i love a free meal

May 31, 2007

Thanks to a dominant performance by El Duque and early hits by the Mets, I have won my bet with Stan, who now owes me a dinner. Oh, what classy joint shall I pick?

This was only my second game at Shea this season, and it was fairly reminiscent of the first one (a win over the Brewers on May 11). After a shaky first inning by El Duque, he completely shut down the Giants for the rest of the night. He was helped by RBIs from Carlos Beltran and BB#1 David Wright in the first, and Jose Reyes and Endy Chavez in the second. Endy Chavez with another RBI bunt. I can’t get over this kid. It was a real groaner, though, when Beltran seemed hobbled after his single, and was eventually replaced by Carlos Gomez. Can the Mets please keep its outfield healthy? Goddammit.

And basically…that was it. El Duque managed no hits for the rest of his tenure (the only other hit coming off BB#2 Joe Smith, who otherwise pitched another solid eighth. I love Joey), and after shelling Matt Cain for the first few innings, the Mets didn’t threaten from then on. As much as I love dramatics of the kind that occured on Tuesday, I also enjoy the kind of efficient baseball I saw today. Get ’em early and keep ’em down. I don’t know, but it gives me even more confidence in our boys to see them play a game like tonight’s.

The first game I saw, we sat in a field box in left field, meaning we had to turn right to see the action. Tonight, seeing as there were eight of us (four Giants fans, four Mets fans…it was fun to harangue the Bay Area kids), we sat in the Upper Res, which I actually almost preferred, being that you could see the whole thing overhead. There were, however, a lot of idiots up there. People who were unaware that they were sitting in the wrong section, blocking up the aisles, generally being obnoxious and clueless (kind of like how people on the subway stand in front of the doors when you’re trying to exit…get the hell out of the way, jerks). One very attractive girl who kept wandering through the entire Upper Res, until finally being escorted by her date (the boys I was with were entirely enamored of her. Total sausagefest). One guy on his cell phone saying “You said you were near first base, right?” (we were behind home plate). An entire group of pubescent girls speaking indecipherable English to one another, talking the entire time about which Mets they would fuck (Wright, Reyes, and Gomez were the consensus choices). I did at least manage to not spend $80 on food and beer this time around. I almost wish I had. I’m hungry right now.

One last thing: thanks to a heads-up by Mets Grrl, you should go to this if you can:

I would go if I had a car/didn’t already have plans. If you go, please give Joe Smith my love. I would ask you to give more than that, but that might be a little scandalous for this family establishment. Also, I’d prefer to do it myself.


ROLAND GARROS HATES FREEDOM

May 30, 2007

: Har har har! Americains stupides! I haf behrrreed you dans mon dust rouge! I haff caused assfixiassion for entirety of your coontree!

: I just don’t get it. I won most of my first tournaments on clay…

: Stupide americain clay! Ho ho ho! Not ze same zing, n’est-ce pas?

: I guess not. Man, I’ve really sucked in the past few years. My strong American jawline no longer causes fear in the hearts of my opponents. I should’ve never broke up with Mandy Moore.

: [UNFUCKINGGODLY NOISE]

: Oh my God I never wanna hear that at 3 am ever again.

: Andy you said you’d give me more MaSha animal sex stories for a sequel to my wildly successful tell-all.

: Pffft, as successful as your results here.

: Why don’t you go get shingles or herpes or whatever the hell that was again? Then you can come back, play good for two months, get everyone’s hopes up, and then flame out consistently?

: Way ahead of you.

: Har har har! None of you shall evarrr conquerrr Roland Garros! Your coontree will forever be cursed to impotence on ze grannnn Fransch stage!

: BITCHES I am ready to win here again don’t you even TRY n’ FRONT.

: Merde. [searches for inhaler]

: Psssst, Justine. Perrhaps you can cheat once more, non?

: Bien sur.

: Allez! Au revoir, Americains! Enjoy your cheezeberrgerrrrrs!


i could get used to this

May 29, 2007

Look at these fucking goofballs.

I did not see any part of this game at all whatsoever. I listened to approximately five minutes of the top of the first. Serves me right for going to watch Jaws after Ollie gave up his second home run. WTF is wrong with me?!

Stan is really pissed. I ❤ Armando. Carlos Delgado again?! You gotta be kidding me.


welcome back, delgotter (feel free to groan at that one)

May 29, 2007

Davey rubbed Carlos Delgado’s head a lot this weekend. Hrm.

Well, I must say it was pretty satisfying that the Mets swept Florida after dropping YET ANOTHER series in Atlanta, combined with the fact that Atlanta was then promptly swept by the Phillies. The Mets are now 4 games up on the Braves. Nice.

It’s great that the Mets rebounded from their lackluster performance in Atlanta, but what was most promising by their stint in South Florida was the return or rebound of some key players. First and foremost, of course, was El Duque’s apparently stellar performance in a game I did not see (I spent that night getting drunk and playing catch…note to self: you are somehow able to throw strikes when you get more and more wasted), seemingly thankfully as there was apparently a lot of sloppy and/or lackluster play by the Mets. The next day saw the return of a John Maine win, but most importantly two huge bombs by Delgado to hopefully signify an awakening of his bat’s season-long slumber. In the final game, the Mets bats gave a nice cushion to a decent-enough performance by Jorge Sosa, who rebounded after his first loss of the season (to Atlanta, his former team).

Things to rejoice: El Duque/Maine/Delgado/Sosa. Billy Wagner’s 30th consecutive save. The continuing ho-hum dominance of Joe Freakin Smith in his eighth inning appearances (give this kid a raise). The big hits that came when needed.

Things to be wary about: Shawn Green’s broken foot. Paul Lo Duca (now the team’s best hitter!) getting hit by a pitch, causing his elbow to tighten up. Carlos Gomez and his strained hammy. And all those runners left in scoring position, particulary the consecutive bases-loaded innings on Sunday. Coulda/woulda/shoulda been a blowout.

Up next: the San Francisco Giants come to Shea, having just been swept by, uh, the Rockies? Really? Yikes. Bay Area adjacent native Stan and I have a bet riding on this series. Loser of the series buys dinner. I can’t wait to eat on his dime (uh, not that it’ll be novelty, considering he always buys me food. Best straight boyfriend ever).


cautious optimism

May 25, 2007

So South Georgia was on fire. I thought that would dovetail nicely with history as the rampaging Mets charged into Atlanta to face the Braves, their biggest rivals. Well, it didn’t turn out quite that way. Whoops.

Every sports fan must have those irrational moments where they feel like their actions, behavior, attitude, routine, etc. dictate the performance of their favorite player(s)/team(s). I felt that way this entire series.

Tuesday: going to Copper Door Tavern with Stan (2 for 1 burgers and 2 for 1 beers!), feeling cautiously optimistic about Jorge Sosa’s chances against his former team, as well as the Mets’ offensive chances against Kyle Davies. WELL. Too often I’ve felt, good or bad, the Mets lately have been allowing early innings to set the tone of the entire game, and they did exactly that when, with runners on first and third, slumping Carlos Delgado grounded into a double play to end the early threat (I found out later that it was Delgado’s fifth GIDP of the season. Somehow it feels like more). Sosa was lights out for exactly one inning, and then the Braves smacked him all over the place. Still feeling cautiously optimistic, as the Mets were only down 5-1 (Stan: “Way to not be an alarmist”), Aaron Sele proceeded to give up a 3-run homerun to Davies (the pitcher!). At this point I went, “Bah!” gathered my belongings, went home, and drank some whiskey till I passed out. I then realized that, aside from last week’s walk-off walk against the Cubs, the Mets have always lost when I watch them at Copper Door. Maybe I should stop going there (but oh the food and drink specials!).

Wednesday: I went to see an apartment, and in doing so walked by a bar that was playing the game. The first thing I see is Oliver Perez inducing a short pop-out to David Wright, which makes me smile. I get the apartment (the guy was wearing a Yankees hat; I totally rubbed the series win in his face, but he seemed to enjoy talking shit on Clemens and Giambi, so go figure), go see friends at our weekly trivia night (nerds! Also, confusing the Buzzcocks’ “Orgasm Addict” for the Exploding Hearts? SHAME), drunkenly head over to Alligator Lounge, where I see Baseball Boyfriend #2 Joe Smith warming up to relieve Ollie, who seemingly pitched another beaut (three in a row!). This makes me completely ditch my friends, as I end up going ga-ga over Joey with a guy missing three of his front teeth. Joey, of course, goes 1-2-3 in the eighth (including just a killer smackdown of Larry Jones, who looked like a fucking idiot trying to chase Joey’s junk…hrm, interesting diction there, eh? Baseball is so gay). Then I’m told Baseball Boyfriend #1 David Wright hit ANOTHER dinger earlier in the game. How good is he? SO GOOD. Wags does his thing, and I’m zippy with victory. I finally go hang out with my friends, and end up talking to a very cute boy who likes baseball who also was invited to this Big Gay Literary Party that I was going to attend the next day. We make plans to meet up. I turn into a seven year old.

Thursday: Glavine vs. Smoltz? Kill that homophobe (link via Toasted Joe), I think. Do not let him get a milestone (win #200) against us. Smack him around. WELL. That didn’t happen. Neither did anything with Cute Boy Who Likes Baseball, though we did talk at Big Gay Literary Party for a bit before he got swept up in Big Gay Literaryness whereas I just kind of awkwardly started chainsmoking and downing whiskey straights on the balcony. I called up Stan to check up on the game (him: “2-0 Braves, top of the fourth, Lo Duca on third”/me: “Oh, we’ll come back. That’s nothing.” Decidedly more-than-cautious optimism). When I get home, I see that the Mets mounted a rally in the top of the ninth, only to have it end with a pop-up by Jose “Dear God, Please Don’t Call Me Samson” Reyes. It’s nice to know that the Mets can’t score when given the opportunity, and neither can I.

This recent power-outage is troubling (the Mets’, not mine, though man…forced celibacy sucks). It almost seems like so Reyes goes, so go the Mets. When he’s on base, he can manufacture runs on his own, can spark the team to do some quality hitting. When he’s not (and he hasn’t often been lately), all we can hope for is a Wright home run, it seems (which has generally been the case). Where is the small ball? The situational hitting? For most of the season, they’ve been quality at that. I hope it comes back soon. I hope Delgado, down in the lineup and with less pressure, gets something going. Beltran’s 2-3 game last night is comforting. And Lo Duca seems to be waking up too.

Things to rejoice: Wright’s fantastic May, silencing his April critics (are you guys serious? How could you think that he wouldn’t break out?). The rebirth of Ollie Perez (I love watching him when he’s on, it’s just electric and joyful). Joe Smith’s inhuman calm under pressure (I bet he’s good in the sack…WHAT?).

Tonight, El Duque comes back. I am cautiously optimistic about his return. I would love to be given a reason for brazen confidence, however.