How far have we come as a people? We beat the Braves for the fourth consecutive time, in September, in a finishing kick that this franchise has lacked even in many of its good years, and when it came time to mock the visitors from Atlanta, it wasn't…
“WOH-OH-OH!”
It was more…
“Meh. Meh-eh.”
There was still some pretty good vitriol made available to the Braves lest they think we don't still consider themselves our partners in a special relationship. But in ninth innings past, with a victory nearing the reasonable assurance stage (and there were a few), there'd be the chant and there'd be the chop and there'd be the Chipper…sucks.
Not in 2007. Not at this point of the calendar. Not while the standings are arranged as neatly as they are. Barely a hint of a chant or a chop at Shea Monday night and no sign of Chipper on the field. No Andruw either. When the Joneses aren't dragged from their sick beds to keep up with the Mets, there must be a towel involved.
You know, the kind the Braves have obviously thrown in.
WOH-OH-OH!
Hey, this feels good, huh? Remember when the only reason the Braves wouldn't have wheeled out their big if dinged guns in September was to rest them up for the playoffs? Unless watching the playoffs requires fresh legs (and those trips to the fridge can take it outta ya), it would appear there is no urgency to Bobby Cox's lineup construction these nights.
WOH-OH-OH!
So no chop, no chant — nothing sustained, at least. Laurie and I did have one guy two rows behind us who let the Braves know they can just go ahead and “SWEEP US! WE'VE GOT THE DIVISION! TWO YEARS IN A ROW!” but he lost his momentum when he attempted to shout agate type involving Pythagorean Winning Percentage [1] and such before the intense curmudgeon to Laurie's left turned around and told him to knock it off and he did (why haven't I ever tried that?). The Atlanta Braves haven't suddenly become the Generic Opponent Questionable Nicknames, but let's say smacking them down in another close one has lost the slightest touch of its edge.
I'm pretty sure Jason or I (or both of us) predicted five years ago, when Angels fans were ThunderStixing their way to a world championship, that the annoying inflatable noisemakers would be all the rage at Shea come 2004, just after the novelty of them had completely deflated. We were only off by three years (though we continue to wait on the Rally Monkey.) In the spirit of corporate synergy, Monday night was Citi Night. Free money? No-fee checking? No, just blue ThunderStix with the Citi logo. How's that for team spirit?
There's nothing written on them that had any connection to the Mets, Laurie said.
It will by 2009, I replied.
“WE'RE NOT CLIENTELE!” the yelling guy later added, possibly in response to the assault of Large Financial Institution Is Wonderful announcements that ran on DiamondVision between Kiss and Smile cams. Or maybe he was telling the pretzel man to move along.
Knock it off. You too, Citi.
Monday was my 27th home game of the year, most of them reached by mass transit, leading me to a rather disturbing revelation: Should I ever stumble from the platform onto the tracks and meet my untimely demise at Woodside, I think I know the way Newsday will identify me in the headline of this latest story of how the LIRR gap epidemic [2] is swallowing riders whole. After their reporter talks to a few eyewitnesses, I will be:
Mets Fan Who Directed Others to Trains
Hence the irony.
What is it about my persona that compels total strangers to ask me every conceivable question as regards public transportation between Long Island and Shea Stadium? Aren't there professionals paid to provide answers? Doesn't anybody else appear they know where they're going?
Excuse me, what's the next stop?
Will we have time to make our connection?
Does the Huntington train stop on this platform?
Is this Track A?
Do the doors open here?
Should I get off at Jamaica or stay on?
Would I look good with a mustache? [3]
I don't mind, per se. I like to be helpful, especially to my fellow Metsopotamians. If I didn't know where I was going, I'd want somebody to set me on the right path. But why do they ask me out of everybody around? This isn't 1997 [4] — there are thousands of people who take subways and commuter trains to and from Shea. The MTA has been flogging a campaign [5] encouraging it for two years. I have thus concluded:
a) most Long Islanders are clueless as to how the system works;
b) I emit an aura convincing them to see me as their map, their timetable and their compass rolled into one.
They view me as the Swiss Army Knife of the Long Island Rail Road.
This has been going on as long as I can remember. And it's not a strictly local phenomenon. It happens, probably once per trip, on our out-of-town ballpark sojourns. I don't know how somebody from Milwaukee or St. Louis or Philadelphia is supposed to look, but do I look like I'm from Milwaukee or St. Louis or Philadelphia?
Is there something clueful about the way I stand and stare? Do I seem a better bet than all the signage designed and posted specifically to issue commutation information? Has anybody else ever picked up a branch schedule and kept it just in case they needed to turn around and go home after the game? Or go to another game?
This is probably an NBC series waiting to happen…pitched as Heroes meets Early Edition — something like that. I can hear the promos now: He was just a baseball fan waiting for a train. Until he was…CHOSEN!
Ask the guy over there for directions. Save the world.