Sunday, December 11, 2011
Mets ornament of the day: Citi Field
I love baseball stadiums.
Lets' face it, with very few exceptions, a hockey rink is a hockey rink, and I think it's safe to say the same goes for the other lesser sports.
But a baseball stadium is different. It can have an impact on the game itself, with green monsters, short porches, Tal's Hills, bricks and ivy and deafening Metrodomes.
The ballpark can be a point of pride, like Camden Yards and Dodger Stadium, taking on legendary status. Or they can evoke shame, like the Tropicana Dome in St. Petersburg.
I think Mets fans were hoping for pride when Citi Field opened in 2009, and were disappointed that the team lavished so much attention on Jackie Robinson and so little on the team's own former stars. It was like going to Grandma's house and seeing photos of the neighbor kids on the mantle.
The team seems to have made up for it with an amazing Hall of Fame and other touches, none of which are easily viewed in this ornament. It's got some other issues, too. Unlike other stadium ornaments that have a team logo on which to extend a hook, this one has the loop in the middle of the field, and it just doesn't hang well – hence the photograph on the table.
But the park is still new, and I'm sure a better ornament will arrive soon.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Shea still remains, at least on postcards.
Postcards are among the way-too-many things I collect, and I’ve had a lot of fun at work and on Facebook writing about the really bad ones.
Now that those are out of my system, I can focus on the other extreme – postcards showing baseball stadiums, especially those belonging to the Mets.
I’ve tried to collect stadium postcards from all the modern ballparks, and usually ask friends, relatives and co-workers to keep an eye out for the on their travels. Note, if you are on the go, I’m missing several.
But of course, all stadium postcard discussions start with Shea Stadium and Citi Field. Mostly Shea, that is, because I’ve struggled to find anything depicting the Mets new home and my glorious brick installed near the front door.
Actually, the selection for Shea is fairly slim, at least considering the bounty available in cities like S. Louis, where Busch Stadium postcards seem to rival those of the Arch.
I’ve come across two early Shea cards, both linked to the World’s Fair. Both are artist renderings, one showing the stadium and the whole waterfront and even part of the airport.
The second is more familiar, a painting that that was used in various team publications. I’ve not sure what’s casting the giant shadows in the parking lots.
The first postcard with an actual photo of Shea is again tied to the wonderful fair, with the stadium in the background and the spectacular Unisphere in front.
The first Shea-centric photo card I’ve found still has the World’s Fair logo, with a view looking into the horseshoe, but blocked by the back of the scoreboard. I’ve tried to figure out where the slightly elevated shot must have been snapped, and there are no postcards I’ve seen looking in unobstructed from beyond leftfield.
Another card uses the same photo, but with cartoon Mets and Jets players.
I’ve found two 1970s era postcards, a large one with a yellow border that just screams the decade. A second is probably the only Shea photo I’ve seen that allows us to see the New York skyline in the background – the real one, not the loveable plywood version that was atop the scoreboard for years. And the orange and blue panels are awesome.
I came across another Shea painting postcard, though it’s part of a tribute to the 1969 team, and there’s a card for every player, coach and even the broadcasters.
The 1980s were not kind to Shea postcards, and I’ve yet to find one with the deep blue paint job.
But there are two nice cards from the 2000s, both interior views, shot at night. One was part of a final season postcard set I found in the Mets gift shop.
The final Shea card – courtesty of Greg Prince – places the beloved ballpark in its proper place among treasured New York landmarks. It’s a general New York card, and we have a photo in the lower right showing the iconic spires of the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building. Then the left side of the card is dominated by a view of the Manhattan skyline, taken, I think, from the south.
That left only room in the top right, and much of New York to represent. What image might be inserted to bring back warm memories of a trip to the Big Apple, or to tell a loved one, “Wish you were here” and really mean it? Lady Liberty might work, possibly Times Square. But are worthy, but why take a chance? The postcards producers wisely opted for a view of Shea.
With the arrival of the new ballpark and a hole in the collection, I spent part of my whirlwind New York trip in March searching high and low for a Citi Field postcard. Actually, I was confined to shops in and around Times Square , Penn Station and the Newark Airport. Denied.
So this artwork postcard will have to make do until I can make a return trip.
And, I suppose the spring training site at Port S. Lucie counts as a Mets home, and I have found one card showing what then was called Thomas White Stadium and the five practice fields.
Monday, February 15, 2010
When the competition is two foods and a fraud, Mets can race to the front with felines
Sadly, our team no longer employs Steve Trachsel, because we could have enjoyed races between pitches, rather than between innings. Marathons, even. At least a 5K.
Granted, a competition between costumed racers is not the most original idea out there. But anyone looking at our ballpark knows that originality isn’t exactly the Mets’ forte. Heck, if anything, we’ve made swiping from other teams an art form.
The Brewers, of course, have the racing sausages. Brett Wurst the bratwurst, Stosh the Polish sausage, Guido the Italian sausage and Cinco the sombrero-wearing chorizo, when not offending entire ethnic groups by their stereotypical outfits and names, battle Frankie Furter.
That would be a giant hot dog and not the Tim Curry character from the Rocky Horror Picture Show, who would be so much more entertaining.
Randall Simon of the Pirates tried to make the race entertaining without resorting to singing “Sweet Transvestite” by whacking Guido with a bat, well, tapping him actually. But you have to stick with the stereotype. The stricken sausage fell to the ground, taking the leather and fishnet stocking-less Frankie with him.
The Pirates, no doubt in an effort to rehabilitate Simon, created their own Great Pierogi Race, featuring Jalapeño Hannah, Cheese Chester, Sauerkraut Saul and Oliver Onion.
I’ve witnessed both of these races, and they are indeed fun.
Then there is the gross miscarriage of justice that is the Washington Nationals’ racing presidents.
Anything that combines my twin passions of presidents and baseball would be glorious, one would think. And when you add that the competitors are the quartet from Mt, Rushmore – with Long Island’s own Theodore Roosevelt -- well, you’re looking at Hall of Fame worthy ballpark tradition up there with watching batting practice, singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” and paying $4 for a Diet Coke in a plastic collectible cup.
But, no. As they most always do unless they are playing the Mets in a crucial September game, the Nationals fail miserably.
You see, the team has made our hero the butt of jokes. President Roosevelt is famous for never once winning a race. There’s even a Web site called "Let Teddy Win"
Friends, is there any doubt that the Rough Rider would be dee-lighted to kick the butts of all three of those other commanders-in-chief? In real life, there would be a Web site called, “Theodore (no one called him ‘Teddy’) Let Someone Else Win Once in a While.”
So this is the competition the Mets face. Two foods and a fraud. The Amazin’s can do so much better.
I asked my loving family for suggestions. Wise guy son suggested various wounded Mets on crutches and in casts, but I insisted we’ve turned the page from last year.
They also offered vice presidents – since we’re stealing shamelessly anyway – and zombies, because, well, teen-agers love them.
We also suggested various superheroes who call New York home, like Batman and Spider-Man. But then you have issues with licensing rights and sidekicks, and before long you have the Wonder Twins and Wendy and Marvin tagging along for no good reason.
They also suggested various New York-based rock stars. As much as I’d like to see Twisted Sister, Kiss and Billy Joel taking turns embarrassing Neil Diamond, I’m not sure it would work. “Heart Light” only proved that Neil might not be capable of being shamed.
I went right for my New York icons, which I cling to dearly, decorating my living room and desk area at work with their images. Co-workers need to be reminded daily that one of us is from New York and it is not them.
We could have Lady Liberty racing the Empire State Building, a Big Apple, the Unisphere and, dare I be so bold, a giant poppy seed bagel!
Alas, this was dismissed at the dinner table as being too clichéd.
Then my wife had a fantastic thought, inspired, perhaps by Tug, the family pet.
Racing cats, she suggested. Brilliant!
Cats have a long history with the Mets.
Remember the black cat that ran out in front of the Cubs dugout in 1969, placing the dreaded "Fading in September Curse" upon them?
Remember the cat that made quite a stir during Citi Field’s nationally televised debut? It appeared on the field out nowhere, jumping on the screen behind home plate. He would have scared the heck out of Gov. Patterson had Patterson been able to see him!
This kitty was the only life form to step onto the Citi Field turf and not end up on the disabled list.
Remember, the beloved Shea Stadium was legendary for being the home to dozens of otherwise homeless cats.
The way I see it, we could have giant mascot cats, each named after a beloved Mets player of the past. You’d have Mookie running against Choo-Choo, Casey, Rusty, Tug and Benny Agbayani. (Hey, I wanted someone from each era). They’d each be wearing a jersey with the name and number on the back.
And they’re cats! You can’t herd them. They’ll run all over the ballpark every which way. It’s all part of the fun. Then a mouse dressed like Derek Jeter can appear near the finish line and the now-focused kitties can pounce on him like hard rain.
It’s marketing gold, I tell you! Think of all the merchandising opportunities. And it would show that the Wilpons know something about team history, which would be nice.
So Brewers and Pirates, keep your mobile concession ads. Nationals, continue to insult one of our finest heroes. We’ll have a borrowed idea of a promotion with a hometown twist and a nod to our traditions and history.
At least it is better than the animated taxi race on the scoreboard.
My family is standing by for any other consulting needs the Mets might have.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
I resolve to be a better Mets fan in 2010
Tonight the ball drops – both in New York and here in Grand Rapids – marking the end of a year that I’m really not all that sad to see go.
A new year marks a new opportunity to take stock in what we as Mets fans think, do and go about our business.
We Mets fans survived 2009, and it was rough. We can get 2010 off to a great start by changing some of our behaviors to cleanse away the stench of the last decade and embrace this shiny new one.
It’s a tradition to use this day to make resolutions. Here are my ten resolutions for 2010 Mets fans. Please hold me accountable.
1) I resolve to not freak out every time another team signs another team signs a player the Mets didn’t particularly want, and think that the other team’s general manager is smarter or better than Omar.
OK, the Giants signed Mark DeRosa. He’s kind of old and hurt, and there really wasn’t a position for him on the Mets. So we really shouldn’t get all worked up worrying that Omar missed out on a guy we shouldn’t be chasing in the first place.
2) I resolve not to get all worried when a free agent the Mets are after has not been signed by a deadline set by New York Daily News sports columnists.
Opening Day is in April. It’s a good idea to have Jason Bay and people like him in uniform by that date, and maybe even a little earlier. But just because the News shows a back page photo of a crying child in a Mets cap in December does not mean that Bay will never sign, or that the season that starts four months from now already is a lost cause.
3) I resolve to not whine and get upset every time Bob Klapisch writes a column taking cheap shots at the Mets.
As reporters, we are always amazed when people purchase pit bulls, make them pets, give them names like “Diablo,” and then are shocked when the pit bull eats the neighbor children.
Pit bulls eat children. It’s in their nature. It’s what they do. They don’t stop being pit bulls because you make them a pet.
Bob Klapisch is a known Mets hater. He will not change. He cannot change. I must stop reading his columns and being shocked when he does what he does.
4) I resolve to not complain about the lack of Mets history and colors on display at the Mets' ballpark.
I’m pretty sure the Mets are the ones playing at Citi Field. It’s not that hard to figure out, especially when I see Oliver Perez is on the mound and he’s given up five walks by the third inning.
So I don’t need blue and orange trim in the mens room to remind me I’m in the right ballpark or posters of Tom Seaver to remind he played for the Mets, because I have a lot of those in the basement baseball room. I don’t have a live-sized Tom Seaver statue in the basement, however. Hint, hint.
5) I resolve to not complain when Derek Jeter gets undeserved praise for doing things people on my coed softball team are able to do -- without much fanfare.
Well, who are we kidding.
6) I resolve only to complain about things Derek Jeter actually does or says, as opposed to super-powers assigned to him.
That’s a little more realistic.
7) I resolve not to get drawn into nasty arguments with Phillies fans.
Hey, they’re a rough, disagreeable lot. Make no mistake. They like to fight and wear mean-spirited t-shirts.
We need to show Phillies fans compassion. It must be difficult to root for the most losing team in the history of professional sports. Let them yell and boast about their three division titles.
But we must not engage them, unless they say bad things about David Wright or question Jose Reyes’ health or make implications about Daniel Murphy’s fielding or take issue with K-Rod’s save celebrations or make snide remarks about the orange button on our caps or the drop shadows on the jerseys or suggest that Johan Santana is not the best pitcher in baseball or call attention to Carlos Beltran’s big mole.
If any of those things happen, the gloves are off, understandably so.
8) I resolve not to panic when a Mets player goes on the disabled list.
OK, when they ALL go on the disabled list, it’s a cause for concern. But 2009 can’t really happen again, can it?
9) I resolve not to hate Curtis Granderson now that he’s a Yankee.
Curtis is still a really nice guy who cares for the community. Now he’s just a nice, caring guy in a really ugly uniform with overrated teammates and fawning columnists.
10) Speaking of uniforms, I resolve not to get suckered in and buy the ugly new batting practice cap just because Major League Baseball decides it can get fans to buy more caps by changing the design every two years.
I am SO sticking with this one. Unless there’s a good sale on MLB.com or if I somehow get the new jersey and need to cap to match. But I standing firm and I mean it.
There! I shouldn't have too much trouble sticking with those simple resolutions.
May your 2010 be filled with happiness and health, filled with a summer of celebrations!
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Baseball place No. 75: Distant Replays; and No. 75A: Gerry Cosby's and the first real jersey
It took a special store to have such things.
Josh Pahagian takes us to a jersey store, Distant Replays in Atlanta, as place No. 75 in his “101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out.”
Sounds like a neat place, full of retro shirts, caps and jerseys. They have a nice Web site, too. But I’ve never been to the store.
But it reminded me of another store that, when I was younger, almost seemed as good as a trip to Cooperstown.
Alternative Place No. 75A: Gerry Cosby’s in Westbury, N.Y.
I love baseball jerseys about as much as the game itself. I’ve always paid close attention to what players were wearing, taking notice of every slight change and patch. The uniforms worn on the fronts of baseball cards were studied just as closely as the statistics on the back.
Growing up in the 1970s, there weren’t many places where kids could obtain something that looked like a real baseball jersey. Obtaining the real thing was beyond comprehension, of course.
And I had my assortment of Mets t-shirts, sometimes with SEAVER 41 emblazoned with iron-on letters across the back.
Then I heard that polyester versions of the jerseys in kids’ sizes were for sale. Naturally, I became somewhat obsessed with this, and my parents knew about Cosby’s.
I remember the first time we went to the store, which seemed to be filled mostly with hockey equipment. But there was a section of shelves filled with replica jerseys.
And the best part was that the store didn’t just have the Mets, which were the obvious and automatic first purchase. But there seemed to be all the teams. This was a slice of baseball heaven, right there in Westbury.
I remember making the clerk pull down shirt after shirt, building a pile of polyester on the glass-topped counter for me to touch and ponder.
And in that glass were the real deal, actual authentic jerseys. I was amazed that a person could buy such a thing.
Needless to say, my birthday and Christmas want lists for the next years were to be filled right there at Cosby’s.
Before long, I had acquired the Dodgers and Padres, Expos and Phillies, Giants and, best of all, a rainbow-striped Astros replica.
Kids in school didn’t get it. I remember one classmate looking at me in total disbelief and disgust, saying, “Why are you wearing an Astros jersey?”
The answer, of course, is that if you can come into possession of an Astros rainbow jersey, you wear it proudly. Duh.
In 1984 I received what might still be considered the best Christmas gift ever. Naturally, it came from Cosby’s.
I remember exactly where I was sitting in my parents’ den when I opened the box containing a real, live Mets home jersey, the pull-over with the racing stripes.
It was magical. And it was almost incomprehensible that I could own the very same jersey the Mets wear on the field.
Naturally, this jersey was constantly and considered suitable attire or any occasion – including proposing to my wife. True!
I’ve collected many other major and minor league jerseys since, both authentic and game-worn. There was a time when they were semi-affordable, especially if I could find a good sale. Those days have passed.
And we went back to Cosby’s for several years because they could customize jerseys with the proper letters and numbers. Let’s just say there must have been much celebrating at Cosby’s when the Mets obtained Eddie Murray.
The first and most-special jersey no longer fits, but I was proud to pass it down to my son, who wore it to his first home Mets game when we went to Citi Field last year. It’s treats it with the respect a family heirloom deserves.
I believe the Cosby’s in Westbury is long gone, and I recently learned that the Madison Square Garden store has moved. The company’s Web site indicates it still sells all sorts of equipment.
I can’t tell if it still sells jerseys, but I hope so.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Counting our many blessings -- and the turkeys, too
I love Thanksgiving because I have so much to be thankful for, and I appreciate them all. I’m blessed, and I realize it.
So let’s launch into the annual list of all that is good – and the accounting of the turkeys who try to spoil all the fun.
I’m thankful that I have a job that I love. One and a half, actually. I don’t take this lightly, because Michigan is hurting bad. It’s been a rough year in my state and in my profession. We’re hanging on, and don’t think there isn’t a day when I don’t thank the Lord for this blessing. And I’m glad that I can continue my adjunct teaching job in the spring semester. Working with such wonderful students tells me there are still talented young people who are dedicated to journalism and have hope for the future.
Turkey! Hallmark. People mocked in the past when I bemoaned the Hallmark Christmas Ornament Curse. But I was distraught when I learned that Johan Santana was this year’s decoration. Of course, he had season-ending surgery just after the ornament was released. And he took most of the team with him, leaving us with an especially dreary season.
I’m thankful that I was able to see our beloved Mets three times this season, twice in the spring and on Aug. 5 in our Citi Field debut. And amazingly – considering my past -- the Mets won all three. The 9-0 destruction of the Cardinals in August was viewed from spectacular seats provided by my parents – awesome – and was marred only by Jon Neise being carried off the field to join the DL party. But my son was able to see his first Mets game in New York, and I got all weepy seeing my glorious FanWalk brick, provided by Cousin Tim, who was there to join the celebration. And we all caught up with blogging buddy Greg Prince at the game, too. It was a very, very good day.
Turkeys! The ESPN Sunday Night Baseball crew of Jon Miller and Joe Morgan. Look, I like Miller, one of the best voices in the game. But Morgan is killing me, and he’s an anchor around Miller. When Morgan is not reminding us that he “played the game,” he’s praising Derek F. Jeter. Jeter doesn’t even have to be playing at the time. But it’s darn near embarrassing when he is. How many times have you heard this scenario: A weak, routine five-bouncer to short, which Jeter gets only because it’s hit right at him, then promptly throws to first base, bouncing twice along the way. “Look at Jeter get to that ball,” Morgan will exclaim. “He makes that play look easy. Derek just brings that something special every time he steps on the field. He makes everyone around him better. I know how players do that, because I played the game.” Gag.
I’m thankful for my iPhone, which is very close to surpassing my iPod as the greatest device ever. It is life-altering. The apps are incredible for both work and home. I’m especially thankful for the “Lose it” app. All I’m saying is that I installed it on July 7 and now I’m 50 pounds lighter. Really. And there’s the app that tracks how far and fast I can run, with the pause button so I can flick over to the maps app so I can get unlost while running in Texas and find my way back to Aunt Darlene’s house. Yes, this happened.
I’m thankful for lax security in the Astrodome and tour guides who don’t mind giving individual tours of Minute Maid Park. That trip to Texas offered all kinds of adventures.
I’m thankful that the Baseball Hall of Fame is taking the task of adding executives and pioneers more seriously by adding a keen and brilliant mind to the selection committee. That would be Tom Seaver, who is being lured from the vineyards next week to make sure these knuckleheads don’t mess things up again.
Turkeys! Sadly, the Hall still managed to goof things up. The committee to consider managers and umpires includes Tom Verducci, the infamous Yankee hack who actually declared that cyborg/reliever Mariano Rivera should start the 2008 All-Star Game so applause could fall on him like soft rain. I almost gagged on the turkey just typing that again. But seriously, this is a bad idea. Is there any doubt that “The Duce” will start the meeting by protesting that there are non-Yankees on the ballot? Do we not believe that Verducci will, with a straight face, make a case that Billy Martin should have a spot in Cooperstown, then try to slip in Ralph Houk and Joe Girardi and goodness knows how many once and future Yankee managers into the Hall? Then he'll move along to Yankee coaches and bullpen catchers and the grounds crew and Derek F. Jeter's parents for their role in making the world a better place. I, for one, hope that they don’t put Verducci in charge of counting the ballots.
I’m thankful that the Mets are not totally screwing up the new uniforms all the way. We love the team. You know that. But sometimes it makes questionable decisions when it comes to tinkering with the astonishingly great uniforms the Mets were blessed with. This week the team announced it would feature cream-colored pinstripes intended to honor the 1969 champs. I’m down with that, even though the typical Mets pinstripes are the best uniforms in baseball. But for reasons I can not figure out, they are leaving the black drop shadow on there. Help me figure this out. If you are going to recreate a uniform from 1969, why exactly are you keeping the feature from the past decade? We know the Mets. The team makes progress in increments. That’s why we’re getting a Mets Hall of Fame a year after the ballpark opens. As long as we’re headed in the right direction, it’s all good.
I'm thankful that I was allowed to coach the greatest church coed softball team ever. One a communication-forced forfeit prevented us from smashing through the playoffs. We settled for the consolation championship -- excellent -- and lots of wonderful fellowship. And now I can start planning and plotting for next year.
I'm thankful that I was able to hear Audio Adrenaline's Mark Stuart and Will McGinnis one more time. One of my favorite bands, Audio A called it quits a couple years ago when Stuart started losing his voice. Now he and Will tour as Audio Unplugged, and share their stories as they play a few songs, which is easier on Mark's voice. I had the chance to meet them after a recent concert, and share how much their music inspired me, especially when I was looking for ways to connect with the middle school youth groups. They probably hear that kind of thing all the time, but maybe not. I didn't want the opportunity to say "thank you" slip by.
I hope this holiday finds you happy and healthy and in appreciation of the blessings the Lord has given us. Even in the toughest of years on and off the field, may we never forget what is special about our lives, and the people we get to share them with.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Place No. 72, Pink's Hot Dogs. Seriously. And, 72A, Nathan's Famous
I did emerge and see a photo of ARod dressed in his Halloween costume. I’m assuming he was dressed as Rocky Balboa. Seriously, that had to be a costume, right?
Speaking of people trying to pull our legs, Josh Pahigian tries to salute ballpark hot dogs by taking us to Los Angeles and someplace called “Pink’s” for place no. 72 in his “101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out.”
Based on this entry, the book should be renamed “100 Baseball Places and one Hollywood Eatery That Has Nothing to Do With Baseball.”
Seriously, even Josh points out that the place has a Hollywood motif, and that you have to look hard to find a baseball connection.
The fact that Josh looked to Los Angeles for hot dogs is an outrage and makes be uneasy about places Nos. 73 through 101.
I shall come to his rescue.
Alternative place No. 72A) Nathan’s Famous, Coney Island.
Nathan’s, of course, is the kind of hot dog served at Citi Field and formerly at Shea. So it only makes sense that we had to return to the epicenter of all things Nathan’s to pay proper tribute when we returned to the homeland this past summer.
Hot dogs have been a ballpark staple since Harry M. Stevens began serving them at the Polo Grounds in the early 1900s.
Tim and Andrew liked thier dogs.
History tells us that Polish immigrant Nathan Handwerker, in 1916 opened his small stand at Coney Island, serving the dogs and crinkle-cut fries are served with a little fork.
The company's Web site claims President Franklin Delano Roosevelt served Nathan's Famous hot dogs to the King and Queen of England in 1939, and had the dogs shipped to Yalta when he met with Winston Churchill and Joseph Stalin.
Dad, Tim, Andrew and I headed to Coney Island after seeing the Mets beat the Cardinals 9-0 in our Citi Field debut.
After braving the Cyclone and Wonder Wheel, we made our way down to Nathan’s. Things had changed, but not that much. Dad ordered a round of dogs and fries, and we sat down on some tables to watch the colorful world that is Coney Island walk past.
There are massive signs about the annual hot dog eating contest, which seems kind of freakish.
New York requires restaurants to disclose the number of calories on menus. A hot dog with bun had 296 calories. This year's hot dog eating champion, Joey Chestnut, ate a record 68 hot dogs in 10 minutes on July 4. That would be 20,128 calories.
The dogs were glorious, and I’m sure I savored my one more than Joey enjoyed his 68.
We came right from the game, though I removed my Tom Seaver jersey for safety, lest there was any hurling on the Cyclone.
I was in standing on line for a second round of Diet Cokes when I guy looked over and said, "Hey, were you at the game today?"
"Yeah! How'd you know?"
"Well, you got Mr. Met on your face."
I'd forgotten to remove the menacing Mr. Met temporary tattoo. Not that strange facial tats made me stand out in a crowd on Coney Island.
Truth be told, I’m not keen on franks at the ballpark. Order a dog at your typical stadium, and an employee will open a drawer and hand you a ball of foil, the contents of which will be a shriveled dog and a squished, soggy bun that sticks to the dog.
One of things I liked best about the old Tiger Stadium was that vendors would roam the stands with boiled dogs floating in water that I assumed was hot. (If you know otherwise, don’t tell me. I’m in my happy place.)
Anyway, the vendor would capture a dog with tongs, take a fresh bun out of a bag, slap it there and then offer you mustard or ketchup, which he’d apply from a bottle.
The dogs were Ball Parks and not Nathans, but I could pretend.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Observations and adventures from Citi Field
Here are some of the rest of the things we experienced on Aug. 5, when the Mets smacked around the Cardinals.
Our seats granted us access to the Acela Club, which was pretty darn fancy and with a nice view of the field. We didn't eat there, what with all the knishes and other fine New York dining opportunities inside the park.
But Dad and Tim checked out the bar and were glad that they were able to serve iced tea. I'm not sure they were actually drinking iced tea, but I was pestering the hostess for information about where the Dwight Gooden wall signature was being displayed.
Three employees all tried to help me find someone who knew, even giving me a phone number of someone in the stadium who would know such things. Sadly, this is where I discovered the iPhone was having reception issues.
But this attention also furthered our theory that the real Mets employees were replaced by pod people.
Lots of issues with the trash cans. The top one is nice, but what's with the Y tucking behind the N like that? I've never noticed the cap logo doing that. You have to wonder if someone signed off on that and didn't think it was a big deal, or that people would care. Clearly, we do.
Now, I thought this one was really cool. You have the batting helmet -- blue version, even! -- but my Mom took a look at the photo and asked, "Why did they put a helmet atop a toilet seat?"
We traditionally don menacing Mets tats prior to the game because we are most dangerous people. Andrew, of course, tatted up, too.
Sadly, I forgot I was wearing mine when we went to Coney Island after the game. While on line at Nathan's a guy walked up and said, "So, you go to the game today?"
"Yeah! How'd you know?"
"Cus you got Mr. Met on your face."
I was ready to annoint Daniel Murphy as my new favorite Met after watching how hard he worked during spring training. I know the season's been a disappointment, well, for everyone. But I'm hoping Murph will pick build on this year and pick it up next season.
My Dad snapped this great shot of David Wright moments before he launched his home run.
Alas, it wasn't long before we saw poor Jon Neise crumple to the ground and get helped off the mound. You can see Jerry in the background calling for Nelson Figueroa.
Albert Pujols congratulates Jeff Francoeur on a rare walk.
It was pretty exciting to see Bobby Parnell make his first career plate appearance -- and slap a hit and even come around to score. Then he earned his first career save. Pretty good game!
Mixed emotions about this guy. Part of me salutes him for honoring Gil instead of being among the thousands at the game with a current player on his back.
But as a jersey purist, I just can't. The Mets didn't have names of their backs when Hodges managed. And if I'm going to mock Yankees fans for putting Ruth 3 on their jerseys, I have to be consistent.
Oh man, Mr. Met himself calls me out on the Streak of Shame! Has he not heard that the streak ended last year in Cincinnati?
Yea! Final score 9-0, Mets win, as proudly proclaimed by the scoreboard and message boards!
We all checked in with the brick one last time before heading out.