Take Me Out to the Ball Game

When I was a little girl ... five or so ... my parents took me and another little friend to a ball game. I really can't understand why -- I don't think I asked to be taken ... I don't think I showed even one ounce of interest in baseball at all at that age. I remember none of it ... except for the stories which came afterward -- stories of me spending the entire time facing the BACK of the stadium looking for the hot dog man. THAT I believe ...

When I was a bigger girl ... twenty or so ... my boyfriend Blob took me to another baseball game. (His name wasn't Blob back then ... that's just what he devolved into). I really can't understand why -- I don't think I asked to be taken. I don't think I showed even one ounce of interest in baseball at all at that age. I remember none of it ... except for the part where Blob got my under aged butt a huge bucket of beer (he was 32 at the time ...) and then embarrassed me by shelling an entire bag of peanuts and throwing the remains all over the floor. "Stop doing that!" I'd hissed ... "Everyone here does it!" he'd replied, but all I saw was a bunch of people giving him dirty looks.

When I was a bit older ... thirty something or so ... Won't, his sister Nat, and the extended group of friends were excited about the Subway Series and asked me to come watch the opening game in a bar with them. I really can't understand why -- I don't think I asked to be invited. I don't think I showed even an ounce of interest in baseball at that age ...ahhh, but wait. Here's the paradigm shift, kiddies ...

The 2000 Subway Series got me completely hooked. Hooked isn't even the word; I was completely obsessed. For the first time in my life I really understood what it meant to be a fan and root (root, root) for the home team.  You have to understand that my interest in sports was so lacking that when I was a sales assistant at Sport Magazine I garnered months of ribbing after I asked my manager "Is hockey a pro sport?"

My friend from Boston, Ant, said to me one day back then, "You know, the rest of the country doesn't care about this World Series ... only New York cares." And I'd replied, "New York doesn't CARE that no one else cares. If New York had its way it would be a Subway Series every time!" I got so wrapped up in the game that I actually bought one of those little vanity magazines that listed all the players, I talked baseball with guys in the hall, I asked everyone if they were following the game, and when the final game fell on my parent's anniversary I tapped my foot nervously, wondering if I'd have enough time to finish up the play I'd taken them to (The Best Man) and still get to Won't and Nat who were in a bar down near Charles Street in time to see if we won. ("We" being the Yankees ... since that's the team my friends were rooting for. I secretly rooted for both).   Can you believe it?  Broadway vs. Baseball ... and Baseball actually winning?  Well, the play did end in time, (and much to the glee of the entire audience, at the curtain call one of the main characters stepped out of the line to announce the score ...) and I did get to the bar, and I did scream and hollar as the Yankees won, and I did linger in that bar with Won't and Nat afterwards and bask in the glow of being a Real Sports Fan.

And then it all vanished as quickly as it came.  Years went by, and I always remembered the Subway Series of 2000 fondly ... but I'd never had a desire to recreate it whatsoever.  

Recently there's been a lot of talk about how Yankee Stadium is closing ... so much so that I didn't even realize that Shea Stadium (home of the Mets) was closing down as well. What I DO know is that Yankee tickets were going for hundreds of dollars these past weeks ... whereas Quibbit got some Mets tickets for free when he donated some blood a few weeks back.

I thought it was quaint that he brought them to me with the idea that we'd actually go to the game. I nodded an enthusiastic "maybe" but really ... I sincerely doubted I'd go.

But an outing is an outing and when the day finally came this week I was actually in the mood to get out there. We took the (relatively quick) subway ride out to Shea and, once there, could actually feel the excitement in the air. We got there early so that we could scope the place out and wander around ... our seats were way up high (of course) but the great thing about stadiums is the stadium seating (duh ...) and from our seats we could see everything. We sat out in the wonderful night air, taking in the sky, the crowd, the atmosphere, eating five dollar hot dogs and drinking eight dollar beverages.  I was completely immersed and having a great time!

By the time the game started, I was ready. At one point I cheered loudly, my arms pumping the air, thrilled to join my voice to the thousands who were screaming too. "Did you see that?" Quibbit asked, "The blah bla blah did this bla blah bla thing and the ..." I finally just held up my hand and said "Boo ... I don't know what happened. I just scream when everyone else does". Trust me ... it's really fun to scream your head off and be joyful just for the experience of it.  I doubt anyone around me could tell that I was actually completely clueless about the whole thing.

While we were sitting there, during a lull, I told Quibbit the story of a sales conference we'd had while I was at Sport Magazine. The 2 assistants (myself and another girl) tagged along to all the outings during the conference, nights at Smith and Wollensky or other places that served meat with a side of meat ... followed by drinks in various sports bars till the wee hours. The guys were accomodating and told us everything we wanted to know about the various games we watched. One guy said to me, "Here, let me teach you a phrase that will work on any guy ... if he takes you out to a game or a sports bar, and everyone is cheering, turn to him and say 'That was a particularly high percentage play!" If everyone's booing, say the opposite 'That wasn't a particularly high percentage play!" It will impress whatever guy you're with." Throughout the years I've pulled that little gem out of my bag of tricks often, and I've always been grateful to that anonymous sales guy ... because it always did get a rather good response.

Eventually as the game at Shea wore on it got really cold outside, and Quibbit and I decided to go home, even though the game was still in full swing -- we'd had a good time, and it really didn't matter to either of us who won the game (yes, blasphemous, I know).  And I'm also really glad that I got to go to one ball game at Shea Stadium.  Ahh, Shea, I hardly knew ye.  Thanks for all the memories.  Or, you know, just the one.  But still ... thanks.