What you know if you watched, listened or, like me, went to the game Monday night:
A single, a steal, a walk, an eventually intentional walk and a hard-fought walk defined the positive 5-4 result [1] from a practical standpoint. Throw in Tom Glavine bearing down, the bullpen manning up and David Wright going deep and you've got what you need to know in terms of the first-place Mets' second walkoff win [2] of 2007. Take that, Michael Wuertz, whoever you are.
What you get to know because you came here:
I like very much when the forces of Faith and Fear rejoin in Flushing as they did for the first time since October 18 [3]. When Jason and I last saw each other in the borough of Queens, it was after Game Six [4] through a pane of glass. I made the 7. He just missed it. Monday night we saw clearly another win and boarded the same train out of town. I found Jason's decision to treat Shawn Green (“you suck!”) like he's Steve Trachsel just because he's not Carlos Gomez curious. He found my enduring disdain for the Cubs (“you suck!”) a little much. Otherwise we found the game just fine.
I really dislike the Cubs. Always have [5]. Always will. Maybe I should pity them, but I can't. Their followers show up in disturbing numbers at Shea, which is all it takes to set me off. Not as many as during the Diaz-Brazell Insurrection [6] of 2004 but too many. It's like they're on tour. “Look at us — we're Cubs fans!” Handfuls of Brewers fans showed up Saturday [7] and they blended in just fine, even in a blowout loss. The only Cub I wanted to see, Cliff Floyd, was held out of the lineup by their manager who couldn't wait to go home and skipper the Devil Rays a couple of years ago. I really dislike Lou Piniella, at least for this week. Surprised DiamondVision didn't air a Cliff tribute [8] or at least a closeup of him sitting on the bench nursing a strain or a grudge.
I really dislike bad manners. No, not “Yankees Suck! [9]” after a win over the Cubs or “clang clang clang” on the cow-bell, man (both are cool by me in small doses). Here's my beef: advance ticket windows around 6 o'clock; I'm behind somebody at one window; a woman is behind somebody at the window to my left; the customer in front of me finishes his business; the woman on the line to my left jumps in front of me; I say “excuse me” in a real huffy tone; she tells me she's been waiting longer; I tell her she's been waiting in a different line; she tells me it doesn't matter; I tell her I think it does; she tells me to relax, this will only take a minute, she has to return some tickets (you can do that?); I make some noises to remind her how impolite she is; I'm borderline self-righteous about it, but really, what the fudge is that? If she had asked, “Would you mind? I'm in kind of a hurry,” I would have said, “No problem.” There was plenty of time before first pitch and I'm not allergic to chivalry, but I don't cotton to doormat treatment either. I wonder if this woman is a doctor or nurse or medical researcher saving lives, because if she is, then there is a reason for her to be on this planet. Otherwise…I tell you what, this is the kind of behavior that pisses me off just thinking about it. Probably runs red lights while chatting away on a cell phone behind the wheel of an oversized SUV.
I don't like at all that the “best available” seats for a fairly random weekend matchup down the line was Section 48, the last section there is if you don't count the marina. The nice lady behind the advance ticket window, once I got to speak to her, told me Saturdays and Sundays are pretty much gone for the rest of the season. StubHub take me away!
I like when people notice what I wish them to notice about me. Monday night I wore a brand new t-shirt that says, in big script letters, Shea Stadium. The guy who scanned my ticket couldn't get over that the shirt had the same name as the place where we stood. Yeah, I said, if I get lost on my way here, I look down and remember where I'm going. We both had a good laugh over that. It's the first time I've ever shared any kind of simpatico with a ticket-taker/scanner at Shea. That only took 35 years. I gotta wear that shirt again. And the cap from last night: my Dave Murray/Steve Springer 1986 Tidewater Tides cap [10]. “Excuse me,” said a fellow with impeccable manners, “is that a Tides cap?” Why yes it is, I said, showing off the autograph under the bill and explaining who wore it and when it was from. I gotta wear the cap again soon.
I really like when total strangers recognize me from blogging. I think I do. It never happened before Monday night. I was roaming field level like a free-range upper deck ticketholder in search of Daruma exotica during BP (when such indiscretions are permitted) when a voice called out. “Greg? Greg?” I didn't know him, but he knew me. Plaster your face [11] under an unusual cap all over your blog and somebody is bound to notice. Nice young man named Tim passed on his compliments regarding the job we do here. I pass back our thanks right now.
I like the sushi stand on the third base side. I'd already had dinner before coming to Shea but didn't let that stop me from purchasing a salmon roll. Heard a guy walking by comment “Sushi at Shea? That's different!” I resisted the temptation to point out Daruma's been selling sushi at Shea for nearly a decade. That would be bad manners. Instead, I suggested to the woman who runs the stand that she set up a concession upstairs, they usually chase me out of this level when I try to buy your excellent product because the house apparatchiks can't fathom [12] that somebody without a field level ticket only wants to come down to buy something that's available only on field level, not to sneak into the orange seats like a second-grade truant. She smiled and gave me my change. Good manners.
I like the upper deck more and more at this late date. I've gone through a Metamorphosis over the years. I used to think field level was the ultimate. Around 1993, I decided loge kicked ass. Around 2001 I got very comfortable in mezzanine. Now I'm beginning to think the high point of Shea is the high point of Shea. Just as well, perhaps, that Shea has only one season after this as I will soon run out of decks. I like the view. If you're not above Row L or not in a section beyond the mid-20s, you can really see some things out in the great wide Flushing.
I don't much like two new things I've noticed at Shea this year. One is the secret Citi Field showroom behind Loge 13 [13]. I guess it's not a secret [14] in that it's there in plain sight, but it seems a little nefarious with its locked door and unarmed (I think) guard. I'm told it's something of a dry-run luxury suite for the joint next door, with swatches and cushions (made of materials so comfortable that our unsophisticated asses couldn't possibly comprehend them) being put through their paces. I'm guessing the Trilateral Commission [15] is meeting in there. Or the Stonecutters [16]. The other new addition I could do without is the enormous Dunkin' Donuts cup [17] in the visitors' bullpen. My Shea kitsch tolerance level is extraordinarily high, so high that I wear a t-shirt that says Shea Stadium to Shea Stadium. But that Dunkin' Donuts cup looks like garbage. Literally. It's like somebody bought a Coolata and dumped the remains on Bob Wickman and nobody ever saw fit to mop up.
I don't like or not like so much as I do not care that Baltimore and Toronto were in a tight one when Washington and Atlanta [18] were in a tighter one with a zillion times more significance to us, the Mets fans. MLB Update is a between-innings feature in need of an overhaul. Or an enema.
I do not like at all that it felt 20 degrees cooler on May 14 than it did on April 23 [19]. My 1998 blue and gray fleece with orange NY barely did the job. I hope Mr. G and Linda Church [20] explain this phenomenon Thursday.
I like to believe this might happen this weekend: Media hordes collar Darrell Rasner, who is slated to pitch in the Subway Series for the first time, and breathlessly badger him to confess how much awe he feels knowing he's entering Shea Stadium for the first time, how intimidated he is to know he'll be toeing the same rubber that Seaver and Koosman toed, how overwhelmed he is to stand so close to the Home Run Apple and the Keyspan sign and all those landmarks he's only seen on TV. And I really like to imagine the young man will answer that it's always been a dream of his to compete on such hallowed ground and, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get a better look at the Dunkin' Donuts cup.