Thursday, April 12, 2007

Opening Night!

QUEENS - Shea Stadium. Mets v. Phillies. 40 degrees. Mist. Misery.

Last night I went to the Mets "opening night" game - opening day had apparently happened on Monday, and as a result, I remember why many years ago I tried to ban myself from attending baseball games in April (Go Sox!) after many wet, cold nights at Fenway Park. But, each spring, April rolls around, someone offers me a ticket, and I say "hell yes."

So, I made my way to Shea last night with some dear friends who had come slightly better prepared than I, but not much. Last year I went to opening day and it was so cold and wet that I bought myself a $50 Mets sweatshirt, and for the second time last night, I got to wear it. That brings it to $25 a wear. A few more games and it will be just like buying a really expensive martini at a Times Square hotel bar...

After weaving our way up the ramps, we stoped by the Sam Adams dispenser kiosk where two lovely teenage girls who had never operated a tap before tried to figure out why the cups were full of foam. $7 later I got my foamy beer, pulled my sweatshirt on, and found my seat.

Our seats were in the mezzanine section, and happily shielded from rain. What we were not shielded from was the bitter cold wind which grew sharper with each passing inning.

Meanwhile, on the field, the Mets gave up 3 runs in a row on walks. Six batters in a row were walked by the Mets pitcher, who my friend had assured me "had a really good spring". Nice. It was a completely unmemorable game. I have no idea what else happened, except that a small part of me was happy that the Phillies were winning as deep down, a Philly girl can never abandon her teams. And from what I've read, going into last night's game 1-6, the Phillies can only seem to win if they are walked across the plate one at a time.

On the plus side, I did get a foot-long hot dog, the rite of passage of every baseball goer, and a Budweiser in a freezing-cold metal bottle with a Mets logo on its side. Neat-o! After that, however, until the unceremonious top of the 8th, after which the pain of the cold greatly outweighted the fun of the baseball... We left.

Had it been just 20 degrees warmer, I'd have been able to tough it out, but I was losing sensation in my toes, and that's not awesome.

Back in Philadelphia, where Phillies fans were watching from the comfort of anywhere else, my sister texted me that Haley had been booted from American Idol. There is a God.

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