The Amazing Disappearing Blogger

To the total stranger who sat to my left Saturday night and, by extension, the ultra, ultra, ultra nice person who gave me the tickets that made my presence in your row possible: No, the large man in the New York Cubans cap did not leave a 0-0 nailbiter in the middle of the eighth inning. Thus, if you say or hear on the occasion of your next Saturday game, “The guy was here for more than seven innings and then just vanished, must not be much of a fan even though he answered every stray trivia question correctly,” that (like your belief that Ed Kranepool was the Mets' first All-Star) would be inaccurate.

To my tremendously esteemed blolleague from the Lake Erie region of Metsopotamia, it was a real treat to meet you in person, first in your surprisingly crowded corner of the rightfield mezzanine and then for the several innings we were able to carve out an extra seat for you closer to the action. I'm sorry that two cell phone messages and this note have to suffice for a sendoff. I hope there's one more hit left in each of our respective bats in terms of 2008 before Shea succumbs to the swing of a wrecking ball.

To the other half of this particular blogging endeavor, I hope you heard me clearly when I called you after Ramon Castro chugged home from second, assuming he has finally completed his chuggage. Just to clarify, I had been graciously invited by a fourth or fifth party (when did I become popular?) to stop by and say hello to him in the field boxes in right around the seventh-inning stretch. But we were happily wrapped up in the nothing-nothingness of it all where we were and, as you know, breaking through the thin orange line of field level security is surprisingly tricky. Also the distance from Mezz 10 to Field Box 121 is like driving from here to Buffalo. Nevertheless, I did decide I could be in two places simultaneously, more or less. Once I was down there paying my respects, it looked like a long hike back to our third base side of the tracks. And once Castro got on second (“Willie! Pinch-run Gomez and there'll be no tenth inning and you won't have to worry about who to catch!”), hey, maybe there was something to this switching of seats in the late going. It's worked before. It worked again. But anyway, I didn't mean to ditch you guys. Once the winning run scored, I doubt any explanation was necessary because once a winning run scores, who gives a a fig where I went?

To Paul Lo Duca, thank you for caring the way only you could.