The Reason Why I Left

Once upon a time, I rooted for a team up north. This team helped drive me into being obsessed with the game of baseball to a historian's level beginning at the age of 13. I moved to New York at the age of 10, and with a 6th grade teacher from the Bronk's land in 1996, and arriving to see the top of the 9th of game 6 by happenstance, I was thrusted into understanding what baseball means in this town when, poking my head out of my 2nd floor window at the corner of 12th and 7th Avenue, I heard spontaneous celebrations commencing from people in the streets and the horns of taxis and cars.

And then they won another one.

And then they won another one.

And then they won an all-NY other one.

Throw in a World Series for the ages with the team that I was 2 years removed from living in their Sunshine State, and I was beginning to really understand what this baseball thing is all about.

Oh, and meanwhile, there was another NY team around that was pretty darn good at the time, too.

Eventually, I went through a metamorphosis as adulthood, or the age of it at least, knocked on my door.

So, why did I leave?

Because despite all those championships, all those great players over the ages...

All the momuments, facades, retired numbers...

The hall of famers, the navy-blue pinstripes...

Despite all of that, I left because they don't remind me of baseball.

As a Mets fan, I can look at the 28 other teams and relate to them.

As a Yankee fan, I couldn't relate to the other 29.

Some Yankee fans may relish that house on a hill fact. By the time I was settling into the 2000's, something had to change.

Looking back, it was better for me to have watched my at-the-time Yankee team lose in 7 games to Arizona than win their 4th in a row. I'm better for having taken one on the chin then.

I'm better for having gone through a rough first decade as a Mets fan, having taken multiple blows on the chin.

I've made this analysis before, in my first ever post, and this is my ego at full throttle...

I feel the entire history of the New York Mets was just lived these past 10 years, and it was needed to get the full Metsian experience.

So, even though it's time for a new experience, we, and the 2015 New York Mets, will be better in the long haul for having taken one on the chin from our crosstown rivals.

Most guys do look good in a well-fit suit and tie.

But we don't have to wear one everyday.

I do my job quite fine in a t-shirt and jeans, thank you much.

Now, to beat those pesky Marlins...

LET'S. GO. BASEBALL.

LET'S. GO. METS.

Turn That Knob Up

I'll spare you the Spinal Tap references that I, and countless others, made yesterday after the Mets tied a club record with 11 straight games. By now, with the Subway Series looming, we all know there's another place we can turn the knob up to. The technology has improved in amps since the last time the Mets cranked it up to 11, which they've done 4 other times. They've increased the volume, and we can turn it up more.

Let's not stop here. Let's get louder.

Let's show this city, and this country, who's time it is.

TURN. THAT. KNOB. UP.

LET'S. GO. METS.

A Metropolitan in Every Borough

1. 
   

   met·ro·pol·i·tan

   ˌmetrəˈpälətn/

   adjective

   1. 1.

      of, relating to, or denoting a metropolis, often inclusive of its surrounding areas.

   noun
2. an inhabitant of a metropolis.

Sometime in September of 2014, I left a friend's place near Dyckman St. and Broadway up in the 200's of the Grid of the Island of Manhattan around 12:20am. I went down into the A train station and got to the machine to refill my Metrocard. As I got to the machine, I looked back at the stairwell, then back at the machine. I smiled to myself and walked back towards the stairs.

In an effort to be somewhat stingy as a sacrifice for a journey, I ventured off at 12:25am, first down Broadway.

I passed Fort Tyron Park, and Trinity Cemetery, which proceeds what I've seen in the daytime to be a hidden gem of the city in the Audubon Terrace.

I passed a McDonalds at 145th St. I did not stop.

Though I didn't pass it's beautiful campus, I passed the City College 1 train stop on Broadway at 137th St.

The land under me dipped at 125th Street.

I passed Columbia University.

I passed Duke Ellington Blvd.

I entered the Upper West Side.

Let's even put Zabars on there as a landmark.

I kept going passed a number of namable landmarks on this New York Journey, probably arriving at 59th and Columbus Circle, at the Southwest corner of Central Park, around 2, give or take who knows how long.

I hopped on a CitiBike.

From there, I traveled, yet again, down Broadway, turning onto Chambers St. to catch the Brooklyn Bridge.

From Tillary over to Jay Street, I eventually made my way over to Fulton, catching it to Franklin Ave before turning and letting the Bike off at Lefferts Pl.

I then walked down Fulton St to Brooklyn Ave, which is where I made my first stop of the night. I had gone so long just walking, biking, and walking, it was time to replenish some nutrients.

At the deli, I got a plastic jug of water, IMMEDIATELY OPENED IT, then ordered a burger, a breakfast sandwich for later, a Naked juice (I don't remember which one) and a banana. and I'm pretty sure I got a coffee as well.

I then walked down Brooklyn Ave passed Atlantic Ave and turned onto Sterling Pl. I arrived in the room I was sleeping in at 3:59am.

And some may ask, "WHY'D you do THAT?"

Because I DO THAT kinda shit.

That's a Metropolitan way of life.

See, at the time, I was staying in Crown Heights between Brooklyn and Kingston Aves on Sterling Pl. This was after staying in East Williamsburg on Powers St between Olive and Bushwick in August. And before that, for 15 days, I lived off the goodwill of some lovely folks and their couches/spare beds after leaving my mothers' living room loft on July 15, after basically a 2-year stint under the roof of two different mothers (lesbians, fyi, BOTH Jewish) at two separate times. And that's after my girlfriend and I broke up.

Living at home can stunt growth. Living in your mother's loft is adolescent purgatory.

So, finally, and really, under the "THIS IS WHEN YOU HAVE TO LEAVE" window, negotiated to increase by 15 days, I left.

And I ventured off backpacking across the city of New York with a Mets Wheelie bag at my stead.

New York City has it all, but it shouldn't be mistaken for a city. Really, it is a conglomerate of cities that just so happened to unite under the city term so to make its expansion much more seamless. And it's really the thing I have the most passion for in my life.

I am a Metropolitan.

I am of this "city."

I have lived in every borough but Staten Island, no offense to them (and knowing me, I'll probably stay out there 6 months or so one day just to round it out.) I have lived in Queens twice, Manhattan a number of times, it being the place I grew up after 10 years old (which is really when I was born again and my growth arch has reflected that.)

I have lived in Parkchester in the Bronx, kinda Park Slope in Brooklyn, but not really, Crown Heights twice, Astoria and Sunnyside, Queens, Hell's Kitchen the majority of the time and Greenwich Village to kick the whole thing off in '95.

Everything in my life, baseball, the Mets, film, music, family, Two Boots, is fueled by my passion for the City of New York. For 20 years now, come the end of August, I will have been a New York City resident.

And 10 years ago, I had my first season as a full-fledged Mets fan.

I have needed to grow up, and have, in some fashion, a similar arch the last 10 years to the Mets. But it's time.

So, it's about me. And it's about you. And it's about her, and it's about him. And it's about them, and it's about IT.

It's about being a Metropolitan.

And it's never been a better time to be one.

Life is finite, but as long as we're alive, there is an infinite amount of stories we can collect. And as I write this, I am getting ready to collect more in a few hours. I will catch a bus to to another city, a fantastic walking city that happens to be our nation's capitol, to kick off this new era in the world of the Mets. And I can't be any more pumped.

2015 has finally arrived, and I will take it in in apparently 73 degree weather at 4:05pm ET for the first time in Nationals Park. Bartolo Colon. Max Sherzer.

I'm Back.

The Metropolitan is ready to take off.

Get Up Offa That Thing.

LET'S. GO. MET'S.