I wanted to go home from Friday night’s game sick of “OMG”. I wanted it to be forced down my throat and stuck in my ear. I wanted it to be played to within an inch of my life. I want the Mets’ home run song to be blared incessantly because I want the Mets to homer incessantly.
There was indeed a ton of “OMG” at Citi Field, but we never reached the saturation point. Close enough, however, will do for now.
The Mets bashed five home runs Friday. Jose Iglesias therefore belted out his chorus in a veritable loop, including within two self-serenades. There was also the matter of his walk-up accompaniment, which happens to be the very same smash hit [1]. Bring it, Candelita.
Between repeat airings of “OMG” and the eighth-inning karaoke crowd choice of “Dancing Queen [2],” I was ascending simultaneously toward musical and baseball heaven. Stephanie and I, ensconced in lovely Field Level seats down the third base line alongside our ever thoughtful friends the Chapmans (Sharon and Kevin, the undefeated couple of Mets baseball in any season), always perk up to ABBA, especially on a Friday night when the lights are low. Looking out for a place to go? Try over the fence, repeatedly.
Met noise. Bat noise. Fan noise. It’s a beautiful noise. Little remembered is the Colorado Rockies grabbing a 2-0 lead on a home run of their own in the second inning. Hard to forget is the Rockies nearly causing a fatal avalanche with four late runs, almost crashing our baseball party until it was on the verge of shattering. But in between, it was a Met gala the likes of which I’ve rarely experienced in July at Citi Field. Vientos goes deep! Iglesias goes deep right after! One out later, it’s Bader! All in the bottom of the second. So much for the Rockies jumping ahead early.
See that team, watch that scene, digging the big Mets lead. Once it got to be 7-2 in the fifth — another homer apiece for Jose and Harrison — it was unimaginable any harm could be done to the spectacular vibes. The only real mystery remaining was how many kids in the rows below us were going to reach out and touch Mr. Met. Yet my inner karma barometer told me the Citi A/V squad was pouring it on a bit too thick with the psych-out light & sound spectacular they unleashed on the scoreboards and ribbon boards every time the visibly downtrodden Coloradoans made a pitching change. Sure enough, close calls began going against us and the Rockies rose from the dead to nip Sean Manaea for another homer to dent his otherwise superb seven innings. Then they did to the Met bullpen what every team does to the Met bullpen. Versus Jake Diekman and Phil Maton in the eighth, they turned a laugher into a beseecher. We went from singing “Oh! My! God!” to thinking “oh dear God…”
Edwin Diaz and his blast-from-the-past entrance music became necessary for the ninth. Then Diaz became nerve-inducing. A couple of walks. A surfeit of preemptive grumbling. Ultimately, the vibes survived as the Mets hung on [3], 7-6. We’re still a playoff team months before the playoffs. Everything about this team is still fun as hell. But maybe next time you’ve got them where you want them, let sleeping Rox lie.