Well, I find myself in a weird place this morning.
I have family plans this evening, and with the game now pushed back three hours I won’t be able to watch the Mets game.
The interesting part is – I don’t care.
In past seasons this would have driven me nuts. Today, I am like – whatever.
I think about these 2022 Mets. You have this guy at SS….
…and now I am never letting it go, so don’t ask.
You have Vulgar Pete and his dopey fans that spell LGM with 4 letters and think that’s cool.
The benevolent billionaire who struts on twitter when things are good and hides out the rest of the time.
7 teams in the playoffs. The Universal DH. Black uniforms are back.
A Mets social media account that seemingly only promotes Lindor, and didn’t once acknowledge all spring that the Mets had lost a game like some sort of Baseball Pravda.
4 hour games. Openers. Strikeouts and home runs and little else.
I’m sure there’s a little other things, but that’s what this is – death by 1000 pinpricks, and I think Baez and Lindor really were pricks 999 and 1000.
So I won’t watch Opening Day. Or maybe I will see the end. Point is, I’m not even bothered by it. I can watch tomorrow (and will have fun mocking the people who think the Apple thing is a big deal, and that’s you Chris Russo.)
The Mets have a Saturday night game which normally I’d blow off and play video games but OK, that might work for me. Sunday day game – life is too short to sit inside watching baseball and I probably have kids soccer or something anyway.
So it’s Opening Day. In past years I’d write some flowing piece that starts with “Friends…” and/or be excited about the season. This year, I don’t care. It’s just a TV show.