That Familiar Feeling

Last night was my 2nd trip to Citi Field of the 2012 season. Much like the Mets themselves, my record for the season is unblemished.

The game itself ultimately left little to complain about. Pelfrey was predictably Pelfrey-like, which basically means nobody knows what the hell to expect. Though I have to give him particular props for his new choice flof entrance music, "Lake of Fire," from Nirvana's "Unplugged in New York" album (it's usually the guys who perform the worst that have the best entrance music). For 6 innings he basically looked like he was one pitch away from unravelling into Eric Hillman-ness horror, only to rebound and escape, only having allowed 3 runs on a robust 10 hits. Encouraging, no. But not bad enough to sink the Mets, certainly not the way things have been going of late.

The game pressed on, tied, thanks to David Wright's seemingly daily RBI and a New Citi Field Fence-aided Home Run from the latest "wunderkind," Kirk Nieuwenhuis (whose presence on this team makes a hell of a lot more sense than Andres Torres). And as the latter innings approached, I was greeted by a most familiar feeling, sitting up in my usual perch in section 518.

It gets really fucking cold during these April night games.

You would think, after some 26 seasons of attending Mets games, that I would have learned my lesson and tried to dress a little warmer, and to some degree I have, but maybe I should just suck it up and bring a scarf and gloves too. But if I wear gloves, that makes it difficult to keep score. What a dilemma.

So, how cold was it? Well, I'd guess the temperature was probably no lower than 45, but with the wind whipping around, it may as well have been 20 Or Binghamton. Your pick. But as we went to the last of the 9th, I was seriously considering abandoning my post if the game stretched much later. In my younger, spryer days, I would never have dared to think such a thing, but I guess this daring behavior has abandoned me in my old age. Fortunately, the Washington Nationals defense and Daniel Murphy conspired to end things right then and there, and I was sent home, to the warmth of the 7 train, with the cheerful victory feeling.

That's a familiar feeling too. I like that feeling. And so far, it seems like the Mets do, as well.