is getting snooty about his beer in his old age and we had to walk halfway around the Upper Deck just to satisfy his alcohol needs. All matter of conversation ensued, so much so that I looked up and it was already the bottom of the second inning. I was pleasantly surprised that the Mets had toned down the white noise from the PA system a little bit last night; the usual noise assault was much more muted. Merengue Night every night, I say!
Sometime around the fifth inning T-Bone and I decided to go back to the Brooklyn Lager stand and ran into The Swedish Chef, who has actually called me earlier that night to see if I wanted to go to the game with him. He was sitting alone, so we offered him one of Freddie Mercury's/WJS's seats and he joined us for the rest of the game. The Administrator texted me to tell me he was in the park too, but never came by to say hello.
The Swedish Chef is not a particularly fervent baseball fan and enjoys going to games more for the spectacle then anything else. Predictably, he is excited about Citi Field and the many food options that will be available to the casual baseball fan. He is also looking to buy his first personalized Mets jersey and offered to buy the black Piazza jersey from me. No dice, my man - but I'm sure you can easily get one personalized at your local sporting goods store.
Other highlights? Pelfrey was super sharp again and T-Bone is so proud of himself for plucking Pelf off the waiver wire of our fantasy league in mid-May. Merengue Night brought a surprising amount of energy to the proceedings; in past years, the park would be half-full into the seventh inning when the Puerto Rican and Dominican flags would suddenly arrive en masse awaiting the postgame concert. Oh, and some day when I'm old and gray(er), I'll be able to tell my kids I saw Argenis Reyes's first career home run.
Manuel's bullpen management in the eighth and ninth innings left something to be desired. Pelfrey couldn't start the eighth with only 103 pitches under his belt? Feliciano couldn't have pitched the last two innings of what was ultimately a blowout? Whatever.
Another postgame trip to the Pines ensued, although T-Bone and I were very close to hitting the links in Flushing Meadows instead. Maybe next time. Angst decided to meet us there and we took over a back booth, yapping the night away while fending off the commercial advances of the Presidente girls. ($20 for a bucket of Presidentes!? Not after having bought a bucket of Yuenglings for $6.75 the night before!)
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Finally Showing Up At Shea
So I finally made it to my first Mets game of the season last night. Yes, I know, how could a noted blogger like myself fail to get to a game before now? Too much time in my my mother's basement wearing pocket protectors and inventing new stats, that's why.
I really don't know how things got so far away from me this year; perhaps its lingering emotion from last season's collapse. I usually make it to at least one game during the opening homestand, sort of as a celebration of the new baseball season, and then settle into a pattern where I go to games whenever tickets end up in my hands. This year, it just hasn't happened.
I met Joe around 7:15 pm in the parking lot, near the Diamond Club entrance. We sat on the hood of his car and waited patiently for Adam and Billy to show up. The area around Shea Stadium was appropriately crowded for a Mets-Yankees game, with all the spectacle of rival fans attempting to out-do each other in the competition to see who can act like the biggest fool.
Sightings:
* Kei Igawa. While we were waiting for the other guys, a black town car pulled up about 25 feet from us and stopped right in the middle of a turning lane, blocking all the traffic behind it. The driver jumped out, opened the trunk and started pulling Yankees bags out. Two Asian men got out of the back seat, one with Igawa's distinctive lips. Really, you can spot those things from 25 feet away. Igawa was pointed in the general direction of the Diamond Club entrance and left to his own devices.
* Mike Bloomberg. He's short, he's an elitist and his laissez-faire policies toward over-development are ruining my borough. He was also wearing a Nelson Doubleday style purple sweater draped over his shoulders, so he looked absolutely ridiculous.
Adam and Billy finally showed up and we walked to our seats just in time for the first pitch. The four of us bought a Friday night seven-pack in the offseason and this was the first game we actually made it to. The seats are surprisingly good - Section 24 in the upper deck - even though we spent the first two innings in Section 26 because Joe still needs a map to find his way around the place.
The game, of course, was terrible. I hate to say this, but Pedro is shot. There was a fifth inning at-bat against Derek Jeter where it all locked into place for me. Jeter kept fouling off pitches and it became crystal clear that Pedro just didn't have an out pitch anymore. When you can no longer put away a professional hitter, you're finished as an elite starter. Jeter eventually walked and the game got away from there. I was surprised Jerry Manuel even let him start the sixth inning. Rotator cuff injuries are career-killers.
We left in the seventh inning, once it became a contest between how many runs the Yankees were going to score and how many fights we were going to see. Joe insisted on going over to the Pine Restaurant in the Holiday Inn across the street from the stadium. He heard that some "fellow employees" were going to be there and we were hoping to get a free t-shirt. That never materialized, but I did run into one of my fiance's co-workers and one of my sister's best friends. I didn't get a chance to see my friend Bart, who left a message on my cell while I was already in the bar.
I really don't know how things got so far away from me this year; perhaps its lingering emotion from last season's collapse. I usually make it to at least one game during the opening homestand, sort of as a celebration of the new baseball season, and then settle into a pattern where I go to games whenever tickets end up in my hands. This year, it just hasn't happened.
I met Joe around 7:15 pm in the parking lot, near the Diamond Club entrance. We sat on the hood of his car and waited patiently for Adam and Billy to show up. The area around Shea Stadium was appropriately crowded for a Mets-Yankees game, with all the spectacle of rival fans attempting to out-do each other in the competition to see who can act like the biggest fool.
Sightings:
* Kei Igawa. While we were waiting for the other guys, a black town car pulled up about 25 feet from us and stopped right in the middle of a turning lane, blocking all the traffic behind it. The driver jumped out, opened the trunk and started pulling Yankees bags out. Two Asian men got out of the back seat, one with Igawa's distinctive lips. Really, you can spot those things from 25 feet away. Igawa was pointed in the general direction of the Diamond Club entrance and left to his own devices.
* Mike Bloomberg. He's short, he's an elitist and his laissez-faire policies toward over-development are ruining my borough. He was also wearing a Nelson Doubleday style purple sweater draped over his shoulders, so he looked absolutely ridiculous.
Adam and Billy finally showed up and we walked to our seats just in time for the first pitch. The four of us bought a Friday night seven-pack in the offseason and this was the first game we actually made it to. The seats are surprisingly good - Section 24 in the upper deck - even though we spent the first two innings in Section 26 because Joe still needs a map to find his way around the place.
The game, of course, was terrible. I hate to say this, but Pedro is shot. There was a fifth inning at-bat against Derek Jeter where it all locked into place for me. Jeter kept fouling off pitches and it became crystal clear that Pedro just didn't have an out pitch anymore. When you can no longer put away a professional hitter, you're finished as an elite starter. Jeter eventually walked and the game got away from there. I was surprised Jerry Manuel even let him start the sixth inning. Rotator cuff injuries are career-killers.
We left in the seventh inning, once it became a contest between how many runs the Yankees were going to score and how many fights we were going to see. Joe insisted on going over to the Pine Restaurant in the Holiday Inn across the street from the stadium. He heard that some "fellow employees" were going to be there and we were hoping to get a free t-shirt. That never materialized, but I did run into one of my fiance's co-workers and one of my sister's best friends. I didn't get a chance to see my friend Bart, who left a message on my cell while I was already in the bar.
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