Category: mets

Steve this is getting insane now.

My guess is the Mets know this season is a bust and want the nice late season attendance bump.

We’ve gone from not enough to way too many. I couldn’t even remember if 5 had been retired yet or not and had to look it up (it has).

Ok, that’s it.  There isn’t another number to be retired for at least 30 more years,  Cut it out.  Stop.

Also, the Mets used to send stuff out.  I checked with fellow bloggers and they don’t do that anymore.  Oh well.

I have actually watched three baseball games so far, more than I have in a few years (baseball is boring.)

Some things caught my ears:

Did you hear Keith tell the story yesterday about aiming his glove for Hojo to make the throw?  Keith told the exact same story Saturday.  Did Keith forget?

Did you hear Gary Cohen mention his cataract surgery?  Have you noticed me for the past few years mentioning Gary wasn’t seeing the ball well on calls?

Also have you noticed the extreme degree to which Keith and Ron do not want to do this Youth Sports Coach For A Day thing SNY is pushing?

There was a time when  from like 1980 until whatever the math is where I attended 33 of 35 Opening Days.  One year I had to work, and the other I don’t remember why.

I went from being a young boy going with my dad, to being the dad going with my young son.

They were good times.  The best Opening Day of all was of course April 5, 1983 when Tom Seaver returned!  The universe had been healed!  I will never forgot watching Tom make that long walk along the right field stands, and I still don’t know how at age 13 my friend Dave and I had field level seats and no adults with us.

There were some nice Opening Days, some cold Opening Days.  Gary Carter gave us a thrill one year.   A lot of the openers blend together into some sort of conflated memory of being cold in the mezzanine.

I had a lot of fun say 2008-2015.  Opening Day was an event.  I’d hit Albert’s awesome tailgate.  I only knew him from twitter and the tailgate and he’d invite me every year.  I’d meet up with Rusty Jr. and Media Goon and the early days of The 7 Line gang.  Maybe say hi to Matt Cerrone or Michael Baron or the other bloggers.  I’d get there early.  At some point in Citi Field’s lifespan there wa a museum that as fun to visit before Uncle Steve castrated it on the altar of retail.

2016 happened.  The Mets, coming off their World Series appearance, JACKED the prices.  I guess they decided they liked their new friends better.  I chose not to go.  You know what happens when a person breaks a streak, or a habit?  The person moves on.

The last ten years have not been good for my fandom.  There was the whole debacle-pair of the MLB App blasting commercials, and WOR using the wah-wah sound which made me stop listening to Howie call games, and I love Howie.  But I stopped the habit and never went back.  The Mets lost me on summer weekends.

I found the TV coverage get worse.  I know we are all supposed to pray at the altar of GKR, but what you’re all really doing is worshiping Keith Hernandez.  When Keith isn’t there, it exposes just how boring Saint Gary is.  You’ll notice it this summer as Keith cuts back the workload.

The pandemic showed me how much time you get back if you don’t watch baseball games every day and every weekend.

The night of the second Mets no-hitter in 2012, the one with the five pitchers combining and I challenge you right now to name any of them, I realized modern baseball kinda sucks.

Whereas in 2015 there was some sort of twitter hang to get me through a game, that died off by some point.  It’s only gotten worse epicene Elon took over.   Suddenly if was a chore to listen to Gary drone on and on with Ron barely listening.  So I stopped.  I got LOTS of time back in my life, and I kind of went back.

The Wilpons sold, but I never have liked this new owner.  There’s some stuff in his bio related to some of his non-baseball work that doesn’t sit well with me and never will no matter how many numbers he retires.

Fanatics took over merch. There was a time when I spent several hundred dollars ever summer on jerseys of all kinds.  Over time the prices got beyond ridiculous and the quality got worse.  I stopped buying jerseys and have a closet full if I want to wear one.

Pete Alonso came to town and added an F to LGM.  People accepted it. Not me.

Then Lindor really did it. I cannot believe the Mets let a player treat the customers that way.  I don’t play.  There is no forgiveness for that guy no matter what he does on the field.  When he’s off the team let me know.

I did consider, consider always being a fun word, going to the game today because of the forecast.  My son is grown now and can’t go with me, so I can’t chase that dragon.  It’s $92 to get in.  I wouldn’t pay $50 to park and would park somewhere in Corona, as my father taught me, but as the city gets worse and worse and more annoying who even knows how far into Corona that would be, and there’s half a chance that its alternate side of the street parking between 10 and 2 today.  The tolls from NJ would cost me $30, and if you want me to take the train to the other train, I suggest you follow @njtransit on twitter to see how well that service does not run.   Yeah I know about the Paramus shuttle, but by the time I drive to Paramus I might as well have driven to Queens.

Hopefully Howie gets to call a World Series victory.  Hopefully the Mets win it all while nicely dressed, so I can hang the Mission Accomplished banner and wrap things up here.

You may notice I write a lot less than I used to.  That’s actually not entirely about the malaise in this column, it is more about the reality of the modern internet.  Have you searched anything on your phone recently? Google is leading off with AI generated results, which have tanked the web views of sites much bigger than this one.  Facebook gates everything unless you pay.  In the past I could self-promote on Twitter, but Elon has ruined that.  So it’s hard to be seen, I am amazed you are even seeing THIS….so posting very day into the void doesn’t make any sense.

When I have something to say, I jump on.   Let’s hope its a good summer of baseball, and that Lindor decides to join  monastery and retires sometime this morning.

LGM, three letters not four.

 

INT. JERRY’S APARTMENT – MORNING

Jerry is on the couch sipping coffee, calm, relaxed. It’s clearly a beautiful day outside. Steve bursts in, energized, wearing Mets gear.

STEVE:  Opening Day, Jerry! Opening Day!

JERRY: Yeah.

STEVE: Yeah?! That’s it?! It’s Opening Day! The air! The energy! The optimism!

JERRY: I’m not going.

Steve freezes.

STEVE: What do you mean….. you’re not going?

JERRY:  I’m not going.

STEVE: It’s gonna be beautiful out! Sixty-five degrees! Sunshine!

JERRY: Yeah, that’s the problem. Too nice.  You go to a baseball game, you lose the whole day.

STEVE: Lose the whole day?!

JERRY: You gotta get there early, you sit in traffic, you pay—what is it now—fifty bucks to park?

STEVE: It’s not fifty.

JERRY: Forty-five?

STEVE: …Fifty.

JERRY: Fifty dollars to store your car so I can watch your team lose slowly over three hours?

STEVE: It’s the experience!

JERRY: I can experience losing right here on my couch. And I don’t have to sit next to a guy eating nachos like it’s a construction project.

Kramer slides in, very casual, no Mets gear.

STEVE: Kramer! There he is! You’re going, right?

KRAMER: (shakes head) Nope.

STEVE: Nope?!

KRAMER: You got rid of my favorite player.

STEVE: Who? Alonso?

KRAMER: Brandon Nimmo.

STEVE: Nimmo?!

KRAMER: I loved Nimmo! The smile! The hustle! The running to first base like he just heard free food was being served!

JERRY: That was his whole personality.

STEVE: We’ve got new guys!

KRAMER: I don’t want new guys.

STEVE: These are exciting players!

KRAMER: Are they Nimmo?

STEVE: No, but—

KRAMER: Then I’m not interested.

ELAINE enters,, ready for the day.

ELAINE: What’s going on?

JERRY: Steve’s trying to get people to go to Opening Day.

ELAINE: Oh, I’m not going.

STEVE: You’re not going either?!

ELAINE:  No! How am I gonna get there? Either I pay the congestion fee just to get to the 59th Street Bridge, or I gotta pay, what—thirty bucks in tolls to take the Triboro…

JERRY: Mm-hmm.

ELAINE: …then what, I get there and it’s what—forty to park?

JERRY & STEVE (simultaneously): Fifty.

ELAINE: Fifty?!

STEVE: It’s premium parking.

ELAINE: Premium?! The car just sits there!

KRAMER: Why don’t you just take the bus? It’s free.

ELAINE: Free? What do you mean free?

KRAMER: Mamdani! The buses are free!

JERRY: Kramer… he never actually did that.

KRAMER: He said he was going to!

JERRY: Well… he didn’t.

STEVE: This is unbelievable! Opening Day and nobody wants to go!

JERRY: Steve, people go to Opening Day for hope

ELAINE: You don’t have hope.

KRAMER: You have… transition.

STEVE: We have a new culture! You’ll all regret this.

JERRY: I doubt it.

KRAMER: Bring back Nimmo!

ELAINE: How much are tickets?

STEVE: Ninety-two.

ELAINE: Ninety-two?!  It’s ninety-two to get in, fifty to park, thirty in tolls—
and you’re wondering why I’m not going?!

JERRY: That’s a hundred seventy-two before you even see a pitch.

KRAMER: And not to mention the shortstop hates the fans.

JERRY: Oh don’t get me started on that guy.

Steve storms out as the door slams.

ELAINE: Send pictures of the empty seats!

 

Steve exits. Beat.

JERRY: Sixty-five degrees…

KRAMER: Perfect couch weather.