High Five

Got to Citifield this weekend, the last day of the Subway Series, and the first time I've been to the new Citi Fiield. It's still "Shea" to most of us Mets fans, but damn, the new stadium is really pretty.

The Mets had been trounced by the Yankees both Friday and Saturday, and while I didn't have high expectations, especially with 9 Mets on the disabled list, I was hoping for at least a respectable showing.

When you're a Mets fan, it pays to be an existentialist.

You kind of know when the first pitch is hit for a double (Derek Jeter, of course) that this does not bode well for the rest of thee game. Three runs in the first inning. I was hoping that we would not be tortured like this throughout the whole game. And my, those Yankees fans can be smug.

But the Mets defense for the next 6 innings was hot, truly beautiful to watch. If they could only hit and pitch!

... all hope died when they walked Mariano Cabrera in the top of the 9th with the bases loaded... ouch... an AMERICAN League pitcher. How can they walk an American League pitcher? What do those guys have, like a .126 batting average?

I got out of the Astor Place subway, holding my Citifield program, sporting my Shea Stadium memorial T-shirt, and I was stopped in front of Cooper Union by a young, blond-haired, tee-shirted fellow who said to me, "High five!"
I stopped, my weirdo radar triggered, scanning for incoming. He was a bit inebriated but otherwise seemed to know where he was, and had probably bathed in the last 24-hours. The conversation went like this:

"Where you coming from?" he said.

"Uh..." I was about to say "Shea." "Mets game."

"Oh. You're a Mets fan?"

What? Oh, yeah. Inebriated. "Well, I'm wearing the shirt..."

"Who were they playing?"


"Oh. So they lost, then."

There are days when I'd have gotten mad at this statement, but this time I laughed. "Yeah. They put up a fight, though."

"So... You married?"


"Oh. Well... High five!"

I high-fived him again.

"Hey," he said. "How old are you, anyway?"

I laughed. "You're not supposedd to ask a lady her age..."

"Oh, c'mon. I'm 31. You like 31, too, right?"

"Something like that. A bit older."

He high-fived me again, for good measure.


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