I know that there was a game between the Mets and the Phillies on Monday afternoon, because I was there. But for the life of me, I just can't seem to remember it.
There were people, and some balls flying around, and some of them were caught, and some of them were dropped, and there was some cheering, but I don't recall doing too much of that. There were a lot of people in red, sitting in packs throughout the stadium, like some bizarre, loathsome game of connect-the-dots. These people in red seemed to be doing most of the cheering. The people in blue, that is to say my people, just sort of sat there and stared.
Was it a dream? Or was it simply that this game was indistinguishable from the other games I'd attended on this most disastrous homestand, where the Mets appeared sunk before they even had a turn at bat.
Trouble was abound early. The stadium was only marginally full for a Monday afternoon game. I, being who I am, had taken off from work and gone with a colleague who was attending her first baseball game in 4 years. We arrived in our seats just in time to see Parnell plunk Shane Victorino. "I hope it hurt!" I yelled. This must have angered the Baseball Karma Gods because two batters later, Victorino was stealing 2nd and going to 3rd when Santos sailed his throw into Center Field, and scoring another batter later when Ryan Howard launched the first of his two moonshots. 3-0 Phillies and the Mets were basically cooked before they even came to the plate.
The rest of the game was pretty academic. Chase Utley and Gary Sheffield both kicked the ball around a little bit, the Philly fans were loud and proud, the Mets fans were quiet and not proud. A game happened. I saw it, I suppose, but for what it's worth, it's not worth talking about. The best I could come up with was that it was better than being at work.