EL ESTA AQUI!
EL ESTA AQUI!
To get away from the Mets for a moment (I’ll say this: good win last night, the maturation of Pelfrey is a beautiful thing to behold, only 3.5 back from the struggling Phillies, three series wins in a row…we Mets fans should welcome Jerry and the boys with much love tonight at Shea. Turn the page, etc. This feels like a new team, if only because that dour cloud known as Willie Randolph is gone. Also? I LOVE that now the starting pitchers stay on the mound to give the ball to the reliever. Shows solidarity), Wimbledon starts today!
To those of you who read this blog and skip the very infrequent tennis posts, let me say that baseball and tennis have been the two sports I’ve followed as close to religiously as possible my entire life. There was basketball until I couldn’t stand to watch my hometown Lakers (way to get blownout by BOSTON OF ALL TEAMS, OH MAH GAWD I LOST SO MANY BETS TO MASSHOLES THIS YEAR) in the mid-90s or so. But baseball and tennis are the twin pillars. I like to rationalize it as such: both involve incredible focus and strategy (hit this tiny ball coming at you at 100mph but you have to hit it in this finite space, now go!), both can be mentally draining, and both to me are incredibly aesthetically pleasing.
Stan set up a Wimbledon suicide pool with some of our friends, most of whom know fuck-all about tennis. A suicide is pool is kind of like filling out a March Madness bracket, except you pick one player to advance for each round, though you cannot use that player again. Which means you have to look at the HUGE DRAW and pick a valid winner for each match-up, until eventually you predict a winner. Pretty fun. I know no one cares, but here are my picks round by round.
1st rd: Lleyton Hewitt (only time I will ever root for him because he’s a fucking dick) & Venus Williams (she should make it to the finals and maybe win it, but you never know with her)
2nd rd: Mikhail Youzhny & Agnieska Radwanska
3rd rd: Stanislas Wawrinka & Lindsay Davenport (I highly predict to be booted out of both the mens and ladies pools right here)
4th rd: Andy Roddick & Jelena Jankovic
quarterfinals: Roger Federer (yes, I think he’ll lose in the semis) & Ana Ivanovic
semifinals: Novak Djokovic & Maria Sharapova
finals: Rafael Nadal & Serena Williams
Anyway, to celebrate Wimbledon Day 1, my favorite fashions, hilarious or otherwise:
Thankfully, she took off the coat once play started.
And now, goddam fucking gay-ass Roger Federer’s annual elicitation of eye-rolls.
WTF is that cardigan?!?! And your fucking manbag.
IS THAT A FUCKING WHITE BELT?!?!?!? Ugh. You pretentious douchehole.
Per Adam Rubin’s blog:
Joe Smith may no longer be a rookie, but as the youngest member of the bullpen, he still gets the little brother treatment. Smith was forced to take his equipment to the bullpen in a pink Hello Kitty backpack.
“There are not really enough compartments,” Smith complained.
Quipped Billy Wagner: “My Little Smitty.”
OMG LUVZ ❤
‘Cos I witnessed one yesterday. Hey, if the Mets can have a disappointing win (see: last Wednesday), why not a fun loss?
My friend Sean (who ranks high in my hypothetical list of Boys Who Would Make My Romantic Life Easy If Only They Were Gay) came to visit from Canada and we headed to Shea to watch the Mets battle the Rangers. He jokingly said that he’d root for the Rangers only because his mother is from Texas.
It was my first game at Shea this season where the starting pitcher wasn’t Mike Pelfrey. It was John Maine this time, and I excitedly donned my brand new John Maine t-shirt, hoping that I’d witness a good performance and a satisfying win.
Oh haha, it’s the 2008 Mets.
In all fairness, John Maine looked pretty solid all day. Certainly a lot more solid than the bullpen: Feliciano, Smith, and Schoeneweis really blew this shit. Though Heilman pitched a scoreless inning (not without some agita, of course!) and from the upper deck box I yelled “OH MY GOD A RELIEVER DIDN’T ALLOW A RUN? AND IT WAS HEILMAN?!?!?!” which got a nice laugh. In fact, the entire upper deck was quite fun yesterday, especially as the Mets were failing to hit yet again; some fools kept attempting to start the wave, and would boo when it died.
And then something magical happened: the Mets started to hit. And score runs. Sean and I fashioned our rally caps before the bottom of the eighth started, and were stunned to see it work. Would’ve been better if Send ‘Em Sandy hadn’t decided that Brian Schneider could beat out a shallow pop fly to end the inning. Would’ve been better if Delgado hadn’t grounded into a double play to start the ninth. But considering I’ve come to terms with the utter mediocrity of this team, I stood up and cheered with the dwindling crowd that stuck it out, cheering this team in a manner I’d forgotten was possible. Because it seemed inspired. Possibly due to the power of lowered expectations, but still. Somehow, for those final two innings, baseball felt fun again. And any little thing that this team can do to allow me to cheer like that, I’ll accept. There’s so much negativity surrounding this team, this organization, this fanbase, these Mets blogs. And with all valid reason, of course. But amid all the Fire Willie/Fire Peterson/Fire HoJo/Cut Delgado/You Fucked Up The Church Situation/This Team Sucks brouhaha, yesterday I felt that I could sacrifice all expectation for this team in order to cheer on the little things, like stringing together some hits, some late rallies, and pitchers getting out of their own mess (Heilman only). And I feel like that’ll be enough, that being a baseball fan is enough, and anything more–whether it be winning the NL East, winning the Wild Card, winning the World Series, or finishing the year above .500)–will be pretty much gravy.
Also, I don’t know how many times I screamed “TROT!!!!!!!” and/or came up with some terrible TROT!!!!!! puns yesterday, but I’m sure it’s some number higher than Luis Castillo’s RBI total.
I mean really. Pelfrey pitches a gem? Wags blows it by giving up a 3-run homer? Beltran hits a walk-off homer in the 13th?
Man I feel drunk.
I didn’t experience any of last night’s monstrosity. I don’t know if this makes me a bad fan or what, but lately I’ve found myself missing a lot of games. I’ll just say that much of this has to do with the fact that they were on the West Coast. But last night I went to see the Breeders at Webster Hall, and therefore had more important things to do.
Before the show, I was home with my friend George as we ate Mexican food and sat in my now air-conditioned room. I did do some scoreboard watching and saw that the Mets jumped to a 5-1 lead. Weee!!, I thought, and we headed over to Webster Hall.
While waiting for the Breeders to come on stage, I checked the score on my phone and saw it was 5-3. George asked the score and I showed to him, grimacing.
The Breeders were awesome. Maybe one of the best shows I’ve ever seen. And then it was almost ruined by a bunch of yahoos behind us who kept screaming ridiculous things (like “I Just Wanna Hit A Bong,” oh ho ho what clever wit you have there my friend) as well as screaming along to every song. Now, singing along is fine, but when I CANNOT HEAR THE SINGER ON STAGE then please kindly shut the fuck up. Especially when it’s a ballad. No one wants to hear your off-key caterwauling, douche.
When the show was over I see the culprits: a trio of 19 year old college bros, one of whom was wearing a Jeter t-shirt. What a goddam surprise.
Yankee fans: ruiners of everything you enjoy.
After the show, George asked who won the game. I said, “Eh, they probably lost.” I really hate being right sometimes.