Sunday At Shea
Mets game this afternoon with Em, as is our wont. They played, poorly, the Houston Astros. It was a mildy disappointing experiance, though it's generally good to be out in the world on a pleasent day and, specifically, it was good to be at Shea Stadium with Emily. Herewith...
Thoughts On A Day Game:
- Sweet jesus, the weather. With the heatwave that's been as of late treating us like a rented bitch, I'd forgotten what a nice day in New York felt like. Cloudy, yes, but the temperature hovered around the Southern California ideal of 75 degrees with a cool breeze and it felt like Springtime in a magical land where it never gets so hot that you have to sleep in a pool of your own sweat and take showers cold enough to send your body into hypothermic shock to avoid dropping dead of heat stroke.
-Nathan's hotdogs. If you killed a man in cold blood in front of a bunch of priests and a whole phalanx of security cameras, you can get off with a 50$ fine if you can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that, just prior to you beating the victim into a bloody mush with your bare fists, he'd stolen your Nathan's hotdogs. It's true, look it up. It's the law.
- The Mets are a great team, currently 13 games ahead of the pack in the NL East, and today they played like the Bad News Bears. I should say, the Bad News Bears at the begining of the movie, not the post-montage, we've-got-a-surly-coach-with-a-heart-of-gold, suddenly-we're-inexplicably-talented Bad News Bears. Though they jumped out to an early lead with a two run homer courtesy of Carlos Delgado, they quickly started sucking with an intensity so powerful, a few fans in the field boxes were ripped from their seats and flung over the outfield wall. We're talking a marked lack of hustle, a propensity for missing catches my grandmother could make even without her walker, and a distinct absence of effort. Carlos Beltran, he of the multi-million dollar contract and pouty lips, seemed to be okay with strolling all casual-like towards incoming fly balls; sure he missed a few, but he never broke a sweat. He must have had fancy dinner plans and he didn't want to arrive mussed and smelly. Well done, sir.
-The one player who bothered to show up, right fielder Xavier Nady, absolutely worked his ass off. Everything that the rest of the team wasn't, he was. My girlfriend is threatening to leave me for him and I'm okay with that because, it's true, the man is a stud.
-Even if the team sucks, even if the weather had been bad and we'd had a fat, sweaty guy shouting racist epitatphs and vomiting pure Everclear sitting behind us. Even if, god help us, we'd been watching the Pittsburg Pirates play the Chicago Cubs in a battle of who can be the most futile, it'd still be a pretty okay time. Ballparks posses a strange magic. Just being there makes me happy, even if I'm seeing a bunch of overpaid jocks half-ass it.
-Also, like I said. Nathan's hotdogs.
Thoughts On A Day Game:
- Sweet jesus, the weather. With the heatwave that's been as of late treating us like a rented bitch, I'd forgotten what a nice day in New York felt like. Cloudy, yes, but the temperature hovered around the Southern California ideal of 75 degrees with a cool breeze and it felt like Springtime in a magical land where it never gets so hot that you have to sleep in a pool of your own sweat and take showers cold enough to send your body into hypothermic shock to avoid dropping dead of heat stroke.
-Nathan's hotdogs. If you killed a man in cold blood in front of a bunch of priests and a whole phalanx of security cameras, you can get off with a 50$ fine if you can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that, just prior to you beating the victim into a bloody mush with your bare fists, he'd stolen your Nathan's hotdogs. It's true, look it up. It's the law.
- The Mets are a great team, currently 13 games ahead of the pack in the NL East, and today they played like the Bad News Bears. I should say, the Bad News Bears at the begining of the movie, not the post-montage, we've-got-a-surly-coach-with-a-heart-of-gold, suddenly-we're-inexplicably-talented Bad News Bears. Though they jumped out to an early lead with a two run homer courtesy of Carlos Delgado, they quickly started sucking with an intensity so powerful, a few fans in the field boxes were ripped from their seats and flung over the outfield wall. We're talking a marked lack of hustle, a propensity for missing catches my grandmother could make even without her walker, and a distinct absence of effort. Carlos Beltran, he of the multi-million dollar contract and pouty lips, seemed to be okay with strolling all casual-like towards incoming fly balls; sure he missed a few, but he never broke a sweat. He must have had fancy dinner plans and he didn't want to arrive mussed and smelly. Well done, sir.
-The one player who bothered to show up, right fielder Xavier Nady, absolutely worked his ass off. Everything that the rest of the team wasn't, he was. My girlfriend is threatening to leave me for him and I'm okay with that because, it's true, the man is a stud.
-Even if the team sucks, even if the weather had been bad and we'd had a fat, sweaty guy shouting racist epitatphs and vomiting pure Everclear sitting behind us. Even if, god help us, we'd been watching the Pittsburg Pirates play the Chicago Cubs in a battle of who can be the most futile, it'd still be a pretty okay time. Ballparks posses a strange magic. Just being there makes me happy, even if I'm seeing a bunch of overpaid jocks half-ass it.
-Also, like I said. Nathan's hotdogs.
posted by Clinton at 8:27 PM
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