Yesterday fans who came to Citi Field got a free hot dog and the chance to watch the Marlins beat the sluggish Mets. But hey, it was a nice night.
Tonight it was cold with periodic spurts of rain. The Mets, meanwhile, meekly absorbed a horrific ass-beating [1], marked by more bases-loaded walks, dimwitted baserunning, grounders not corralled, double plays hit into and double plays not turned. The Mets have been in free fall for some time, but amazingly, they have yet to reach terminal velocity. Though it defies all the laws of probability, they are actually managing to play worse and become even harder to watch.
Anyway, it's probably best that there was no giveaway. Given all of the above, what possible freebie would have been sufficient inducement to justify a trip out to Flushing tonight? A complimentary Shackburger, shake and fries? Piggyback rides for all from Mr. Met? The Pepsi Party Patrol hurling actual game-used bases navigated ineptly by Angel Pagan? Gold ingots for the first 25,000 fans? A Rey Sanchez edition Bentley given away each inning?
And yet there they were — fans. Ten thousand or so at least, cheering bravely for baseball played about as carelessly and stupidly as it can be.
From the relative comfort of my bed, I watched them and tried to think of a possible explanation for that many people not being able to find something — anything — better to do on a Thursday night in New York City.
Perhaps they were Marlins fans, who find near-empty stadiums comforting. (Joke stolen from Greg Prince.)
Perhaps they were county prisoners being given a reward for good behavior, but still not allowed to leave the stadium.
Perhaps it was an overly subtle Improv Everywhere prank.
Perhaps Tobi Stoner — 2009's 53rd Met — has lots and lots of friends and family.
And then I realized that while I wasn't at the game, I was continuing to watch it, even though Marlins kept scoring and Mets kept falling over things. Surely I had something better to do, but there I sat, fuming at Angel Pagan and hoping Nick Evans might get a hit. If I'd had a ticket, would I have been out there bundled up and cheering for the Mets to draw within eight in the ninth? Good Lord, I probably would have been there. Oh, of course I would have been there.
No, there wasn't anything wrong with those people. They were just Mets fans, showing up even in the spastic dying days of an ungodly season, hoping over-the-hill veterans and undercooked rookies might give them something to clap for. Which, after all, was what I was doing too.
Come to think of it, there is something wrong with us. We're sick in the head, is what we are. Pathetic and delusional. But you know what? Fuck it. We're sick in the head together. And when karma turns — in 2010 or 2012 or 2020 or whenever — the shared insanity will be sweet indeed.
Need therapy? Seek it at AMAZIN' TUESDAY, the final 2009 edition of which is coming to Two Boots Tavern [2] on the Lower East Side, 7:00 P.M., September 15. Please join us and Mets By The Numbers [3]' Jon Springer as we welcome our special guests The Bad Guys Won author Jeff Pearlman [4] and Metstradamus [5] mastermind John Coppinger. There'll be great pizza, cold beer, loads of baseball talk…and a Mets game from Turner Field that will probably make you want to blind yourself.