throwing waffles

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four)

For Love of the Game rounds out the Kevin Costner trilogy of baseball movies, and was another one I had very high hopes for (even after not totally loving Field of Dreams). The movie came out much more recently than I realized (1999) and is actually based on a novel by Michael Shaara (who also wrote The Killer Angels, which is a Pulitzer Prize winning Civil War novel). Costner plays Billy Chapel, 40 year old veteran pitcher (who’s been pitching for the Tigers for 19 years), who learns before the last game of the season that the team has been sold, and he can either be traded or retire. The same morning, his girlfriend informs him that she’s leaving for London. Forever. So it’s not a good day. The movie chronicles Chapel’s journey through this single game, and flashbacks to his relationship and love of baseball are mixed in between the innings. I love stories that are told backwards in this way, and although some would probably argue that the story is too much about his love of Jane, rather than his love of baseball, but I thought it was just right. It was a great story, and Costner is really compelling, and I am definitely adding this one to my list. If you love baseball, you really should see this.

So! That finishes the movies that I’m going to watch for this project, largely because baseball season is in full swing and I want to watch BASEBALL, not movies about baseball. The two movies I had tentatively put on the list that we didn’t get to were A League of Their Own (which I’ve seen a bunch of times, and can acknowledge as probably worthy of being included in the better of the baseball movies, but which I can’t seem to get the motivation to watch) and Bad News Bears (which I included just because I’ve never seen it). So I’m considering this project a resounding success because it was a lot of fun, and I finally did watch a bunch of those movies everyone thinks I should have seen, but I haven’t (if you recall, that’s #11 on my 28 To Do List).

All told, we watched 9 movies. Two I really didn’t care for (Field of Dreams and Mr. Baseball). The rest were really good movies. Here’s my final ranking:

1. Bull Durham
2. The Natural
3. Major League
4. For Love of the Game
5. Mr. 3000
6. Little Big League
7. Major League 2
8. Field of Dreams
9. Mr. Baseball

And I’d happily add Bull Durham, The Natural, Major League, For Love of the Game, and maybe Mr. 3000 to my annual Baseball Season Is Almost Here Let’s Watch Some Baseball Movies To Get Even More Psyched About It movie viewing list. The first four are solid, amazing movies with great stories about likable characters, and more importantly, about loving the game of baseball.

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Mr. Baseball was a added to my Baseball Movie Classics list based on three things: it’s about baseball, Netflix suggested it when I was adding these movies to my queue, and it stars Tom Selleck. I think I may have inherited my fondness directly from my mom, who has a non-secret Thing for him. (Looking at my dad, maybe it’s the mustache?) Personally, I’m a sucker for a dude with a deep, good-sounding voice, and Tom Selleck fits the bill. Or maybe I just love Three Men and a Baby/Little Lady and transfer that love to Tom Selleck in general. Okay fine, I like Tom Selleck! So sue me!

Ahem. Anyway, in Mr. Baseball, Tom plays aging first baseman Jack Elliot. He’s old, there’s a new first baseman in town, and the only team interested in Elliot is the Chunichi Dragons in Japan. So Elliot goes to Japan, where he is instantly a big star. To be perfectly honest, this movie was kind of boring and I may have… slept through a good chunk of the middle and part of the end as well. It’s not so much about the game of baseball, but about the brash American Jack Elliot having no respect or understanding for Japanese culture or its impact on baseball. (For example, there’s a big to-do about how Japanese players consider the field to be sacred, meaning no spitting. So Elliot shows how annoyed he is about the rules and strictness by chewing a big wad of tobacco and spitting on the field.) It was made in 1992 and comes off as dated, but not in the charming way, in the this-is-verging-on-offensive way. And as much as I love you, Tom Selleck, I couldn’t even stay awake for the meat of the movie. So perhaps I was a bit brash in adding this to my list. But that’s part of why this project is a ton of fun.

(Part One) (Part Two)

The latest picks in my baseball movie marathon were strictly comedies, which is always a good thing when it comes to baseball. We started with Major League, an obvious classic that I had only seen once before. This is one of those movies that amazes me now to see how many future stars appear. Before we go any further, I LOVED it. It’s hilarious, and the comedy holds up to the test of time. Although some of the characters and parts of the plot show up in other baseball movies (injured veteran catcher leads the team, young hotshot pitcher who has no control, asshole team owner wants them to fail…), Major League puts it all together perfectly. Incidentally, Wikipedia tells me that Charlie Sheen was a pitcher in high school, and managed to get his fastball up to 85 mph during filming. How cool is that? Perhaps this movie rings true to me as a Mets fan, watching my team SUCK the past few years despite their talent (not to mention a super-speedy Wesley Snipes (aka Jose Reyes) and a bald, goateed superstitious slugger (aka Carlos Delgado)). It’s just a good story about a team that pulls together. It’s funny, it’s got good montages (made better by the addition of newspaper headlines as the season nears the end), Bob Uecker is perfect as the Indians’ announcer, and I love the cuts to the fans’ reactions at first when they suck and then as they get better. Maybe it doesn’t say important things about the spirit of baseball, but it’s one of the best comedies I’ve seen in a long time, and it’s going on my annual baseball-is-almost-here movie watching list, without a doubt.

We then watched Major League 2 which is also really funny, but doesn’t hold up to the original at all. The cast of characters is largely the same, swapping Wesley Snipes for Omar Epps, who is good but clearly doing an imitation of Snipes’ version of Willie Mays Hayes. Tom Berenger’s character is too old to be competitive, so he joins the coaching staff. There are a few new misfits added to the bunch; this movie chronicles the season just following the success in Major League. It definitely feels like they were trying to recapture the magic of the original movie, but they don’t quite get there. It’s not without hilarious moments, though. There’s a young catcher who can’t throw to the mound. Charlie Sheen’s character has tidied up his image and lost his ability to blow pitches by the batters. It’s another classic baseball comedy, but I didn’t love it nearly as much as the original. Dan assured me that the third one (Back to the Minors!) is not worth a viewing. Maybe one day. Still, it’s hard to turn down a baseball comedy, so don’t rule this one out completely.

The third baseball movie we watched this week was Mr. 3000, starring Bernie Mac. This is the only remotely recent movie on my list (it came out in 2004), and was recommended by my brother. I was a little skeptical, because Bernie Mac plays an asshole first-baseman who alienated all of his teammates and fans in his pursuit of 3000 hits, topping it off by retiring the same night he achieves the goal. The bulk of the movie takes place nine years later, where a 46-year-old Stan Ross is frustrated because he keeps missing the Hall of Fame. It turns out that a statistical error was made, and he only has 2,997 hits, so he decides to make a comeback in order to get those last 3 hits. This is one of those movies where you’re not loving the main character, but grow to root for him as the movie goes on. He clashes with his new teammates, who are obviously much younger, in better shape, and don’t think they need him at all. His struggles are hilarious, but the movie has a lot of heart. I wasn’t expecting to laugh so hard. This movie was really great, and I love how it ended (but I won’t ruin it for you). I’m glad we included this one, and Bernie Mac is fantastic.

(Part One)

The storm this weekend meant that we got in one day of baseball movie watching. First up was Little Big League. This is one of the many children’s baseball movies that came out in the 90s, movies that I remember awfully fondly. (See also: The Sandlot, Rookie of the Year, Angels in the Outfield) Dan campaigned for this one to be included in our study because it holds up to the test of time despite a very weak actor playing the main character. And he was right. It’s a great, if unlikely, story, about a kid whose grandfather dies and leaves him the Minnesota Twins. After arguing with the Twins’ manager, twelve-year-old Billy names himself the manager. It’s fairly straightforward from there: single mom is romanced by the first baseman. Old grizzled reliever resents having a kid as a manager. But what this movie has going for it are a bunch of really fun team members, clever trick plays, former MLB players playing the baseball players in the movies (including former Met Kevin Elster!), the Twins’ actual radio announcer, Chris Berman doing Baseball Tonight, and cameos from big-name 90s baseball greats like Ken Griffey, Jr, Pudge Rodriguez, Paul O’Neill, Randy Johnson, Lou Piniella and Rafael Palmeiro. You don’t see that kind of thing any more, and it’s just flat-out cool. Oh! And don’t let me forget that this movie contains a sweet baseball montage to “Centerfield” by John Fogerty. Which is kind of essential. It’s a good story and it’s funnier than you think. Good stuff.

Bull Durham was next, and this one carries a lot of weight. I’ve only seen it once, but both Dan and my brother list it among their very favorite movies. This was part of Kevin Costner’s late 80s baseball movie trifecta, and it’s GOOD. I mean, this is an amazing movie. Because this movie focuses on a really terrible minor league team, it’s unique. It’s about baseball and love and loving baseball, and about wanting to make it in the majors. And about sometimes not making it. Tim Robbins is hilarious as a clueless hotshot rookie who has no control on the mound, while Susan Sarandon is the woman who adopts one player each year and makes him great. But it’s even more about Kevin Costner’s character, and old catcher whose last hurrah will be grooming Tim Robbins to make it big. Maybe this movie’s strength comes from the fact that it was written by a guy who played in the minors for five years and really understands what that means. Another “Centerfield” montage, a fast-talking manager, and a really great cast of characters only add to Bull Durham’s charm. It’s funny, it’s sexy, and it’s a great story. So, so, so good. Don’t watch it with kids. But I love it.

When I wrote my 28 To Do List last summer, #11 was to watch some of those movies everyone thinks I should have seen, but I haven’t. There are a lot of important cinematic classics that I’m embarrassed never to have seen. Like The Godfather. Or Terminator 2. Or most of the classic baseball movies. But it’s not like I have a list of movies that fit this criteria, it’s more that I hate that feeling when someone can’t believe I haven’t seen something so ubiquitous. So this list item has been knocking around in my head, without a good solution. But my friends, baseball season is drawing near, and what better time than now to start an extended marathon of the classic baseball movies? (Prior to this project I had seen Major League once, Bull Durham once, A League of Their Own a bunch of times, and Rookie of the Year a million, billion times. Also frequently watched: The Sandlot. And Angels in the Outfield.)

So I consulted my brother and my boyfriend to make sure the list of movies was complete. We left out most of the children’s movies (see above: I’ve seen them a million times). The ones we included were ones John or Dan loved, or ones that were important to the baseball movie genre. Or simply ones I really need to have seen, just for the sake of completeness. We aren’t planning to watch these in a standard marathon, but over the course of the weekends in March, leading up to opening day. Maybe this will be a new tradition!

We started off with The Natural. I loved it. And I think I have a crush on Robert Redford now. This one had all of the best things non-comedy baseball movies should: solid montages, a spitfire manager, someone trying to take down the team, and best of all, old timey uniforms. Dan and I really like old timey baseball. It has a certain something modern baseball just can’t get at. I think, though, that this one I’m definitely going to need to watch again. The problem with watching a movie that you know is classic and well-regarded is that you’re on pins and needles waiting for something bad to happen. This happened when I finally saw the Shawshank Redemption three years ago, too. I was waiting for something horrible and sad and heartbreaking to happen at the end; to end up sobbing. It’s hard to relax and enjoy a movie with that in the back of your mind. But nothing as catastrophic as I feared happened in The Natural, and the scenes on the field at the end are pure baseball magic. Classic through and through.

Next up was Field of Dreams. I’m no stranger to the creepy whisper-shouted If you build it, he will come. I didn’t expect that the building of the baseball diamond in the cornfield would be finished so early in the movie, and that a larger spirit-quest would ensue, with further mysteriously whispered and unintelligible instructions. Before I say anything else, I do want to point out that I’m obviously approaching all of these movies with the open mind of a true baseball fan. But Field of Dreams? It was a little MUCH, wasn’t it? It was all Important Swell of Music and Long Pauses Before Meaningful Moments. It felt like they were bashing me over the head with these Meaningful Baseball Moments, rather than just letting the moments develop in a meaningful way just because it’s a good story that pulls your heartstrings. (See: The Natural). Maybe it was because the story is about life and nostalgia and this one man’s journey, rather than about the game of baseball… But I could do without this one. I’m glad I saw it, but I don’t know if this needs to be added to my personal rotation or anything. Of course, Dan’s brother Dave yelled at me for saying all of this. “This is one of the few guy movies with non-cheesy emotion! How can you mock it?!” Ooops.

This is going to be such a fun project.

Through a strange and amazing twist of fate, I came into some unbelievably good seats for the game vs. the Pirates on May 8. It was a Friday night game, but the universe aligned so that both my brother and I could leave work early to make the drive up to Queens. I’ve been watching every game I can see this season, eagerly trying to soak in every nuance of the state-of-the-art-shiny-newness they assure me you ooze. I grumbled when people called talk radio programs to complain. How can people complain about you, Citi Field? I know you’re no Shea, but what’s not to love?

Our tickets were so good that John and I kept looking around, shifty-eyed, waiting to be kicked out, told we weren’t supposed to be in the Delta Sky 360 club. Or at the full service bar behind our seats. Or peering through the little window by that bar down into the batting cages under the stands to watch Gary Sheffield take some practice swings before pinch hitting. Our seats were cushy. We had waiter service and ordered Shake Shack hot dogs and beers and fancy fries called “Frites” right from our asses. There was an attendant in the bathroom. The people in our row came back halfway through the game with cupcakes and wine. CUPCAKES AND WINE. At a BASEBALL GAME. I was deeply, deeply torn: my love of cupcakes is strong, and oh my did I want one. But I refrained, on principle. You just don’t eat a cupcake at a ball game. You eat a hot dog (bonus: mine had kraut!) and you drink a beer and maybe if you didn’t have too much beer, you have some ice cream in a baseball hat bowl. I get the whole amenities thing, I really do. And maybe it’s just that I’m simple, but I’m just not a cupcakes-wine-coffee-and-swanky-BBQ-sandwich baseball person.

Don’t get me wrong, Citi Field. You are gorgeous, shiny and new in a way that’s hard to conceive of. In fact, I think in a lot of ways I was far too distracted to even appreciate the game (which featured an 8th inning rally and even an appearance by the new and wow shiny home run apple). John and I walked around the whole park, and I was amazed by the vastness of the Jackie Robinson rotunda (something that I have much, much more reverence for thanks to Ken Burns’ Baseball documentary). You really do feel more intimate, more quirky. And walking through the concourses, it’s all airy and you can see the field as you walk past hot dog stands and beer vendors. Maybe I’m not fancy enough for such good seats (but OMG they were SO GOOD I can’t even EXPLAIN IT we were SIXTEEN ROWS BACK you just don’t get to sit there more than once in your LIFE so don’t get me wrong I LOVED IT THERE) and maybe I don’t feel emotionally vested in you yet.

Shea was crumbly and beat to shit, yes. And the former diamond is commemorated in the VIP Parking lot on your third base side. But I got a little teary and yes, maybe a little overwhelmed, seeing the site of Shea’s third base. I don’t hate you, Citi Field. But I’m not quite ready to say I love you yet. I hope that’s okay. I’m certainly going to come back to visit as often as I can, because more than anything, I do want to love you. I think we’ll get there.

Love,
Elizabeth

I signed up for Elise Blaha’s Get Crafty workshop, which started on Monday. Along the same lines as my kickstart photo project, I’m hoping this workshop will get me thinking in a crafty frame of mind again. I finished my first project last night, and I’m so happy with it… not just because I like how it turned out, but because it was fun to put it together: cutting, gluing, stamping, all of that jazz. I’ll admit to being pretty skeptical about the whole scrapbooking phenomenon, but the workshop is sort of scrapbooking outside the box, and I can get behind that for sure. It’s more collage and papercrafts and photography all together, which is right up my alley. Plus! It was an excuse to buy things at the craft store and Staples, things that would normally count as “unnecessary” like a date stamp (!!!) and markers and cardstock and labels and shipping tags and new scissors.

The book itself is a collection of photos and memories of my seven trips to Shea. (The full sets of photos are over on flickr.) I printed one photo from each game wallet-sized, and wrote little bits about what I remember most about each game (or rainout, as the case may be). This is especially cathartic as the Mets begin their season at CitiField, which promises to be gorgeous, but is still in need of some memory-building.

I wasn’t going to write about this, because it’s bound to be very, very long and overly sentimental, the same old refrain you always get from me when I talk about baseball lately, not to mention the fact that when it comes to the internet and sports, if you wait longer than a day to write about something, you’re already obsolete. However, as much as I want to write about other things, it seems that this Shea post needs to be written, because it’s weighing on my mind and perhaps blocking my creativity. (Could I BE any more melodramatic about an as-yet unwritten blog post? I’m sure I could try.) But this needs to be said, it’s a big deal to me, and I have a feeling that I’ll be glad later that I did write this.

I’ve said it before, but while I’ve been a baseball fan for most of my life, it’s only been in the last few years that I’ve tipped over into diehard territory. I never went to Shea Stadium as a kid, and I was too young to appreciate the magnitude of the 1986 World Series when it happened. (I was not too young, though, to absolutely adore Darryl Stawberry, a love that had its beginnings because it totally BLEW MY MIND that a grown up baseball player could walk around with a last name as cool as THAT.) Although I flirted with the Mets in college, a complete lack of friends who liked baseball combined with the embarrassing loss to the YANKEES of all teams in the 2000 World Series stifled our burgeoning reunion.

So I don’t know when it changed, or why it changed. All I know is that in August of 2006, I went to Shea Stadium for the first time and it was a very, very big deal. I wrote about that day, and it reads like a middle school weekend news report, like I didn’t take a breath while writing it, afraid that I’d forget a detail. (Back then I was a bit more about reporting details than the sentimental philosophizing of late.) I didn’t even own a Mets shirt back then, but I got chills when I saw Shea Stadium through the window of the 7 train, just like I have every time since then.

All last week, I was in a STATE about Saturday’s Mets game. Apparently I fretted about it aloud more than I realized, because when I got back to work on Monday morning, everyone asked me, “Well? Did you get to go to the game?” Leaving out the fact that the baseball leading up to the last weekend of the regular season was beyond exciting, up and down and hold-your-breath good and scream at the tv bad, a complete fucking rollercoaster, the forecast for the entirety of last weekend called for rain. All day Friday through Sunday. This game meant something big to me, one last trip out to Shea before they closed its doors forever, because even if the Mets did get to the playoffs, THIS was my last chance to go there myself. And the game was bound to be a big one, one that would affect the season, a must-win, and is there anything better than that? NO. But rain…. why rain, of all weekends, why does it have to rain THIS weekend? Because, you see, my family and I (all six of us, Mom and Dad and John and Lindsey and James) had tickets to a game back in June, and we excitedly took that interminable train ride out to Flushing, only to sit there for two hours eating hot dogs and drinking beer during what was initially a rain delay but eventually became a postponement. I already checked “Rain Out” off of my personal Sports Life To Do List, Universe, I don’t need to do that again!

So Friday night comes around, and I’m not surprised that no one really wants to go. Who would want to go through that again? There’s no arguing about the fact that it would suck colossally to sit on the train for two hours to either sit in the rain for nine innings OR see no baseball at all. (And don’t even MENTION the possibility that we might go out there, sit in the rain, and watch the Mets SUCK.) So I understood, I really did. I didn’t blame them. But I was heartbroken. Completely, utterly heartbroken. It was SO important to me to go to this damn game, to see Shea Stadium once more and get to say goodbye, because it’s affecting me way, way more than I expected that they are tearing it down. And as I sat there on Friday night, I realized that I would have no right to whine later about the fact that no one would go with me to the last weekend at Shea if I didn’t, you know, actually ask other people. And it’s a good thing I didn’t choose to wallow about it, because Pete was totally game to go, even if it did end up raining.

So go we did, armed with Gor-tex raincoats and giant umbrellas. And you know what? The game was delayed 45 minutes, but by the time we found our seats, the national anthem was playing and then it was time for the game. Our seats were in the upper deck, Row T, to be precise, and I’ve never sat up that high. (Shea Stadium, as it turns out, only goes up to Row V! Who knew?) But you could see everything, and while they didn’t admit it, I’m sure my family was a tiny bit miffed to learn that our seats were under cover after all. Johan Santana was the fucking HERO of the day, demanding the ball for what everyone knew was the biggest game of the season, pitching on only three days’ rest with what we later learned was torn cartilage in his knee. And he pitched a complete game shutout. Sure, it was a low-scoring game, but the stadium was ELECTRIC. Every strike, every ball, we cheered or booed. Every time Johan got to two strikes in the last two innings, we were on our feet chanting Jo-han Jo-han Jo-han. It misted a little, but Pete and I ate hot dogs and sausage and peppers and drank a pretty decent quantity of beer. We sat in the wrong section and liked our seats in the correct section better. We goggled at the steepness of the climb up to the top of the upper deck. We participated in the Wave. I sang mixed up lyrics to the two versions of Meet the Mets while we stood on line for food.

It was just so damn much fun.

And they won and we were there with them the whole way and I found out later that at the end of the game Johan kissed the game ball and threw it into the stands and I didn’t get choked up at all, not until we were walking down the ramps and I looked up at the Mr. Met signs saying “See you soon!” and oh…. but I won’t see you soon. But then my mom called and I shouted into the phone as we walked through the parking lot and tried to restrain myself from jumping around with the sheer elation of it all.

And yeah, the Mets were eliminated the next day in what was a completely, utterly heartbreaking loss. But that makes me even more happy that the last game I saw at Shea Stadium was a thrilling game, and actually, it was the last ever win at Shea.

Of course, I watched the last game, and it was awful. And then! They had the Shea Closing Ceremony AFTER the game. Why would they do that? Wouldn’t you want to have the ceremony BEFORE the potentially heartbreaking game? To get the fans and everyone all happy and celebrate-y? Weellll…. it turns out that the answer is no, and I can sort of see why. Because after they announced the many former players who were in the house (including Willie Mays! And don’t you just love Ron Darling? And the Doctor came back! And Keith is so obviously more ferklempt than he’s willing to admit. And of course, The Franchise himself, Tom Seaver, and Mike Piazza, who finally got the love he deserved), they had them all walk across home plate one last time. And then Tom Seaver threw The Last Ever Pitch At Shea Stadium to Mike Piazza, and the two of them walked off into the sunset in center field, through an opening in the center field fence, and together, closed the doors one last time. COMPLETE Tearjerker!

So now, we’re here and it’s almost a week later. I’m officially rooting for the Cubbies, and hoping that the Brewers SMASH the Phillies (although looking at the current standings, I clearly know how to pick ‘em, but I guess as a Mets fan that should be no surprise, welcome to Flushing…). I can’t stop listening to talk radio, reading blogs, perusing the recent writing of the beat writers, or watching ESPN, as they all try to dissect what the Mets could have done differently or who should be booted off the team (ahem, the entire bullpen except for Joe Smith because I love him and his red cheeks, and maybe Brian Stokes). And it positively BREAKS MY DAMN HEART to watch video after video of the process of dismantling Shea Stadium. I can’t handle it. But I can’t look away, either. It’s like when you get a papercut and it stings but you can’t stop touching it, making sure it’s still there, and that yes, it still stings like hell.

Oh, Shea Stadium, you aren’t pretty. You have wacky neon silhouettes on your outside (which is actually way cooler than how you looked when you were first built lol). CitiField looms over your center field fence, all shiny and new and stately and shit. I know I’m not alone in saying that I don’t need state-of-the-art seats that are angled toward home plate, or fine dining, or open concourses. I’d have taken your rickety seats, nosebleed-inducing upper deck, and royal blue exterior any day. I’m there for BASEBALL, and I’d go no matter what you looked like. The atmosphere, the electricity, is there regardless. CitiField will be nice, I’m sure, and I can only hope that we, the fans, can carry your magic with us in our pockets when we visit for the first time. But I will always miss you, even though I only visited a handful of times. It just won’t be the same.

The first time I caught a glimpse of Shea Stadium through the windows of the 7 train, I shivered. And got all teary. The second time, too. Every time since then? I crane my neck, waiting for that first peek, all thoughts of the endless train rides to get to this point forgotten. And yeah, I still get a little shiver.

Sure, I’ve been a baseball fan for most of my life. But truly? It’s only been for the past few years that I’m obsessed, emotional, sputtering with the latest rumors, watching every game I can get my eyes on, waxing poetic about why baseball is like, totally the best thing ever, omg. There doesn’t seem to be any turning back at this point, regardless of what loving this PARTICULAR team does to my mental health.

My brother, his best friend Matthew, and I got ourselves some tickets for Thursday night’s game against the Atlanta Braves. I’ve said over and over that I want to go to as many games as I can this season, the last one the Mets will play at Shea. But in reality, it just isn’t that easy, given the cost and the schedule and the interminable train rides (the train rides that I really don’t mind, but my unsuspecting compadres? You better believe they mind. My brother not as much, but he definitely minds a little). So when the stars aligned so that the three of us could make it to a weeknight game, you better believe I was all over that. I was a tiny bit worried, especially after our last trip to Shea was a rainout (which was quite an experience in and of itself, one that I am glad we had, in some weird way), but on Thursday? The weather was perfect – not hot, not too cool, a bit of a breeze, and just beautiful.

I know I probably say it too much, but oh! It is just the best thing, watching a baseball game in person. Even as the Mets’ new stadium looms near-completion just over the center field fence, all shiny and wonderful next to poor, dilapidated ol’ Shea, there is something about Shea Stadium. It’s not glamorous and the seats are rickety, but man, is it something. The lights glow and you groan and yell and jump up out of your seat and cheer and you eat a giant hot dog and try to ignore the fact that the guy behind you keeps dropping peanut shells down your pants (not on purpose, but ew) and you missed your chance for a beer but you sing “Meet the Mets” as loud as you can and and the little girl in front of you just got some completely melted ice cream and it’s a weeknight so half of the men are in remains of their work clothes and oh look, there’s Mr. Met and did you see that guy’s tshirt? and they’re winning and they’re losing and then the most unlikely guy, the one you’ve sort of hated all season because god, he just sucks, except not today, he belts a walk-off hit in the bottom of the ninth and it doesn’t get any better than this.

I went out to Shea Stadium on Saturday, expecting to see the Mets play the Rangers. My parents, Lindsey, James, John and I were all decked out in our Mets gear (hats, tshirts, jerseys galore) and we took the train to the game. I’ve never been to a game with my parents, so I had been really looking forward to it. It was also a night game, which are sort of magical in a way I can’t really describe.

I’d checked the weather for Flushing yesterday morning, so I knew there was a 50% chance of thunderstorms from 7pm on. But what are you going to do? These tickets were a birthday gift for my dad, and it’s not like we’d let them go to waste. So we put on our most optimistic faces and tried to ignore the gray clouds we could see hovering over New York City as the train got closer.

One of the most fun things about the 7 train (other than the fact that it’s always jam-packed with other folks in Mets gear) is that it’s an elevated train, so you can watch Queens go by as you get closer to Shea. Or, in our case, you can marvel at the torrential downpours and say sheepishly to your family members, “Hey, there’s still an hour and a half until first pitch. And hey, doesn’t it look a bit like it’s clearing up over that way?” Once we got to Shea, we unraveled our raincoats and umbrellas and laughed as we dodged puddles, because it’s impossible not to feel a little swoony when you crane your neck and look up at Shea. Or when you glimpse their new stadium in person for the first time. Or maybe I’m just a little sentimental when it comes to baseball.

The tarp was covering the field when we found our seats, which were mercifully under the overhang of the upper deck. We watched the grounds crew remove the tarp… and put it right back down. We ate hot dogs and drank beer (and a cold beer in a humid stadium is the most refreshing thing ever, I don’t care what you say). We came up with theories about how they decide whether the game’s rained out or just delayed. We avoided talking about the fact that we might have come all this way to have to go home. As game time approached, the skies opened up and we heard a few rumbles of thunder. “Well,” we thought, “if it’s delayed, that wouldn’t be too bad. At least our seats aren’t out in the open.”

And just as things started to look like they were clearing up, and the grounds crew lined up to remove the tarp for real this time, a giant clap of thunder made our seats rattle and the skies opened up and our hopes were dashed. We watched the folks down in the open-air sections scramble toward the stairs for cover, and couldn’t help but notice that the field was starting to look a bit waterlogged. We started to quietly poll each other about when we should decide to leave, dreaded the long train ride home, and dejectedly realized that since this was an interleague game (aka the Mets aren’t going to be playing the Rangers again this season), it would be rescheduled for Sunday, and I was the only one of us who could have come back.

It was in that moment of total despair that the mood was lightened in a totally unexpected way. A handful of Under-Armor clad Rangers emerged from the visitors’ dugout and walked out into the downpour. “Are they really…?” “No, it can’t be possible.” “What are you doing? Get your camera out!!!!!” And those Texas Rangers ran out onto the tarp covering the infield and proceeded to use it as a giant Slip-N-Slide. The crowd erupted, and it was a pretty amazing moment. Of course, I was scrambling with lenses, trying to swiftly switch out to my dad’s zoom lens so I could get some proper photos. The Rangers took their bows, returned to the dugout… and a few minutes later, came back for more, this time with more of their teammates. Sure, I didn’t see any Mets except for Travis, the batboy, but the moment of pure, unadulterated childhood glee left us smiling, even as we donned our raincoats for the long walk back to the subway platform for a standing-room-only 7 train home. Also, they announced that our tickets could be exchanged for any other game at Shea this season. So even though we went home, not having seen a minute of baseball, we’ll be going back.

It’s not without a bit of bitterness that I watch the doubleheader today, though. It looks like a beautiful day at Shea, and it’s just so unfair. Oh well. Like John said, it’s bound to happen that we go to at least one game in our lifetimes that gets rained out, so better to get it over with. And hey, I got a replica of Shea. So at least there’s that. And the fact that barring all of the gloom, it was a fun day with the family.