I just hate -- hate -- that it was the Marlins again.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, another long, cold, dark offseason.
When I played baseball as a kid, I never quite got the game. It was a mystery to me, the whole rate of failure, the game in your head, the bounces, the inches, the judgment of the umpire. Football was my game, something straightforward, physical. Line up across another guy and try to knock the snot out of him. Baseball, I was too uptight to really let it it fly. And my mind wandered. Now, watching games, I prefer baseball to football in every way. The beauty, the rhythms, the day to day of it. Today football is a different game from the one I loved, a game of specialization and matchups and strategy, plugging players in and out for specific plays, situations. That's just boring and impersonal to me, a kid who soaked up the stories of the sixties Packers and Giants and Browns and Rams.
Anyway, even though I love baseball now, there are still things I just don't get. The biggest being that you just can't bend any given situation to your will, at least as a hitter. The game is just too big and crazy and mysterious to me. Football, I always felt like you had a little control over things, if only biggest there's always somebody waiting to be knocked down.
Anyway, the first, undisputed fact is the bullpen has to be rebuilt from the ground up. Maybe you keep a couple guys, I don't know, but most of them have to be gone.
Showing posts with label shea. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shea. Show all posts
Monday, September 29, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Last call [for us] at Shea
Yesterday was our last regular-season visit to Shea. We are still hoping for a chance to go back in the postseason, but we have two full weeks of baseball season left with a one-game lead over the Phils, so there's no way of knowing the chances yet [so let's go].
Therefore, we approached yesterday's game against the Braves like our last-ever, ever, ever game at Shea Stadium. I wore my favorite, if beaten and battered, torn and tattered, sweaty old royal blue Mets cap. And the day was pretty much a microcosm of the Met fan experience: good starting pitching, big day from David Wright, two run lead going into the ninth, majestic bullpen meltdown, enough of a rally in the bottom of the ninth to get your hopes up, but ultimately falling short. Designed to break your heart, indeed, pally. You know, it don't come easy.
A bittersweet goodbye to Shea. Consolation in the upcoming fourteen games over fourteen days and what should be a wild ride. Consolation in the last ever Mr. Met Dash at Shea, and my son's joy at running the bases. This time he was more determined than ever, and a laughing member of the field crew had to catch him after he crossed home plate because he was making a beeline for the home dugout. I lifted him up and he was panting like a racehorse. Consolation in my son seeing Mr. Met in the second inning, getting a pat on the head from the big fluffy hand. Consolation in seeing the home run apple twice, thanks to Mr. Wright.
We're going to miss Shea. A mess of a ballpark, sure, but ours, and seriously underrated. I saw Springsteen and the E Street Band there in 2003. I was there for game 7 in 2006. A Sunday game against the Braves on September 23, 2001 was one of the most emotionally draining days I've ever had, and was the first time in those days after the towers fell that I remember feeling anything like joy because the ballgame gave us a sense of community that was overpowering and, yes, healing [although it was another heartbreaking bullpen catastrophe. Thanks, Armando]. I liked Shea's wide open feel, the views of the subway and the LIRR out past the bullpen, and for some reason, I grew to love the upper deck best of all, sitting out there free and easy in the breeze with everything laid out below and only sky and jet airliners overhead. In comparison, Yankee Stadium felt claustrophobic to me after I grew to know Shea so well. But there's lots of baseball left, so no need to get sentimental yet. Let's go Mets!
Monday, August 25, 2008
Free t-shirt, dyna met dash, bullpen meltdown
Our fourth trip to Shea yesterday, accompanied by some Aussie friends. Our first game in the mezzanine this year, where the shade is plentiful and the breeze is nice. Fun to watch Ollie Perez work, and very nice to see Beltran stroke a couple homers--from the right side, no less, where he has lacked a bit in the power department this year.
Nice free tee shirts, as it says in the title, commemorating the final year at Shea. And since it's been a while since I've been in the house for a full-fledged bullpen meltdown, I guess I was due for one. Heilman was atrocious, I think he threw about four pitches. A gang of three or four others including Schoeneweiss, Ayala and Smith helped the game go into ten innings, but Feliciano failed in spectacular fashion with two no doubt solo home runs to two Astros who hit home runs about once every leap year. Other bullpen meltdowns I've been in the house for: game 7 in 2006 [which I don't have to provide any details for], and a Sunday against the Braves, late September of 2001 - one of the most emotionally draining experiences I've ever had. Armando, of course, was a key melterdowner in that one, and Brian Jordan of the unholy Braves was the Met Killer.
Well, the best thing about yesterday was brilliant weather for the Dyna Met Dash, and my son and his Aussie pal were more than up for the sprint around the infield. My son was so focussed on a need for speed that he didn't even break stride to greet Mr. Met at second base. From the moment we stepped through the center field fence and onto the warning track, he seemed to be gathering his strength, trying out his game face, summoning all his power. And he was fast, easily beating me to home plate where a helpful member of the Mets staff helped corral him for me. I really can't say enough about how much fun this event is and how well it's all handled. They don't let you linger, understandably, since they probably move about 10,000 people through there [at least that's what I heard one field crew member say], but they are extremely nice and generous about it. And, like my son, all business. He was all smiles on the way out, and took his customary nap on the 2 train back to Brooklyn.
The Jewell family is officially 2-2 at Shea this year, and we have at least one more game in our calendar, and a chance to finish with a winning record.
Nice free tee shirts, as it says in the title, commemorating the final year at Shea. And since it's been a while since I've been in the house for a full-fledged bullpen meltdown, I guess I was due for one. Heilman was atrocious, I think he threw about four pitches. A gang of three or four others including Schoeneweiss, Ayala and Smith helped the game go into ten innings, but Feliciano failed in spectacular fashion with two no doubt solo home runs to two Astros who hit home runs about once every leap year. Other bullpen meltdowns I've been in the house for: game 7 in 2006 [which I don't have to provide any details for], and a Sunday against the Braves, late September of 2001 - one of the most emotionally draining experiences I've ever had. Armando, of course, was a key melterdowner in that one, and Brian Jordan of the unholy Braves was the Met Killer.
Well, the best thing about yesterday was brilliant weather for the Dyna Met Dash, and my son and his Aussie pal were more than up for the sprint around the infield. My son was so focussed on a need for speed that he didn't even break stride to greet Mr. Met at second base. From the moment we stepped through the center field fence and onto the warning track, he seemed to be gathering his strength, trying out his game face, summoning all his power. And he was fast, easily beating me to home plate where a helpful member of the Mets staff helped corral him for me. I really can't say enough about how much fun this event is and how well it's all handled. They don't let you linger, understandably, since they probably move about 10,000 people through there [at least that's what I heard one field crew member say], but they are extremely nice and generous about it. And, like my son, all business. He was all smiles on the way out, and took his customary nap on the 2 train back to Brooklyn.
The Jewell family is officially 2-2 at Shea this year, and we have at least one more game in our calendar, and a chance to finish with a winning record.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
He ain't heavy
My brother came to town last weekend with his wife and nine year-old daughter. A good time was had by all. My son was so excited to see them, he couldn't sleep the first night, much to everyone's chagrin. But we all had plenty in the tank for the rest of the visit.
First stop, Cheryl's Global Soul on Underhill for brunch and then the Q train to Coney Island where those of us who were tall enough rode the Cyclone (still my favorite roller coaster on earth). Lunch at Nathan's. And lots of rides at Deno's and Astroland. My brother hadn't been to Brooklyn in four years, and he was glad to see that Shoot the Freak is still going strong on the boardwalk. My son had to have an annoying plastic disco scepter thing that plays about five notes of an indecipherable song while flashing rainbow strobe lights. The repeated lines are something like 'Rhythm in the dark,' or 'Children of the corn,' or 'Don't you touch my dog.'
On the way home, the Q was running over the N line. We were waiting on the platform in the big, open-air, Euro-style train station, and there was a train on track 3 whose doors were closed. A voice over the loudspeaker kept asking crew 317 to open the doors on track 3, but nothing was happening. It started calm and then worked itself into a fever, until you thought the guy was going to go apoplectic. Like the old 'It's the plumber, I've come to fix the sink' gag on the Electric Company.
--Crew 317, will you please open the doors to the train on track 3.
--Crew 317, we need the doors open on track 3.
--Crew 317, open the doors on track 3. Open the doors on track 3!
--Crew 317, will you open the doors on track 3????
--Crew 317, am I talking to myself, here? Where are you? Open the doors on track 3!!
We see an MTA guy with a key and he enters the train. Soon enough, the doors open and we take our seats. Ding dong, and the doors close. But we don't move. After about a minute the doors open again, and immediately the voice is back on the loudspeaker: 'TRACK 3!!! NOW you open the doors???? What are you opening the doors for??? WILL YOU GET YOUR TRAIN OUT OF THE STATION ALREADY????'
My 17 years in New York, I've never heard this kind of exchange before. And to be fair, maybe I exaggerate a little for comic effect.
Later that night, we hit the next item on my brother's agenda: Pizza at Grimaldi's, the venerable brick oven joint under the Brooklyn Bridge. My brother, sister-in-law, and niece are a little surprised to see the length of the line to go in , but they're game, and we wait about an hour and a quarter, listening to the Met game on my transistor radio. And we're glad we got on line, because that is some truly delicious pizza. I haven't been there in several years, and had forgotten how good it is.
The next morning my brother and I have a relaxing run in Prospect Park. When we get back I scramble a dozen eggs, cook some turkey bacon, toast, and oatmeal, and we all load up for that day's big activity: final game of the Mets/Marlins series at Shea.
It is Billy Wagner Bobblehead Day at Shea, and we all get one. It's a pretty good likeness. Captures Billy's sleepy-eyed alpaca farmer look. It was an awful game. The Mets could do nothing, the Marlins continued their dominance of Mike Pelfrey, and they cancelled the Dyna Mets Dash. Booooooo. Still, for my brother, I hope, it was worth it (a day in the ballpark is always worth it, if you ask me). I have two older brothers, and even though we grew up in the midwest, one was always a Met fan, the other a Yankee fan. The Yankee fan, to his credit, has followed them through good and bad for forty years. The Met fan, the brother who visited, had never been to Shea, so at least we were able to do that, but I wish I could have taken him down on the field for the dash. He left with his bobbleheads, a couple souvenir ice cream cup batting helmets, and a few more commemorative, deluxe, plastic soda cups. My son annoyed his cousin by taking up the 'En-dy Cha-vez' chant and continuing it long after Chavez's at-bat was over. Long after the Mets' at-bat was over.
We rounded out the weekend with dinner at Teddy's, where the borough president also happened to be dining. Teddy and his staff are always kind to my son, and it was nice to introduce them to my brother and his family, too.
Goodbyes are tough the next morning, especially for my son and my niece, but hopefully they'll make it back soon, and we'll see their new place in Cleveland soon, too. Thanks, bro.
First stop, Cheryl's Global Soul on Underhill for brunch and then the Q train to Coney Island where those of us who were tall enough rode the Cyclone (still my favorite roller coaster on earth). Lunch at Nathan's. And lots of rides at Deno's and Astroland. My brother hadn't been to Brooklyn in four years, and he was glad to see that Shoot the Freak is still going strong on the boardwalk. My son had to have an annoying plastic disco scepter thing that plays about five notes of an indecipherable song while flashing rainbow strobe lights. The repeated lines are something like 'Rhythm in the dark,' or 'Children of the corn,' or 'Don't you touch my dog.'
On the way home, the Q was running over the N line. We were waiting on the platform in the big, open-air, Euro-style train station, and there was a train on track 3 whose doors were closed. A voice over the loudspeaker kept asking crew 317 to open the doors on track 3, but nothing was happening. It started calm and then worked itself into a fever, until you thought the guy was going to go apoplectic. Like the old 'It's the plumber, I've come to fix the sink' gag on the Electric Company.
--Crew 317, will you please open the doors to the train on track 3.
--Crew 317, we need the doors open on track 3.
--Crew 317, open the doors on track 3. Open the doors on track 3!
--Crew 317, will you open the doors on track 3????
--Crew 317, am I talking to myself, here? Where are you? Open the doors on track 3!!
We see an MTA guy with a key and he enters the train. Soon enough, the doors open and we take our seats. Ding dong, and the doors close. But we don't move. After about a minute the doors open again, and immediately the voice is back on the loudspeaker: 'TRACK 3!!! NOW you open the doors???? What are you opening the doors for??? WILL YOU GET YOUR TRAIN OUT OF THE STATION ALREADY????'
My 17 years in New York, I've never heard this kind of exchange before. And to be fair, maybe I exaggerate a little for comic effect.
Later that night, we hit the next item on my brother's agenda: Pizza at Grimaldi's, the venerable brick oven joint under the Brooklyn Bridge. My brother, sister-in-law, and niece are a little surprised to see the length of the line to go in , but they're game, and we wait about an hour and a quarter, listening to the Met game on my transistor radio. And we're glad we got on line, because that is some truly delicious pizza. I haven't been there in several years, and had forgotten how good it is.
The next morning my brother and I have a relaxing run in Prospect Park. When we get back I scramble a dozen eggs, cook some turkey bacon, toast, and oatmeal, and we all load up for that day's big activity: final game of the Mets/Marlins series at Shea.
It is Billy Wagner Bobblehead Day at Shea, and we all get one. It's a pretty good likeness. Captures Billy's sleepy-eyed alpaca farmer look. It was an awful game. The Mets could do nothing, the Marlins continued their dominance of Mike Pelfrey, and they cancelled the Dyna Mets Dash. Booooooo. Still, for my brother, I hope, it was worth it (a day in the ballpark is always worth it, if you ask me). I have two older brothers, and even though we grew up in the midwest, one was always a Met fan, the other a Yankee fan. The Yankee fan, to his credit, has followed them through good and bad for forty years. The Met fan, the brother who visited, had never been to Shea, so at least we were able to do that, but I wish I could have taken him down on the field for the dash. He left with his bobbleheads, a couple souvenir ice cream cup batting helmets, and a few more commemorative, deluxe, plastic soda cups. My son annoyed his cousin by taking up the 'En-dy Cha-vez' chant and continuing it long after Chavez's at-bat was over. Long after the Mets' at-bat was over.
We rounded out the weekend with dinner at Teddy's, where the borough president also happened to be dining. Teddy and his staff are always kind to my son, and it was nice to introduce them to my brother and his family, too.
Goodbyes are tough the next morning, especially for my son and my niece, but hopefully they'll make it back soon, and we'll see their new place in Cleveland soon, too. Thanks, bro.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Second trip to Shea
Lunchbox day at Shea yesterday, and the last game of the Cardinal series after a 14 inning, five hour game Saturday night that completely wiped out the bullpen.
Again, the weather forecast was a little iffy, but we left the house early to make sure we'd get that commemorative tin lunchbox for our son. We packed a bag with snacks and books, and lunch was some extra barbecued chicken legs from the day before.
We had seats about halfway up the upper deck, right behind home plate. Our son was a little low-energy and cranky early on in the game, which was making me nervous because Santana was throwing no-hit ball through four, AND because the Mr. Met Dyna Met Dash promotion was scheduled to take place after the game. We were all excited about the chance to go down on the field. He perked up about the time the Mets did, though, with the help of some ice cream. Everything seemed to go right for the home nine yesterday -- Santana threw a complete game; homers from Wright, Tatis, and Castro; Beltran had a couple hits so maybe he's heating up, but he also made the best catch since Endy's in '06.
High fly ball off the bat of number two hitter Ryan Ludwick. Beltran has a nice jump, retreating right away, his eyes rising. All of a sudden, he turns his back to home and kicks it smoothly into a higher gear, running straight back to the track, where he turns, feels for the wall, gathers, leaps, and makes the catch, the ball snapping his glove beyond the wall before he pulls it back, and you see the perfect sno-cone. It was gorgeous.
Each time it replayed on Diamondvision, the crowd exploded. "Whoa!" The same "Whoa!" that Little Steven would make when he was playing Silvio Dante on The Sopranos. [I hate that Beltran gets a bum rap from some Met fans - he is a joy to watch, a cadillac, so smooth and effortless in center field. I can only imagine that DiMaggio covered the outfield in the same way. ]
I have to admit, it is fun to sit near glumfaced and sullen Cardinal fans in their ugly red clothes. Especially since I was there for Endy's catch in '06, and Yadier &*%^$^# Molina is still behind the plate for St. Louis.
Anyway, the weather threatened to cancel the Dyna Dash, but in the middle of the eighth we made our way down to the Gate A and the picnic area to wait on line. We had our radio so we could hear Santana finish the game. It was a long wait in a light drizzle, but well worth it. You enter the field from behind the bleachers, and you pass behind the camera stand, and the huge and rusting light tower in left center, finally stepping onto the warning track just to the left field side of the Home Run Apple. It is cool. Seeing that stuff up close, looking up at the scoreboard, out across the outfield, into the the bullpen and the dugout, and up into the upper deck. Stadium crew does not want you to lollygag -- they are very nice about it, I have to say -- but you don't get the chance to really soak it in. And the kids run once, from first base to home, which our four year old covered a lot faster than I thought he would. Even after being gently steered away from the outfield grass a few times.
Rounding third and heading for home. His face looked like Christmas morning as he approached Mister Met.
Then he was a little glum because he couldn't run again, but a free ice cream cone helped him get over that. And I think we're going to do it again anyway -- we're going to two more Sunday games this month alone, next one in a couple weeks against the Marlins when my brother is in town in with his wife and nine year-old daughter. Goodness knows I want the chance to be down on the field again.
Again, the weather forecast was a little iffy, but we left the house early to make sure we'd get that commemorative tin lunchbox for our son. We packed a bag with snacks and books, and lunch was some extra barbecued chicken legs from the day before.
We had seats about halfway up the upper deck, right behind home plate. Our son was a little low-energy and cranky early on in the game, which was making me nervous because Santana was throwing no-hit ball through four, AND because the Mr. Met Dyna Met Dash promotion was scheduled to take place after the game. We were all excited about the chance to go down on the field. He perked up about the time the Mets did, though, with the help of some ice cream. Everything seemed to go right for the home nine yesterday -- Santana threw a complete game; homers from Wright, Tatis, and Castro; Beltran had a couple hits so maybe he's heating up, but he also made the best catch since Endy's in '06.
High fly ball off the bat of number two hitter Ryan Ludwick. Beltran has a nice jump, retreating right away, his eyes rising. All of a sudden, he turns his back to home and kicks it smoothly into a higher gear, running straight back to the track, where he turns, feels for the wall, gathers, leaps, and makes the catch, the ball snapping his glove beyond the wall before he pulls it back, and you see the perfect sno-cone. It was gorgeous.
Each time it replayed on Diamondvision, the crowd exploded. "Whoa!" The same "Whoa!" that Little Steven would make when he was playing Silvio Dante on The Sopranos. [I hate that Beltran gets a bum rap from some Met fans - he is a joy to watch, a cadillac, so smooth and effortless in center field. I can only imagine that DiMaggio covered the outfield in the same way. ]
I have to admit, it is fun to sit near glumfaced and sullen Cardinal fans in their ugly red clothes. Especially since I was there for Endy's catch in '06, and Yadier &*%^$^# Molina is still behind the plate for St. Louis.
Anyway, the weather threatened to cancel the Dyna Dash, but in the middle of the eighth we made our way down to the Gate A and the picnic area to wait on line. We had our radio so we could hear Santana finish the game. It was a long wait in a light drizzle, but well worth it. You enter the field from behind the bleachers, and you pass behind the camera stand, and the huge and rusting light tower in left center, finally stepping onto the warning track just to the left field side of the Home Run Apple. It is cool. Seeing that stuff up close, looking up at the scoreboard, out across the outfield, into the the bullpen and the dugout, and up into the upper deck. Stadium crew does not want you to lollygag -- they are very nice about it, I have to say -- but you don't get the chance to really soak it in. And the kids run once, from first base to home, which our four year old covered a lot faster than I thought he would. Even after being gently steered away from the outfield grass a few times.
Rounding third and heading for home. His face looked like Christmas morning as he approached Mister Met.
Then he was a little glum because he couldn't run again, but a free ice cream cone helped him get over that. And I think we're going to do it again anyway -- we're going to two more Sunday games this month alone, next one in a couple weeks against the Marlins when my brother is in town in with his wife and nine year-old daughter. Goodness knows I want the chance to be down on the field again.
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