Going to a night game Saturday and then following it up with a day game on Sunday is a little tiring. I am worn-out and exhausted, though that could be the Vicodin talking. Or at least enhancing my exhaustion in the most delightful of ways. Thanks, Vicodin!
And thank you, Mets, for taking the final two games against the Reds, ensuring that my record at Shea would stay at a perfect 6-0. Saturday I went with Danny and watched some BP and endured a bit of a nail-biter as the Mets squeezed the Reds 2-1. Tommy Glavine got career win #298 with some spectacular pitching, going 8 innings and giving up two hits all night: a homer to New Mets Killer Brandon Phillips and a single to Ken Griffey, Jr. (which, can I just say, it was an absolute joy to see him hit, seeing as he was one of my absolute favorites when I was growing up, and I’d never before seen him in person). To be absolutely fair, the Mets should have blown this thing wide open. The first four innings were nearly comical deja vu. First: men on first and second, two outs, Delgado flies out. Second: Lo Duca singles, then three consecutive outs. Repeat. They stranded runners all over the place until finally Shawn Green singled in David Wright in the sixth to tie the score. The score remained tied until the bottom of the eighth, when Lastings Milledge continued his mind-boggling usefulness, slapping a single through the middle to score Green, ensuring that Glavine would get the win if only Billy Wagner could record the save. Which, duh, of course he did, being Wags and all. I remarked to Danny after the game, “It’s funny how I’ve made fun of Shawn Green all week and then he has a game like this.” I’ll stop making fun of you for at least the next week, Shawnny! Promise!
Sunday I took Cincinnati native Cute Boy Who Likes Baseball to his first ever game at Shea, all the while taunting him and generally making him aware of how little I think of his team by saying things like “Who the fuck is Norris Hopper?” or “How fucking old is Jeff Conine?” or “Who the fuck is Pedro Lopez?” (I curse a lot when watching baseball, apparently). Lopez, it turns out, made his major league debut on Saturday, and recorded his first hit Sunday, though really Jose Reyes should’ve had him if only he’d handled the grounder a bit more smoothly. CBWLB then decided that Pedro Lopez was his new boyfriend. Pffft, whatever. I thought you had some guy in Germany. Meow.
It was also Military Appreciation Day, though I didn’t see enough hot men in uniform, sadly. I got my camo hat, which didn’t excite me as much as I thought it would. I guess mainly because, yes support the troops God bless ’em, but jingoism has never really been my cup of tea, especially when there’s a big-ass sponsored Jeep logo on the back of the hat. The military jets flyover thing was neat, even if I could only hear and feel them as opposed to see, considering the roof over the section of the Loge, where our seats were.
More gayness: as Best Song Ever “Be My Baby” started up for the Kiss Cam, I thought “If Shea were progressive enough to have two dudes up there, I would so stick my tongue down [CBWLB’s] throat.” Lo and behold, they ended up showing two dudes, only it was Kevin James and Adam Sandler (who separately started Let’s Go Mets! chants on the DiamondVision, though isn’t Sandler a Yankee fan?), I assume promoting their insipid-looking new movie about firemen pretending to be gay so that they can get benefits or something? Because it’s so governmentally beneficial to be gay? They even then reenacted that hilarious part in the trailer where they have to kiss after getting gay-married (by Rob Schneider doing a weird Chinaman impersonation, I think…because only weird Chinaman can preside over gay nuptials? I half-expected Amy Poehler to be playing the flute), only Sandler then clocks James in the face. Gay panic is funny!
Anyway. I finally got to see Ollie pitch, the only Mets starter I hadn’t previously seen in person. He was a little dusty in spots but otherwise seemed in fine form and total control for most of the afternoon. He got some sweet defensive help, and great offense by Ramon Castro and–yet again–Milledge. Ollie even helped his cause by singling in the fifth and scoring on a home run by Reyes.
I am sufficiently exhausted, physically and emotionally. Side-note: Exactly how sad is it to say to someone, “See you around, I guess”? It’s pretty sad. Anyway. I’ve got another Vicodin and another beer and the rest of Exile in Guyville to listen to. Moral victory, I suppose. HOWEVER. I don’t want any moral victories from the Mets as they head to the West Coast to face the Padres and the Dodgers. Beating up on the Reds is one thing. Facing some of the NL elite is another. And I want payback from that nightmare in L.A. last month. Hell, the Mets might as well start becoming the one thing that’s going right in my life (I think I hear the world’s tiniest violin). It would pick me up greatly if they went on a tear. Don’t look now, but the Braves are 1.5 games back. And, gulp, they next face the Reds. Have fun with that feast, Atlanta!