what’s worse?

Thanks to the generosity of Mets Grrl, I was at the Mets game last night, and also met up with Zoe and Coop. After the Nationals (the freakin’ Nationals) spotted four runs (including YET ANOTHER 3-run bomb by Austin Kearns) in the first inning, well, it kinda killed all joviality I had. But still, it was early. The Mets would try to rally, the Nats would score again. Seemingly before I realized it, the top of the ninth was over, the Nats up 10-3. I looked at the clock. I listened to my grumbling stomach. My eyes were getting heavy, as was my heart. And I decided to leave. I’ve never before left a ballgame before it was over, no matter what the score. I don’t believe in it. But something about the way this team has played for the past week and a half–I guess I just gave up, not wanting to put myself through the agony, through the heartache, even though I sat through 8 and a half innings of Mets mediocrity.

After transferring from the 7 to the G and waiting for what seemed like an hour, a guy in the subway saw me in my hat and asked, “Were you at the game?” I shrugged and said, “Yeah, I left early. They were sucking.” He said, “Did you hear what happened?”

My eyes lit up, my heart started beating again. “NO!” I cried. “What happened?”

He grimaced. I still had hope in my face. “The Mets scored six runs in the bottom of the ninth–”

My face was like this:

“Chavez was running for Alou. Delgado struck out, Chavez stole third.”

“Then Lo Duca flied out. 10-9, Nationals.”

Me: “That is fucking bullshit.”

Cute Jewish guy overhearing conversation: “I left too. We should’ve stayed. Gotten at least some excitement out of that game.”

Me: “That is fucking bullshit.”

My compatriots stayed. You can read their thoughts here and here. So I ask, what’s worse? Is it worse to have left before the bottom of the ninth, your team losing what seems like a blowout, only to hear later that they made a valiant effort and nearly came back to salvage the game? Or is it worse to have stayed there through the nitty-gritty, have gotten your hopes up, only to have them finally, brutally dashed?

I know what I think. I’m never leaving a baseball game again, not until the final bloody out. And I never ever thought I would, not in my life. It is an embarrassing indictment of my constitution as a fan of a team I so desperately love, in spite of how frustrating they are. I shouldn’t have questioned this team’s heart. I shouldn’t have questioned their bats.

The pitching, on the other hand. Well. Last night was certainly not its strong suit.