And I like Fiction

But seems to me, and stop me if you've heard it before, that the true story of 37-year old, Kiliminjaro-climbing, memoir-writing, abuse-surviving, Star Wars-loving, UCL-shy, knuckleball revolutionary R.A. Dickey is more fabulous and terrific and maybe even more unbelievable than the fantastical made up story of the gangly, one-booted, 168 mph fastball-throwing, Tibet-reared Sidd Finch, written as an April Fool's joke for Sports Illustrated by George Plimpton in 1985.  You just have to love and admire and feel so damn good for R.A. Dickey, who's been through so much to find himself where he is today. 

Who'da thought that on June 20, 2012, the first day of summer or close to it, that it would be so much fun to be a Met fan?  We've got an unlikely no-hitter, a folk hero with a knuckleball leading the league in pitching in just about every stat you can name, and a third baseman chasing a batting title.  Which one gets Comeback of the Year?  Time will tell, sportsrockers.  There are some other damn fine stories going on it Metsland, too, and that's one reason why I love the everyday grind of the baseball season.  Let's go Mets....

No Hitter

So it's done.  The Mets have their first no hitter, ever, and it only took, as you may have heard by now, 8,020 games.  And it was worth waiting for.  It couldn't have been written any better.  So many stories.  Santana coming off shoulder surgery, a surgery that's left many pitchers shadows of their former selves. Against the world champion Cardinals, and the best offense in the league. Thole's first game off the DL.  Mike from Whitestone Baxter with the reckless regard for his own body as he makes the catch of Yadier F*(&^N Molina's drive over his head.  The return of Carlos Beltran (one of the Best Mets Ever), now a teammate of Adam Wainwright.  The rain that threatened to delay the game.  Wainwright's stellar first few innings.  Clutch hitting.  CitiField's first BIG moment.  And there's other stuff I'm sure I've forgetting.

But what I want to get to is this: it was also one of the Mets' Little League Nights, where kids get discounted tickets and wear their jerseys and get to walk on the field before the game in a little parade.  My son was one of those kids.  So not only was he there on that special night, he was on the field beforehand.  He's only eight, and he knows it was something big, but I'm sure he doesn't really get it, yet.  I am absolutely thrilled that he was there, that he'll have this memory to share with his own kids, and that he'll have bragging rights about the no hitter for the rest of his life.  Amazing. 

I was not there.  It wasn't my weekend with him, and so, that's just one of those things about divorce.  But I'm so damn happy he was there with his mother and his teammates.  And I watched every pitch, partly because I was hoping that SNY would have a few shots of the kids on the field.  And then, of course, it started to roll along, and I was paying attention to the hits column like I always do, kind of hoping, but trying not to hope too hard, that maybe this was the night. 

So my girlfriend and I sat on the couch watching (and sometimes not watching, because sometimes watching was kind of excruciating), listening to the great call from Gary, Keith, and Ron, trying really hard to believe what we were seeing.  She's a passionate lifelong Met fan.  She loved Tom Terrific as a kid.  We tried to honor our superstitions as the night progressed.  We were nervous wrecks, like so many others, as Johan took the mound in the ninth.  And then we were shouting, laughing, hugging, like so many others in NYC that night, right around 9:50 pm.  Wow.  Let's go Mets. 

I guess this is kind of living vicariously through my son?  I know I'm not supposed to do that, right?  I'm kidding, of course.  I was at Shea in '06 when Endy made The Catch, when so many of these players were there, spoiling our run.  It was a tough night, but I'll always cherish that night for Endy's miraculous sno-cone, and for the way the upper deck rocked and shook under our feet. I'm just so happy that my son's now got his own little big piece of New York Metropolitan Baseball Magic.  Well, all of us Met fans do, now, where ever we were last Friday.

Eight years old!

My son turned eight yesterday.  Crazy stuff!  Above is a collaboration we did in the old studio last year, a hawk and an alligator fighting.  Taking him for his birthday present this weekend - his first bicycle.  Can't wait.

Mets home opener tomorrow.  And a special day coming up next week.  More on that another day.

Am settled and working in the new studio, trying to get a feel for the place and my legs under me.  A great group of people, which is really nice, to begin to be a part of a little community again.

something Bruce said at SXSW

"So rumble, young musicians, rumble. Open your ears and open your hearts. Don't take yourself too seriously, and take yourself as seriously as death itself. Don’t worry. Worry your ass off. Have unclad confidence, but doubt. It keeps you awake and alert. Believe you are the baddest ass in town — and you suck! It keeps you honest. Be able to keep two completely contradictory ideals alive and well inside of your heart and head at all times. If it doesn't drive you crazy, it will make you strong. And stay hard, stay hungry and stay alive. And when you walk on stage tonight to bring the noise, treat it like it's all we have — and then remember it's only rock 'n' roll."

Like the Tom Seaver quote I mentioned on March 25 of last year, this says something to me about what it is to be a painter, and thoughts like these have kicked around in my head for years. 

3 Paintings in the Louisville Slugger Museum and Factory Fall Auction

These three paintings are up for auction at Hunt Auctions, Inc. for Louisville Slugger's Fall Auction.  They are lots 1F, 1G, and 1H and are available now for pre-bidding. Click on the title below each image to bid.  Pre-bidding ends November 10th, and the live auction takes place in Louisville on Saturday, November 12th. 

 Left Fielder, 2006-7, oil on canvas, 28x22in.

 Warm ups, 2006, oil on canvas, 26x36in.

Three fielders, 2006, oil on canvas, 26x36in.

Opening Day (Let's Go Mets!): Three fielders (2006), oil on canvas, 26x36in.

Brooklyn Cyclones

My son and I went out to Coney Island last Friday night for a Cyclones game. We got there early, to ride some rides at Luna Park (he's not tall enough for the Cyclone yet, but there are plenty of thrills anyway, including The Tickler, which I would not ride twice!], and dinner on the boardwalk. Above is a shot of the home bullpen. The game and the boardwalk were both pretty sparse for a Friday night, but that's because it was the night that Hurricane Earl was due to arrive. It never did arrive, and it was a nice, breezy night. And the Cyclones won again, having a much better season than the Metropolitans....

If you ever get the chance, it's a great way to spend a summer day, and it's a beautiful venue for baseball, with the beach and the old Parachute Drop just beyond the right field fence....

Businessman's Special

Have always wanted to get out to Flushing for a weekday afternoon game. Yesterday, my son and I did just that, and Santana threw a complete game. My hopes for the first-ever Met No-Hitter were dashed in the top of the second, but you can't have everything.  The rain held off, my son had cotton candy, I had a Blue Smoke pulled pork sandwich, and we made a visit to the Mets Hall of Fame. A great day for us. 

First trip to Flushing, 2010

Haven't written much about the Mets here this season, but have been following them as closely as always. Which is to say, "Every freaking day." My son's little league team was part of the pregame parade around the warning track, which was great fun, even if parents weren't allowed to walk down there too.

The Mets are wildly uneven this year, which is to say, "Completely freaking streaky." Approximately twice as better at home vs. on the road. But, maddening as that can be, it is a huge improvement over last season's disaster, and we've been reminded this year just how much fun it can be to watch clean, heads up baseball.

Yesterday, we had seats way up in the left field upper deck. But, it felt fine, and although we'd had a week of the most sweltering and humid days you can imagine in early June, there was at least a breeze and it was mostly overcast. Didn't rain till late in the game, and didn't rain hard till we had to get back to the 7 train.

And we all left with smiles as the Mets completed the sweep of the hated, which is to say, "HATED," Florida Freaking Marlins. What's more, it was a comeback win, in which the Metropolitans trailed by five runs. This year's club is fun to root for, and we had fun yesterday. And we got Mr. Met Beach Towels. Hello, Summertime.....

Opening Day

Yesterday, that is. And the Mets won!! Holy crap!

[in a related note, based on his columns, I don't like Mr. George Vecsey. Nope, don't like him at all.]

a few random new year thoughts

Jason Bay is a Met. Maybe, just maybe, it's time to allow myself to get excited about a new baseball season.

Also, Andre Dawson elected to the Hall of Fame: this makes sense to me. On a purely gut level, as a guy I watched on TV as a kid, I've always thought the Hawk belonged in the Hall.

Great trip to Toledo. My son had a blast with the cousins and his grandma. Had a nice birthday dinner out with family. Met my oldest newphew's fiancee's family. Saw the Zoo lights. Caught a couple movies, both entertaining and fun, but nothing great: It's Complicated and Sherlock Holmes. And met my sister's nice new bf, too. A really great visit.

That's right, a birthday. Have entered what I'll call my Jackie Robinson year. That means I'm 42.

That's another iPhone photo up there. Our Mr. Met Christmas ornament.

Toledo's great to visit, but it's always even greater to be back in NYC.

Finally

At least the 2009 season is over. I was watching up till the seventh inning stretch last night, but went to bed after I realized how disheartening it was to be watching a Joba Chamberlain v. Shane Victorino matchup. Those two hot dogs.

Some consolation in knowing lil' Vicky made the last out. I guess.

And another thing: just you wait till next year.

****

In more positive news, a great Halloween weekend. Party in our building on Friday, a full day of scary stuff to do on Saturday, mostly in Prospect Park, with Boo at the Zoo and its Haunted Barn, and the Audobon Center. Then that evening, trick or treating and the parade in Park Slope. This ex-Ohia boy was impressed with the big city trick or treating. And my son, of course, had a blast.

Solution?

I think I might be okay with the visiting team winning every game of the World Series, as the Phillies did last night, soundly spanking the Yanks in front of the poor home fans in the Bronx. That way, it's assured that for every game of the series there's a stadium full of miserable Yankee or Phillie fans.

The Haunted Baseball Season

That never ends.

I know it's completely and utterly irrational to think that the entire 2009 season has been designed and inflicted by the Baseball Gods as one long, excruciating, festering and gaping maw of an open wound in the soul of every New York Metropolitans fan, but COME ON!!! The Yankees and the Phillies??? Two teams it's impossible for Met fans to root for??? And now it's dividing Met fans as passionately as any issue in this godforsaken season??? Shane Victorino or Derek Jeter??? The little league helmet vs. Captain Smirk??? Shoot me now, shoot me now.

So. Yes. I know it's completely and utterly irrational, but so is being a *&)%$#-ing Mets fan.

A *&%$#!@ pox on both yer #*%!!$ houses, ya @!#%-ing *%#$!s....

breaking news

In a press conference later today, Omar Minaya is expected to announce that the New York Mets will be placing me, 41 year-old Brooklyn artist Patrick Jewell, on the 15-day disabled list. They are expected to call up my cat Livvie to take my place on the roster. Livvie throws right, bats left and plays for catnip.

Forgive me if you've heard this one, or something like it, before.

seriously?

An unassisted triple play to end the game? insert primal scream here.

although, truth is, this year as a mets fan, all you can do at this point is throw up your hands and laugh.

yeah. laugh until they cart you away.

unassisted triple plays are fascist.

Cooperstown

The drive from the Thruway down to Cooperstown on 28 has to be one of the most beautiful drives I've ever made. And the whole winding road just drips with Americana all the way to Cooperstown's Main Street. On the way, I got a couple texts and voicemails from my sister in Louisville -- she'd used her Slugger connections to not only comp us tickets but set up a behind the scenes tour for us.

The Franchise

On the tour, we saw a number of items close up, a mix of things that had been retrieved for VIPs to see the weekend before, which was induction weekend. A Joe DiMaggio glove, a Babe Ruth jersey and bat, a Jackie Robinson jersey, a Satchel Paige hat, a Lou Gehrig hat, and more. Our hosts were as kind and gracious [and patient with our five year-old] as could be.

We were able to handle some baseball bats as long as we were wearing the white cotton gloves, so we asked for a Mike Piazza bat, my wife's favorite Met. We saw a silver plated Babe Ruth bat, presented to him as a gift. I asked about a particular knob and was told it was one of Sammy Sosa's, and they assured me it wasn't corked; they had checked! A bat had a maple leaf stamped on its handle so I asked about that, and it was one of Alfonso Soriano's [a bigass bat, too], and the stamp simply meant it was made of maple.

Then I was handed a Honus Wagner bat. Wow. It was a big, thick handled, warm brown bat from Hillerich and Bradsby, with some kind of color decal remaining on its barrel. I tried to remember some of the things I knew about Wagner: his big hands which were said to scoop up dirt and rocks along with the ball as he fielded his position at shortstop. I choked up a couple inches and could imagine how it was used to slap and slash the ball around to all fields, the handle end so thick and weighty that his big hands and wrists must have been a kind of fulcrum. I could feel how the tool would fit the swing of an old time ballplayer, how the heavy thick handle would help balance the motion of the barrel making it a natural stick to slap and spray the ball around, a marked contrast to the modern bat of say, Sosa, with its thinner handle and the whiplike all or nothing torque produced by a modern power hitter.

I didn't want to be greedy, so I didn't push for more stuff like a kid in a candy store, but later you do wish, 'oh why didn't I think of asking for so and so's bat,' or what have you. It was a little overwhelming and an enormous, undreamed-of treat. My son said his favorite part was turning one of the enormous cranks which move the bookshelves which hold every book ever written on the game. Everywhere you turned there was some fascinating bit of baseball history or lore or just plain quirkiness.

My childhood heroes, the Big Red Machine

So yeah, wow. After thanking our gracious hosts, we moved on to explore the museum and its galleries, and I have to say that the place is worth the trip even without the VIP treatment. The Hank Aaron section is great, as is the section on fans and ballparks, and the sections on the Negro Leagues and Latin America. The staff is great. My son liked the clip of Abbott and Costello, too. And there's a nice feeling as you walk around with all the other baseball fans, most folks decked out in their team's colors. I think we'll go back, and take some more time to explore some of the other attractions in the area.

Also highly recommended: a meal at the Doubleday Cafe, again on a tip from my sis. Thanks again, Sis, and many, many, many thanks to our hosts Jim and Sue. You can tell they love spreading a little baseball joy. And they know that we Met fans need all the joy we can get this year.

Jerry Koosman's jersey from '69

a few random Met fan thoughts

Is it better to be out of contention early, or to suffer through the last day of the season failures of the past two years? I don't know.

Whenever the bases are loaded, the chance for a grand slam crosses my mind. Last Saturday, with Angel Pagan walking to the plate with the bags full, not even the remotest possibility of a salami crossed my mind. Not the most remote inkling, not the vaguest pie-in-the-sky, fairy godmother granting wish, genie in a bottle, lottery-winning, golden ticket dream entered my weary Metfan soul.

We also stopped at Cooperstown last week. Highly recommended, and I will spill more on that soon, because, thanks to my big sister, it was a very special visit. Meantime, I will just say that I wish with all my heart that the Tom Glavine Met jersey be removed from display. They don't have to burn it and let Jerry Seinfeld dance on the ashes or anything, but they should take it and fold it carefully and put it somewhere it will never see the faintest light of day again.

Also, why not more '86 stuff? Just Ray Knight's helmet, far as I could tell. Seaver case was great, and the Koosman jersey. And I loved the Big Red Machine display as they were my faves as a kid.

As somebody who has not lost faith in the core of the team, this is going to be a rough end of the season, and an ugly offseason.

Well, let's go Mets, anyway. It's still baseball, and that's good.

The Mets do not need to trade Jose Reyes. That's absurd.

first trip to citi field for a game

We went on Saturday, and I knew the Marlins were throwing their ace, Josh Johnson, who absolutely owns the Mets, but I was a little disappointed about our lineup, which featured only Carlos Beltran in terms of marquee players. Admittedly, the Mets are hurting so bad lately, there aren't many marquee players even available on any given day [I really miss watching Jose play], and so after an extra-inning night game, the glaring sit-outs were David Wright and Gary Sheffield - and Luis Castillo, to a lesser extent. But another plus was getting to see young Fernando Martinez play, and he got a lot of chances in right field, and swung the bat pretty well, too. And remembered to run, and run hard, to first.

Still, it was a beautiful day for a ballgame. We sat in a Promenade level box, in the left field corner. We got our free tote bags, and we got there early enough that our wait in the Shake Shack line was only about fifteen minutes. My god, those are good burgers. Looking forward to trying Blue Smoke next time. It took longer to wait in line for my son to get his turn at the wiffle ball field.

Our seats were good. I guess they would be called 'obstructed view' because the left field corner is below the sight line. Some idiot fans nearby, but what you gonna do. At least they weren't nasty. For most of the game it was this older loudmouthed dope in front of us, and then when they left in the eighth [wasn't much of a ball game, but it being our first game we weren't going anywhere], there were these younger loudmouthed dopes sitting behind us. It felt like they were shouting right in our ears, and talking like Tim McCarver acolytes. Later they moved and I noticed they were wearing flipflops. I've said it before -- don't wear flipflops to a baseball game.

Bad game, but enjoyable day. And my son, as usual, fell asleep on my lap on the 7 train. Maybe I'll post some of the photos he took later in the week.