Tuesday, August 18, 2009

The Curse of Mets2Moon

I seem to have absolutely no luck when it comes to the games I have attended this season.

Last night was my 4th loss in a row, and the 4th loss in a row in which the Mets generally looked completely out of sorts. In some cases, it has been over early, even if the Mets plugged away and tried to make things somewhat respectable. Last night was sort of a slow, painful death. Nonetheless, a loss is a loss is a loss, and it seems that I've been witnessing them with frightening regularity this season.

In an effort to change my luck, I tried a few different things on my way upstairs. Rather than taking my now-usual entrance through the Jackie Robinson Rotunda, I walked down to the Right Field gate to go in. There was no line whatsoever, in fact, I was really the only person going in that way at all. This didn't bode particularly well when the guy there inspecting bags decided to do an incredibly thorough job of it, and confiscated a bottle of sunscreen I'd been carrying around with me. But when I walked through the gate, he called me back and ended up giving it back to me, saying he thought it was a hard plastic bottle but it wasn't. Well, fair enough.

Though I was incredibly tempted to go back to the El Verano Taqueria after my prior experience eating there, I decided to try something different. With two more games coming up within the next week, I figured I'd have other chances. I decided to try Blue Smoke, which I hadn't been to before. Though the Menu at Citi Field only offers a small selection of its Manhattan counterpart, I figured it had to be worth a shot. I went for the Chipotle Chicken Wings, which were good, though not quite what I'm used to as far as chicken wings go. The sauce is much more BBQ-ish, rather than the typical wing sauce you might get from other wing places. They are also, as wings go, excessively messy. I would probably go back to Blue Smoke, but I'd probably get something else next time. Overall, it doesn't hold a candle to the tacos.

The crowd was, at best, tepid. The crowd was announced at something in the vicinity of 38,000. With El Guapo busy and my other attempts to get rid of my extra ticket having gone by the wayside, I ended up selling my extra ticket to some poor schlub who was standing at the bottom of the stairs by the Subway with one finger raised in the air. Fortuitous, I suppose, for me, since it meant that I not only didn't have to eat the ticket, but it also paid for my scorecard and my dinner. Inside, the usual suspects were around in my section. The guy from the last game who thought everything was TERRIBLE!!! was not present, which was a delight to my ears, although seeing him again might have brightened up what was an otherwise forgettable night. Instead, I found myself sitting next to a rather annoying couple who were both holding Mets teddy bears. This wasn't so bad in and of itself, but throughout the course of the game, they kept holding up their bears next to each other, talking to each other in annoying, teddy bear voices, and making kissy faces at each other with the bears. Had I been in a surlier mood, I might have sent a text to the dopey Citi Field Fan Hotline number they kept showing, and asked that they be removed. However, the wings from Blue Smoke had left me excessively gassy throughout the night, so perhaps I had the last laugh after all.

As far as the game goes, I wasn't quite sure I was watching a game. Things happened, runs scored, the Mets got guys thrown out all over the place, and it seemed like every time they got a good shot in, someone like Pablo Sandoval or Edgar Renteria was making an amazing catch. Tim Redding appeared in the 8th, which is noteworthy because I'm pretty sure that Tim Redding has pitched in every game I've been to this season. This isn't a good thing, not for me, or for Tim Redding. His appearance only hastened the departure of the crowd. I think the only excitement the crowd was able to muster was in the bottom of the 9th, for Andy Green's first Met at bat. His walk was subsequently followed by Cory Sullivan hitting into what I believe was the Mets 8th Double Play of the night, which ended the game and sent me shooting down the stairs and onto the 7 Express. At least when these games are hopeless blowouts, my exit becomes much easier, even if I'm just running for a train that's going to sit around for 10 minutes before going anywhere.

Did I mention I have tickets to two more games on this homestand? Because I do. And the way things have gone when I've been at games this season, this doesn't bode well for the Mets. Or me.

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