Hanging On ‘Til the ASB
Does anyone else get the feeling that we’re all just waiting, waiting, waiting for the All-Star Break with all our might? For some reason, everyone’s been talking about waiting until after the ASB to figure out what’s what in our injury-depleted roster, to see who makes it back. In reality, it’s not like the ASB is a month-long vacation where things could really change. It seems like the Holy Grail right now. Get to the All-Star Break and “We’ll See.”
Someone tweeted the other day after a particularly demoralizing loss (which ones aren’t?), “I’m tired of saying ‘DL’–this was a winnable game.”
It’s true. It’s easy to talk about injuries and offer a pile of excuses as high as my leg for why this team isn’t doing well. But can we then shovel those excuses over to the month of October and get our standing elevated because of them? The team we have is the team we have, and if we’re going to make it to the playoffs, we have to play with what the Universe has given us. If the Universe has given us a Nick Evans, Fernando Martinez, and Argenis Reyes to make it through, then that’s what we have to play with. No excuses.
I know a few fans who’ve already thrown the towel in, who’ve already decided this team is not going to the playoffs this year. I think that’s the easy way out. It’s so easy to give up, not to hang your day’s mood on that day’s game. It’s much more painful to keep hoping and trying to believe… I think the ones that gave up scoff at those that still hope, saying it’s foolish and mocking the spirit as unrealistic, only because it makes them feel better for having given up on their team. Everyone knows a fan should never give up. Sour grapes.
Having said all that, I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a hiatus. I’m actually almost grateful that the Mets aren’t doing that well. If they were doing amazing, it’d make this summer that much harder on me while I studied for the Bar exam. If I knew I was missing out a very real possible playoff year, I wouldn’t be able to turn off the game. Even now, into July, I’ve been listening to/watching every single game. I’m afraid I can’t do that anymore.
I’m on baseball hiatus until August, and I hope you guys take good care of the Mets until I get back.
For the Love of Jackie Robinson: PessiMets v. OptiMets
There’s a war brewing, and it’s simmering right under our noses. It’s the in-fighting among Mets fans over who is the better fan. Is it the optimist? The eternal believer? The one that keeps telling themselves “Ya Gotta Believe!” Or is it the pessimist? The long sufferer? The one that expects nothing and is surprised when something comes his/her way?
I know everyone has an opinion. It seems you can’t go talk about the Mets anywhere nowadays–chat rooms, twitter, facebook, friends, coffee shops, the office–without immediately classifying yourself and the person standing before you as either a pessimist or an optmist. And I’ve noticed that what starts out as a genuinely interesting conversation about BASEBALL eventually degenerates into a bickering contest over who has the better fan pedigree.
The conversation usually can be boiled down to these statements:
“Ya gotta believe!”
“I do believe. Believe that they’ll pull the rug out from under us, just like they do in every situation.”
“What’s the point of being a fan if you can’t enjoy the game?”
“I am a fan. I want them to win. I just know they won’.t”
“What about that game two days/weeks/months ago where we pulled that incredible win out of nowhere?”
“The deviation from the norm.”
“Why are you so bitter?”
“Because I’m a Mets fan. Because I’ve lived through 2006-09, because of the 90s. Because of the organization and because of the strikeouts with RISP. This team doesn’t have it. They’re not going to make it this year.”
“They might. Anything can happen in baseball. Stop being such a pessimist.”
“You need to wake up.”
People who know me will know I’m generally on the optimistic side, but I rarely actually engage in this argument at all. It’s not my place to tell another fan how to be or how to experience their fandom. And it bums me out when a good conversation about baseball starts degenerating into this bickering because at the end of the day: WHO CARES. I’ve found the best way to deal with this argument is simply to leave. There’s no endpoint to this discussion. No one is backing down and admitting, “You’re right, I was wrong. I’ll agree with you from now on.” Why get aggravated about something like this? It’s like arguing about politics and religion. Just don’t do it.
I mean.. ultimately, who cares if you’re a pessimist and I’m an optimist? Everyone is entitled to their opinion. We could all live happily side by side (and I’ve been doing just that so far) as long as someone doesn’t turn out to be “That Guy.” You know the guy I mean. The “I Told You So” Guy. And this applies equally to both sides. When the Mets win, there are always some optimists that turn to their pessimistic friends and say, “I told you so! Ya gotta believe!” Friends, this only makes the pessimists dig their heels in deeper. Or when the Mets lose, there are some pessimists who will grin sardonically and shake their heads at their friends’ misery and say, “I told you so. Why do you even bother to be surprised?” And yes, you guessed it, that only makes the optimists dig their heels in deeper as well.
Who’s “right”? If the way you deal with loss is to believe “We’ll get them next time!” Great. If you the way you deal with loss is to believe “They’re a garbage team that didn’t have a chance in the first place.” Great. But leave right v. wrong out of it, or we all end up tense and unhappy… and there’s already plenty to be unhappy about when you’re a Mets fan.
I want to prevent a war amongst fans. If we could just co-exist and not start comparing sizes of our respective fandoms, that’d be great.
I hate when fans ask other fans, “So… how long have you been a fan?” “When did you become a fan?” “How?” Like there’s some ranking system and a way you have to prove yourself. Bandwagoners, new fledgling fans, old-timers who lived through the shoe polish incident… They’re all fans, just the same as the rest of us. I mean, if you’ve been a fan for decades, but the reason you *became* a fan was because you jumped on the bandwagon back in ’86, does that diminish your fandom now? If you became a fan right after 2007′s awful collapse, does that somehow make you more or less impressive? Is your schwartz as big as mine?
And the silliest thing of all is the variation of this line: “If you were a REAL Mets fan, you’d think/believe/feel THIS.”
Anyone can use this line for any purpose.
If you lived through the 90s, you’d really know what it meant to believe and you’d be a REAL fan.
If you lived through the 2007 and 2008 “collapses,” you’d know exactly why I know this team isn’t capable and you’d be a REAL fan.
What the eff is a “real” fan anyway?
I’ll tell you what. The building I live in has a maintenance supervisor named Alex. He’s been a lifelong Mets fan. Until the 2007-2008 collapse. He jumped ship this year and became a Yankees fan. When I posted this story on my Twitter, EVERYONE uniformly expressed disgust. Optimists. Pessimists. Hell, even non-baseball fans knew there was something inherently immoral about it. When push comes to shove, we’re all in it for the same reasons. We’re ALL “real” fans, so can we please stop bickering about it? We are all undergoing the same excruciating pains of loss and injuries and poorly played baseball. Everyone deals with it in different ways. I can respect your coping mechanisms if you can respect mine. I won’t tell you you’re wrong to be an pessimist, but please don’t tell me I’m wrong for being an optimist.
And for the love of Jackie Robinson, please don’t anyone be the dreaded “I Told You” guy.
I Hope I Hope I Hope
“I came in here to get some treatment. The chiropractor tried to make
some adjustments, and it made it a lot worse. It got to the point that
I was on the table for like an hour and I couldn’t even move.” — Frankie Rodriguez
I’m sorry, Mr. Mets Chiropractor, but if you can’t make a problem better then please don’t make it any worse. In a team whose ranks are already ravaged by injuries, I would feel better if the chiropractor wasn’t actively aggravating an injury. Actually, I’d feel better knowing they weren’t relying on chiropractors at all, since I’m very suspicious of that branch of medical science.
It was a beautifully played game, today. Really spot-on pitching by both Pelfrey and Beckett. The Mets’ defense finally showed up to back up Putz in the ninth with a nice catch by Wright followed by a sloppy throw that was saved by Castillo’s reaching catch.
The two outs in the ninth inning two run homer hit almost over the Green Monster by Omir Santos was the kind of clutch hitting we Mets fans would really benefit from seeing more of.
But here are the things I really loved. I loved the intensity of the game. I didn’t mind when Papelbon ran out of the dugout signalling “safe” and throwing his hat into the ground. It did sort of look like a temper tantrum, but I love to see a player that invested in the game. Papelbon was pissed and I loved it. I love Omir Santos yelling and cheering as he made his way to second. I love Sheffield getting the ump’s attention to signal that Santos’ hit should’ve been a homerun. I noticed and appreciated when Youkilis, after sliding hard into Castillo at second, stopped to check that he was okay before returning to the dugout.
If the Mets can shake off these injuries (that would be incredible) then I really believe that a Mets/Red Sox ’09 World Series could be in the making. What an amazing, unbelievable return to the ’86 series. That would be incredible. The two games we’ve played so far have been so intense and so well-played and evenly matched… and that’s with the Mets completely demolished by injuries!
Let’s count them, shall we?
Frankie Rodriguez (Closer)
Jose Reyes (SS)
Alex Cora (backup SS)
Ryan Church (RF) (apparently it’s been bothering him since spring training, but he didn’t think it was important to tell anyone???)
Delgado (1B)
Schneider (C)
Castro (backup C)
Beltran (CF)
Ollie Perez (P)
I mean, they could just get together and form a team. And it’d be a viable team, too. It’s utterly ridiculous and I’m worried. If the Mets are going to get to October, it has to happen *now*. The team is assembled. We need to be healthy, we need to gel, we need to play 100% and I have no doubt we can contend for the WS. If we could just get our acts together!
It’s very frustrating as a fan. I’m sure it’s frustrating for the healthy players trying to carry the burden. And I’m sure it’s doubly frustrating (and beyond baseball, but in life) for the injured players that want to contribute.
My heart goes out to Frankie tonight, who collapsed outside the clubhouse unable to stand by himself because of the pain of his back spasms.
I can’t believe we won two games against the Red Sox, arguably the best team in baseball, and in our current state. And I can’t help but hope that… if we can cling on by our fingernails until people start healing…. this might be it. It might be our year. I hope I hope I hope.
All the Sweeter
“Those hideous days and nights made the franchise so lovable, so human, so flawed. Mets fans used to get it but I am not sure they do nowadays. All that cable swag has raised their expectations, gone to their heads. They think like Yankees fans, for goodness’ sakes.” – George Vecsey, NYT.
I’ve been reading Faith and Fear in Flushing, so my mind has been very preoccupied with the history of the Mets fandom. The glory and the losses, the pain, and the inspiring way true fans remain strong behind their team. My friends’ diverse reactions to the blunder-filled game last night really provoked some strong emotions in me. Then this article above basically gave that emotion some articulation.
We love the Mets, not despite their flaws, but along with their flaws. In the past few years, the Mets have been very very very close, only to unleash devastation on our hearts. I’m not downplaying the pain of the ends of those years. We were there. We were there, in a crowded bar, watching Beltran in 2006. We were there in 2007. We were there in 2008. It was worse because compound.
There are, it seems, two types of Mets fans. There are the optiMETs and the pessiMETs, and each group experiences pain and suffering in their unique ways. Most optiMETs staunchly and stubbornly “believe,” (as in You Gotta–!), shame their less-believing friends, and eat their cheerful words when the Mets inevitably lose. Most pessiMETs piss and moan, nitpick and predict disaster, only to have to eat their shame when the Mets inevitably win. I’m not saying either group is correct in their approach. It’s all about self-preservation, really.
What is the best way to protect your heart from the ever encroaching disease of cynicism?
It’s amazing to me. After year after year of disaster, how can Mets fans still cling to their hope and love for a team that seems, sometimes, hell-bent on disaster?
I’m not sure what the answer is, but I know that today, suffering as I was, it still made me upset to hear those boo-bird jerks call in on the radio and call for trades of “the core.” True, I’m also upset that Jerry Manuel called out Ryan Church in front of the entire press corps. It struck me as unclassy that Beltran pointed at rookie Pagan’s mistake in not moving after he called the ball. I’m tired of Manuel’s trigger-happy russian-roulette ways with the lineup. Injuries are plaguing us and the team, even after some great come-from-behind inspiring wins, sometimes can’t seem to mesh together for a consistent performance.
I still love them. I think the trick is, for me, to not actually expect the win. I mean, I hope for the win. I think they’re capable of winning. But when I start expecting the win and start deriding the Mets for not making it to the playoffs every year… that’s dangerously close to characteristics I hate in certain Yankees fans (not all Yankees fans are terrible; I’ve met a few of the rare breed of rational, intelligent Yankees fans). But you know which fans I mean, right? The ones that think their team is “terrible” without even understanding the nuances of the game, just because they lost. All they see is the bottom line, not the plays, not the strategy, not the finely tuned details of a classically well-played ball game (that unfortunately results in a loss).
Yesterday’s game was the dead opposite of a classically well-played game, but it did remind me of the Lovable Losers and Marvelous Marv Throneberry, but not in a shameful way. The loss and the errors were embarrassing, but invoking the name of Marv Throneberry only reminds me of the proud/tragic history of the team that I love. The magic of our ’69 series, for example, stemmed in large part from the terrible, terrible seasons before it. The Mets have always performed in peaks and valleys. The valleys make the peaks all the more enjoyable. That is one of the things I love about the Mets. That they don’t win all the time. And that’s why… even though sloppy play is a terrible way to do it… the losses don’t get to me too much.
Although…. okay, they do get to me. Still, I shake them off as soon as possible, only holding on to the memory of the stinging loss for as long as it’s necessary.
It’ll just make the next win all the sweeter.
Putting the “streak” in winning-streak: Mets v. Braves, 5/12/09
Generally…
To think, if we’d only won for Johan two nights ago, we’d be on a 9-game winning streak. The Mets’ inability to put up runs for our ace has been a running topic of discussion between my other-team friends and I, mainly because they can’t bust my chops about anything else anymore. Beltran may seem a bit lazy in the outfield (I absolutely refuse to believe this, by the way) but he’s basically the centerpiece of our offense. Can’t make much fun there. Murphy dropped a few balls in the past, but anyone could tell you he’s improving in the outfield. Can’t make much fun there. David is struggling, but as much as he strikes out, he does come through at least once a game with a nice double or something. And we’ve just come off a 7 game winning streak. So when I go to the local bar and have a few drinks with friends, it’s usually Johan’s lack of run support that I’m expected to defend.
But I don’t want to defend it. I don’t understand it. Beltran’s seeming inability to take charge in the outfield–I can explain that. He lost the ball in the lights, someone else had called it, he misjudged, he’s human. DWright getting caught stealing second and home? Can’t fault a player for being aggressive. I’ll never complain when the Mets get caught stealing because it means they’re trying to DO something. How often in the past have we despaired because the Mets seemed to just sit there, waiting? Johan’s lack of run support… I don’t know. I’m as much at a loss as anyone. The most reasonable explanation I heard recently was that perhaps the Mets, having made it difficult for Johan in the past, get too worked up about his games. The pressure to perform, rather than being relaxed, is increased. They get into their own heads, and they pay the price for it. I have no idea if there’s any truth to that theory, but it’s the only one that attempts to make sense of this Opposite-Day puzzle. We win games for everyone BUT our ace? It’s so strange.
The Game
My friend and I finished finals on the same day, so we decided to celebrate by taking in a game. We bought tickets in sec. 513, row 11, aka “Way the eff up there.” Then we got a call. How I love the perks of being well-plugged in to the Mets fan network! My friend’s-friend had four tickets to the Excelsior section 315. It’s probably the BEST view of the game I’ve ever had.
We entered through the First Base VIP Entrance. It was very cushy. Carpeted, plants, large pictures hanging along the wall of Reyes and the others. The ticket collector offered to take a picture of the four of us with Reyes in the background. The other ticket collector, a woman, observed cheerfully–”Look! Beltran is right above your heads! Say cheese!” We obediently said “cheese” and then turned to look. Sure enough, it was REYES right above our heads. The lady gets an F- on identifying Mets.
We took an elevator up to the section. The elevator was controlled manually by a “hostess.” Then we went in through the Caesar Club, through a tunnel, and out into the stadium. It was interesting how that entrance made sure that you never had to actually come in touch with “real” people. LOL. People with these tickets are carefully secluded from the rest of the population. We sat right under the media boxes. That told us right away that we were getting premium sight-lines. I’ve sat field level before and this is the BEST view I’ve ever had of the game. It was… the view you see on tv.
Actually, we were within shouting distance of the SNY booth. Two sections over, there was Gary’s hand, reaching for a bottle of water. There were the SNY cameras. Directly behind us was the booth where the announcer sat. You know, the guy that says, “Third baseman… Daaaaaaaaavid Wright.” It was so strange to suddenly see the face and the balding head of the dis-embodied voice I knew oh, so well. During the Kiss Cam, I could see him watching the jumbotron and smiling as he commented on a couple that wouldn’t kiss.
(side note: it was a white man and an asian woman, and the ** behind me said, “she’s a mail order bride! Mail order!” which I found extremely offensive, of course, but just goes to show—you can sit in the classiest seats, but the people will never change)
The game itself was phenomenal. We lost for Johan, and I had a feeling that we’d win for Pelf. I had such a strong feeling that honestly, even when we were down by 3, I felt we’d come back. This team has been performing too strong to just lay down quietly to die. It was coming. I felt it. And then it came.
First of all, when David got called out at home, he was out. I could tell he was out easily. It was helpful to see him expressing his frustration, though. Made ours feel a little better. He bent over at the knees and stared at the ground for a good minute.
Oh wait, before that, there was this:
I can’t believe there was a streaker. We were cheering. I distinctly remember that Reyes had just shot a line drive foul toward right field. Because of that foul ball, we were looking in that general direction. All of a sudden, our focus zeroed on a guy who was flinging his clothes off and running toward the field. He ran fast. He got past second base before the security guys converged on him. He was led off the field surrounded by cheers and applause. The funniest thing was the announcer behind me, who very sternly said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we ask you not to applaud this man. Anyone who goes out into the field during play disturbs the players and the game..” Hahahaaa.. no one paid attention. The minute I saw what was happening, I grabbed my friend’s camera and actually caught part of his run:
The players were laughing, and the next pitch was a ball, so I guess the pitcher was rattled. LOL. Welcome to New York, Braves.
When the two runs came home and Reyes got greedy with his base-running, we hardly cared. The atmosphere in Citi Field was electric. And that’s the thing– when my friend and I spent all that money to sit field level, it was DEAD. Absolutely dead. But here on the Excelsior level, even surrounded by all the moneyed individuals that have these season seats, it got loud.
Getting into the tenth was incredible. I knew we’d get there. The atmosphere in the park — you should’ve witnessed it. There was a hushed silence for the first two outs in the tenth. Everyone was SO NERVOUS. And when it came down to the last out, it suddenly got LOUD. And then when our turn came up and bases were loaded and Beltran stepped up to the plate, I could hardly breathe I was so nervous. My friend on one side was dancing and jumping around. My friend on the other side was still and pale. I was in the middle–figuratively and literally.
And Beltran got walked!! The place EXPLODED. And even though it was walked in, Reyes’ little hop onto home plate and the guys mobbing Beltran at first were still just as sweet.
The view, the people, the game, the atmosphere… it might’ve been the best game experience I’ve had so far.
Tonight’s Game
Beltran gave credit to Maine, who recovered after walking four batters in the first two innings, including three in the second.
“I’m proud of Maine for what he did
for us,” Beltran said. “He struggled for a couple of innings and was
able to adjust and give us an opportunity to get back in the game. That
really shows he’s giving everything he has. … He didn’t give up.”
Maine said he was motivated by a “good vibe” in the Mets’ dugout.
“Nobody else gave up on me and it was a good feeling,” Maine said. “I didn’t give up on myself.”
A good vibe in the Mets’ dugout! Words I haven’t heard in a long while. That means that even after falling behind, they maintained a positive attitude? If that game happened here in NY, Maine would definitely have gotten booed after allowing 6 walks. Would he have been able to bounce back from that? I’m gonna guess NO. That’s why we gotta stop with the booing, people.
Edit 5/5/09 9:30 am: In a WFAN interview of Ron Darling this morning, he said that last night, “the bench had an angry, mean, take-no-prisoners kind of approach. It was largely due to Sheffield’s influence, and Maine felt that and it inspired him.”
It just struck me to hear those words just as they were on my mind. Also, I wonder if Sheff is taking his cue from Omar Minaya–that the reason Omar brought him and Cora in was to provide that “edge”–and starting to take license to stir the pot?
I was checking some stats and three games into May, David’s hitting .400…
Anger in the Clubhouse
Reading “The Bad Guys Won” taught me something: no matter what you think you know about your team, you have no real idea. The book was great for satisfying that voyeuristic curiosity I have as an obsessed fan. The clubhouse jokes, pranks, tensions… these are all things I want to know. The ’86 Mets were quite the rambunctious group, but who knew that Teufel was mercilessly teased by Strawberry until he finally got the courage to stand up for himself (and got Straw’s respect by doing it)? Who knew about the “cool” back section of the plane–where the troublemakers and pranksters sat during road trips?
Recently, there’s been a lot of talk about the Mets missing
“edge” and “passion.” I strongly disagree with these statements. Of course they have passion for the
game. If nothing else, I could just
point to the fact that without grit, without edge, without passion, there’s no
way you’re making it to The Show. The Mets are missing something, but it’s not passion. What I think might be missing from this team isn’t edge or a hunger to win. I think it’s
anger. Straight, no-muss, no-fuss, “pissed at the world and what’re you gonna do about it” anger.
I’ll the first to admit that I love the chemistry and
laid-back friendliness of our team. That
Pelf and “Mainer” are best buds thrills me.
That DWright is such a goodie-two-shoes, and Delgado is the strong,
quiet type assures me that the team is under solid leadership. Even Beltran and his head-down-and-work
approach was great. Even Jerry Manuel and his laidback approach, his easy smiles and his low chuckles, seemed a good fit. As far as I can tell, there seems to be a
Golden Rule in the Mets Clubhouse: “We stick together.“ It sounds wonderful, and I was its biggest
fan… but now I wonder if it might be just the thing getting in the way.
When I read a report that no one on the team had approached Beltran to ask him
about not sliding, my first thought was, “Pshh…Of course not! That’s not the Mets’ style.” Who on this team is
going to be the first to break the serene atmosphere, the congenial spirit of brotherhood by starting to point fingers? That’s not
how these Mets operate.
But the troubling thing is… maybe that would’ve helped. If Beltran had heard some criticism from his
own teammates, I’m sure it would’ve struck him harder than anything the media
or talk radio could say. What if there
was a Darryl Strawberry in there, wreaking havoc and stirring the pot? Could you imagine what sort of tension that
could create? Tension and competition
within and against each other, as teammates.
The kind of tension that forced Teufel to break his silence and shed his
“shy rookie” skin and stand up to the big bad Strawberry.
If Jose Reyes were–dare I say it–cockier, let’s say, and went around talking sh*t to Beltran for not
sliding, would Beltran have let that other opportunity to slide–and shut Reyes
up–slip by?
When Johan Santana made that comment about Daniel
Murphy costing them the game, the media and fans took notice. But don’t you think Daniel Murphy took even
more notice? The team’s ace essentially
just put the game on your shoulders.
Sure, Danny boy had already taken full responsibility for that game on his own,
but let’s all be honest–self-discipline rarely achieves the same results as peer
pressure, am I right? Look at the first chapter of Ron Darling’s “The Complete Game” (free preview from Barnes&Noble) and you’ll see what I mean by anger.
“But on game day, I was someone else, someone I didn’t recognize–someone I didn’t even necessarily like. Understand, I didn’t will myself into a sour, angry mood; it just happened, and it happened for a reason. I was on a knife edge. … I imagined I was a boxer, getting ready to step into the ring. A matador preparing to face down a charging bull.” — The Complete Game, p. 7
Anger. It can be strong motivation. Maybe what we need is a team that likes each other a little less. Well, let’s not get carried away. I have to be cautious saying this because I’m probably the number #1 fan of the Feel-Good-Mets. Maybe the team should relax their Golden Rule, but I’m not talking about just a quiet and respectful sit-down by someone’s locker. Maybe it’d be
helpful if they got under each others’ skins a little bit. Anger at yourself doesn’t do much more than
cause disappointment and eventually depression.
Anger at each other? In athletes
as fiercely competitive as pro-baseball players, I’m sure it’d spark a whole new
level of achievement. Not all stress is
bad, after all. I’m not
talking about a dysfunctional Clubhouse full of enraged ballplayers who hate
each other. What I’m talking about is
the “good” stress. The competition
between and amongst themselves. If they
can’t pull each other toward the goal, then wouldn’t a healthy kick in the butt
be just as effective? I asked my
Twitter (@mets_geekette) followers what they thought (“Do you guys believe that anger in the Clubhouse could be a good thing? A sort of ‘good’ stress?”) and here are some replies:
@darknova306: Anger can be a healthy motivator if it’s not overdone. I’d like to see these guys start to enjoy themselves, though.
@cutiepie0319k: i think it’s good. hopefully it will light a fire under their a**es to fight more to win games.
@djeffreys: Maybe if they take their anger out on the other team, then yes.
@mostlymets: A certain amount of anger is a good thing. Too much or too little is self destructive.
@metgirl4ever: i always prefer positive energy vs anger, but in this case, I’ll take anger over indifference
I even think they’d enjoy themselves more if they stopped taking everything so seriously and acted… a little less like professionals. And it’s an interesting point, that too little anger is self-destructive too.
And the Globe reporting that the Mets have removed NY newspapers from the Clubhouse because of the negative vibe just further illustrates the point. The Mets don’t seem to know how to separate “good” stress from “bad” stress, let alone how to respond to those different things. Good stress = Burned hand from touching hot stove. Ouch. Remove. Bad stress = Hearing boos from crowds and doing nothing but internalizing it.
I don’t know how this entry is meant to conclude. I love what I perceive as the brotherhood spirit of the current team. I just know that when people talk about “edge” and “fire” and “passion,” what they’re really doing is using a euphemism for “Get P*ssed Off.” And as the ever-optimistic cheerleader, if even *I* think they could stand to be a little angrier… then it’s cause for wonder. But notice how often I began my sentences with “maybe”? After reading “The Bad Guys Won,” really… the best I can do is guess.
Mets v. Marlins, 4/28/09
It was the first regular season game I was attending at the new Shea, and we went extra early to catch batting practice. I was going with a friend who hadn’t yet been to the new Shea, so we spent the Marlins’ part of BP doing the ol’ walkthrough. Mets BP was standard–nothing to report. Omar was chillin’ with his rich friends in one corner. DWright was laughing it up with all the guys. There were some funny moments when the guy throwing BP threw a few very-inside pitches to DWright. The first one, he was just a little surprised and stepped back. The second one, he laughed at something Reyes said next to him. The third one, he made like he was going to approach the mound.
I was standing at the Marlins dugout behind third base when David went jogging around the basepaths. It was so quiet that when I said, “Hey David,” he not only heard me but he gave me a little wiggle of his fingers to say hi, which… I have to admit, made me giggle like a little girl. 
My friend and I began our roaming of the new Shea. I was determined to see everything I missed during the exhibition game. The brick oven pizza place was open, I found the Touch store (which I couldn’t, for the life of me, last time), and we walked through the Caesar Club (which looks great)–
And we scoped out the Acela Club from within–
My friend and I made our way to the Shake Shack area and I had myself some burger love–
We also checked out the Pepsi Porch, got a close look at the pennant flags flying above (and so lonely), the view of the car yards behind the stadium, and peered through the bullpen mesh fences to try to understand the other teams’ complaints (very understandable).
Once the game began, we didn’t budge from our seats –
It was a great game until it wasn’t so great anymore. The experience was further ruined by the fact that we were surrounded by jerks. The guy two seats to our right was a Yankees fan, taking excessive delight in DWright’s strikeouts and screaming obscenities at him at every opportunity. His friends, the idiots that brought him, sat quietly by while he did this. Eventually, my blood boiling so much that I couldn’t even pay attention to the game, I snapped. He shouted something along the lines of, “TWO STRIKES, NO PROBLEM D, YOU JUST TAKE A PITCH RIGHT HERE!” Sarcasm was apparently his forte. I snapped and yelled, just as loudly, “SHUT UP!” which made everyone around us crack up. Wasn’t funny to me. This guy was ruining my night. He kept yelling, and every time he did, I told him to shut up until he finally sat down.
Then there was the woman in front of us who was talking loudly for all to hear about how she supported both NY teams and thought that Derek Jeter was “Mr. Baseball.” It wasn’t just the annoying inability to pick a team to really get behind that bugged my friend and me, it was the fact that she was talking so loudly about baseball and it was so clear that she didn’t understand it at all. She was just spouting generic things about the Yankees and stuff she’d read off the headlines about the Mets to the suit next to her. I couldn’t say anything to her; I mean, she has the right to be an idiot, but when David had to field that bad hop and Reyes got it instead, she said, “See, what I mean? Jeter would’ve had that. David not only doesn’t get hits, but he can’t field.” My head almost exploded.
Around the eighth inning, after the Marlins had quieted us down a bit, the five guys sitting directly behind us seemed to wake up. They began to bellow obscenities in spanish at the Marlins players. I only speak high school spanish, but I got the gist of what they were saying. It was dirty. It was incredibly loud. It was right into our ears. And then they started whistling– like… not “whistling a tune” but you know. Those ear piercing whistles. They didn’t let up until halfway through the ninth. My friend and I had to move our seats.
Not only that, but the general atmosphere on field level was so dead. It was silent and solemn and dead. I was jealous of the Pepsi Porch, which was by far the loudest section of the stadium, and I was jealous of the upper levels, where clearly people were actu
ally enjoying themselves.
These were great seats, but I love going to baseball games for the atmosphere and the party mood. That energy was completely missing that close to the field. It seems unfair. If money wasn’t an issue, and it was first-come, first-served at a ballpark. The die-hards would be the ones right behind the net and along the dugouts. And being close to that much energy would spark the players into playing with passion. Instead, surrounded by moneyed suits and quiet (with only distant cheering), no wonder they can’t play with the fire we wish they would sometimes.
Actually, the field level did show a little enthusiasm at one point by participating in a round-the-park wave.
Yes, that’s me asking how long this would continue. The answer? Five times all the way around, until someone hit a fly ball to left and finally put an end to it.
So, all in all, the game was disappointing. The seats were fantastic. The atmosphere sucked. Next game I go to will be May 12th, and I’ll be comfortably home-sweet-home in the uppers. Hooray 
Empathy for the Mets
Twitter is an amazing invention.
As an unhealthily obsessed fan, I end up watching or listening to pretty near 162 games a year. I can’t even phrase that as, “I try to…” because believe me, there are many days when I think, “Too busy, can’t watch the game today.” If I’m home, inevitably, my will crumbles and I turn Howie Rose on in the background or (when I get the chance) tune my tv to PIX11 or ESPN. If I’m out, my phone sends me updates and I steal glances at bar tvs as often as I can. It’s a sickness and, sometimes, a curse.
Twitter feeds this addiction in a dangerous way. Not only can I keep updated on the game, but I’m interacting with fellow fans. If you live in a baseball-unfriendly household or are surrounded by the enemy (Phillies fans everywhere!), the opportunity to sink yourself in this ready-in-an-instant, internet-based Mets fandom is dreamy. I love it.
When the same comment rolls up on my screen twelve times (“YES! Castillo!” “Castillo with a hit!” “Castillo pulls through!” “Go Slappy!” etc. etc.), it reminds me of full sports bars with a cheering crowd and flowing liquor.
But Twitter has also revealed some uglier aspects of the fandom to me. Installed in my happy, optimistic, lovey-dovey bubble… I try not to be too harsh on the Mets. The extent of my frustration is yelling at the screen — “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, OLLIE, GET IT TOGETHER!” But in baseball, as in life, I apply my core belief — live and let live. I try not to let the little things get under my skin.
David Wright is going through a slump. But, as the stats tell us, he’s actually doing a little bit better than he was last year. It’s just the situational hitting that’s really been suffering. He’s our star. He’s our guy. I’m not going to boo him, and it hurts when the fans do. I know I run the risk of sounding completely clueless, but… I still believe a fan’s most powerful recourse is to cheer on and encourage her team. Why let the demons get further in their heads? Psychology tells us that we, as humans, respond to positive reinforcement worlds better than to negative reinforcement. Tell me: how does it make sense to further discourage and dishearten a player who is going through a mental slump? It seems totally counterproductive to me, and I can’t understand it. The one and only time I have ever booed at Shea Stadium is when Willie Randolph walked out of the dugout to pull Aaron Heilman, who just needed two pitches to give away our lead. I booed Willie Randolph then, and even with the frustration coursing through me, it didn’t feel right. I’m never doing it again. I wish people wouldn’t boo. It honestly hurts.
Because I’m so plugged in to the Mets internet community/media this year, I’m getting a closer look at things I never gave a second thought. For example… uniforms. Uniforms? I want my team to look presentable. I appreciate tradition. I prefer the older uniforms. Well, I’ve never been a fan of the gray uniform… I just hate gray in general. And I’d heard grumblings about the black uniforms before, but on the internet–not just Twitter, but everywhere–I’ve encountered such deep-running, passionate hate for the black unis that it really surprised me. I like the black. No, it’s not our team color, but I guess I just never really thought about it with that much scrutiny before. I prefer black myself; it’s chic and always looks good. I think the guys look nice in them. The blue and orange really pop. And again, I get the argument about tradition and history… but then again, I think it strays dangerously close to the whole Yankee-fan mentality that I can’t stand. Why get so hung up on history and tradition? This is what they’re wearing now, and I think it looks okay.
And the mixed hats with the blue bill. Why is there so much attention paid to this? Is it really worth all this huff and bother? Of course, not everyone is seething with anger. Most of the conversation I’ve seen has been reasonable. I think there’s just always that one troll who lurks in the background and pounces with his inflammatory words, that gets everyone else all whipped into a frenzy of disproportionate anger.
Then I remember to take a step back. The internet tends to magnify the tiniest things. Where, in normal face-to-face conversation, a dislike or a particular preference is the most ordinary thing to talk about, on the internet, it suddenly becomes a major topic of discussion as more and more people add their opinions. The original thought, backed with not much more emotion than is usual for this sort of thing, suddenly becomes the backbone of a “movement.” It’s almost like the mob mentality, but transferred to the internet.
That might make an interesting study. Mob mentality via Internet.
Anyway, this is my appeal for reason. It’s like road rage: It’s so easy to become an anonymous person in a car, an anonymous person in a crowd, an anonymous poster on a forum, just another voice in a sea of boos. But I sincerely think it’d make for a better world if we stripped some of that anonymity away, and people were held accountable for what they did and said again. At least, to a certain degree. It might cool down the bitterness and the anger with which a disheartening number of Mets fans seem to regard their team. And even if we can’t strip it away, I think it’s important to remember that the team is composed of individuals (who get paid a crapload of money, I know) with psyches and issues, who are fallible, and, being human, would probably respond better to positive reinforcement than negative.
[/steps off soapbox]
A Trip to Acela
Being a poor grad student, I was barely able to afford tickets at Shea. I think it’s safe to say I’ve definitely been “priced out” of Citi Field. Still, I’m determined to go to as many games as possible, snagging the cheap-o seats when I can. My friend and I decided on a whim the other week that since we were unable to buy a 7 game plan and we couldn’t afford the 15 game plan, that we’d splurge on ONE game. Get seats as expensive as we dared (sadly, still not over $100) and go early for batting practice (especially now that people are reporting the new rules about BP).
Unbelievably, we were able to get tickets on StubHub for LESS than the face value. I had no idea that was even possible! It was like eBay for Mets tickets. The tickets we got were Sec 122, Row 12 — face value of $105. We got them for $83 each. They have Acela Club access! I hadn’t even realized. So if we really want to, we could book the reservation for the $48 prix fixe menu, but we’d rather have our hot dogs and beers during the game. Does anyone know if you can just sit at the Acela Club’s bar without booking a reservation for dinner? I’d like to just scope it out, if possible.
I’m BEYOND excited about these field level seats right next to the infield. It’s not often I’m looking at a life-sized person who might actually hear me when I cheer (or curse). To see the dust rise up as the guys race around the basepaths. To be within earshot of the ump’s calls. And to be able to take great pictures without having to resort to super super grainy zoom.
They’ll be playing the Marlins, and it might just turn into almost a high stakes game. I could pretend it’s September and we’re only three games away from leading the NL. But wait. Why would I want to pretend that? Thank god it’s only April.
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