05.07.23
Yesterday was a touch arduous. I wanted to enjoy the weather, so I went to the Mets game.
I’ve never gone to a baseball game alone before. I asked a couple of friends within an hour of leaving my house if they’d be available to join me but found no takers. But I’m hardly averse to doing things by myself. I put my newly cropped hair into pigtails and don my Mets attire (hat and t-shirt with a Mets-branded logo that, upon closer examination, actually says “Muppets,” because my brand is brolic). I have, on one occasion, been screamed at by a grown man with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth in my neighborhood for wearing a Mets hat. I do decidedly live in Yankee country, I will concede, but I’m not super sure that that means it’s okay to scream at women who are walking alone on the street, wearing the wrong team’s hat. I thought, for a moment, that it would amount to friendly trash talk, which I felt prepared for, but it was a little too intense, a little too heated, a little too scary, and a little too for sure not friendly. I am, generally, not for any amount of screaming at others. I don’t usually wear my Mets hat around my neighborhood anymore because of this interaction, but the walk to the subway is short. I hop on the A Train and head to 42nd Street.
When I transfer to the 7, more and more people filter into my field of view in Mets gear. I follow the waves of orange and blue to the stadium, where it is, for lack of a better word, poppin’.
I work my way up to the highest deck. The only other time I’ve been here, the crowd intimidated me. I clung to the hand of my friend/date/boyfriend/relationship unclear companion, but today I’ve no reluctant hand to reach for. I just follow the signs. Turns out — not that hard to navigate. I make my way to the last row of section 517. Someone is sitting in my assigned seat, so I take one a few down. The row was empty when I bought the ticket this morning, so it’s unlikely I’ll be infringing on someone else’s space.
I’m very interested in baseball culture. I love pre-teens with braces and gloves. I love the videos that play between innings, featuring players terribly reading cue cards or teleprompters thanking the troops (which I don’t necessarily agree with ideologically, but the production of which I am completely obsessed with). I love to see people clapping for kids who catch foul balls, and thousands of people prompted by the new, HUGE scoreboard to chant “let’s go Mets” together. People crave community, I think. You can get it here. How can you not be romantic about baseball, they say.
A “first game” baby seated in front of me starts to cry when Alonso strikes out with the bases loaded in the fourth inning. I put on my jacket because the air is warm but the wind is brisk. Two men in front of me pencil in scorecards on clipboards. I wonder if they work here or if they are just really into it. I wonder if they could help me with the job application I put in for a position on the Marketing team at the Mets Organization a month ago that is still listed as “In Progress” on my Candidate Profile.
The Rockies score 7 runs in the fifth inning before they get two outs. The vibes dip pretty significantly. Someone to my right starts yelling, “Let’s go Yankees!” which I sort of feel doesn’t help. The negativity within the Mets fanbase, or frankly any sports fanbase, baffles me. Don’t you watch sports to have a good time? Don’t you love this team? It doesn’t make sense to me the way so many are willing to turn on them at the drop of a hat. The most I can muster is a disappointed shake of the head, maybe a little “c’monnnn.”
Vogelbach hits a home run in the seventh inning which feels exciting even though the Mets are still down by five. I consider leaving early but opt not to. I am meeting Sam for dinner, but I don’t feel in a rush. I am too busy being charmed by people thrilled at the sight of themselves on the jumbotron.
Despite their promising first inning, the Mets lose pretty hard. But I still had a nice time. I follow the now-thinned but still big crowd back to the 7, back to Manhattan.
