This is where it starts setting in. When you have so much to do yet so little time to do it. Part of it is your own damn fault. Um, all of it, actually. You keep adding to your schedule when you already have a lifetime of things you already haven't given enough attention. They say quality over quantity, but when you feel the pull in so many directions, whether it just be your own ADHD you were labeled with at 4 years of age or work you've already committed to, the need to follow through, no matter how one thing might suffer because your attention is elsewhere during that period is too strong to ignore.
Whether it be this blog, or that script, or that album, or this baseball, or those taxes, or that radio drama, or those Lyft miles, you have to keep pushing. I could hardly even check in on that day game the Mets lost 3-2 because this, that and the other had my attention. Baseball can be a needed, proper distraction for me, but in those moments where it cannot be your main focus, it is tough when you see a loss on the other end. The Mets are at it again. Just when we're starting to believe, they pull the rug from out under our feet. We always believe, 'cause You GottaTM, even when they're down in the 9th by 9 runs. Yesterday, they only lost by the slimmest of margins and to be honest, I don't even know how close they came to potentially tying or winning the game. It was such an important early series and they seemed to leave all their energy out there on the field around 11pm Monday night when they won in extra innings. Tomorrow is not only a good time for them to regroup with a day off before taking on...ah, jeez, and here I am not even aware of who they are facing nor where they are facing them. I'll check before I finish this post but that's where I stand at the end of the day, scatterbrained and dismayed. At least I have this gentle classical music to help get me at least attempting to focus and off to bed (even though you're reading this on Thursday.) Oh. They're going to St. Louis. Well...at least I know I have an extra hour to prepare for baseball. Bring on the Central.
I have just arrived in the last 24 hours to the place I spent the majority of 2018, Denver, Colorado, where I was fortunately but much more unfortunately taking in the last 7 months of my dad's life with him, my oldest sister, my niece and my nephew. I prefaced with "fortunately" because there must be fortune to making the decision that I couldn't hang on the sidelines in New York while my dad and the family dealt with the diagnosis of pancreatic cancer, the newly-anointed "worst of the cancers." When I was growing up, at least via my perception, lung cancer was a devastating blow. Now, however, even Walter White can ride a little longer than how quickly my dad went from diagnosis to small enough to attempt rare "Whipple" surgery, to metastasized and spreading to dead within 9 months from being diagnosed on his 73rd birthday. I don't know how to say it, because I feel in some ways I'd have to start overdescribing the personality that is my father, but not only am I making a movie detailing the very essence that was our dad Max, but I can explain, through one of my dad's favorite jokes, how the man dealt with the pain: "Well, other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?"
That passion, however, though always there, has not manifested itself thoroughly and in the ways I have practiced over the last few years. I got out here with a great ballpark and didn't go to one single non-Mets game and the 2018 Mets lost both of the games I did go to, evening out my overall Coors Field Mets record to 2-2 from going 2-0 in 2012. Although, come to think of it, after my dad's death, my family and I did go to a Cardinals/Rockies game but that basically sums up the depression I felt and didn't even realize it: I go to games by myself on a whim all the time. Yes, the fact the Rockies aren't my team partially played into that, but the fact I never just walked up and enjoyed a random game of baseball before Lyft-driving passengers back to Littleton, or Arvada, or anywhere in the greater Denver Area is astounding and asinine to me.
The 2018 New York Mets, when you think about it, mirrored my dad's cancer-fighting process: So much hope at the beginning...eventually, though, disastrous. I tuned in, I soaked up, I always pay attention even when I can't listen or watch. But there still is that disconnect from who I've been and what I am as a fan. This past year I've never felt more detached, the 2007 season notwithstanding. That year, I was lost is weed, wine and vinyl, and then all of a sudden my friend from Philly in September was like, "Are you not paying attention to what is going on?" This past year, however, was an entirely different beast that will be the defining moment of wherever this life goes. I did not respond to the inevitable well, the moment that all of us will eventually deal with before dealing with our own mortality. When, no matter what we have going on in our lives or how well or terrible we have it together, we have to take care of our parents just at the time when we can't even take care of ourselves. Or, as I say in dailies of our budding movie about Max, "Adulting hits you hard. And all of a sudden, before you even figure it out, you gotta be concerned and take care of your parents. And you have to be completely selfless, just when all you want to be is selfish."
When I finally made it to Citi Field in September, it was a weird feeling going through the motions again. Taking the train...walking down the corridor of the station before exiting into that Metsian Plaza. It was familiar, but strange. I hadn't been jacked at all, I didn't have that, "I'm going to my first home Mets game of 2018" feeling. The entire thing felt foreign. And then, I was reminded of along the way, there was something about this night actually...
Jacob deGrom was pitching. And it was obviously the last time in a crazy historical season that he would do so.
Ok, I like that. I'm starting to feel it a bit.
But on that first approach, it wasn't completely there.
I sat down in the upper deck. That magic feeling's not completely brewing but some of the brooding sadness and depression are starting to subside. The baseball field is certainly a nice sight but I'm not..."pumped" yet, if you will. That excitement, that feeling, that loud baseball New York fan feeling.
And then there was that ERA anxiety. Well...I guess I at least had that. That feeling when a player on your team is doing something so Amazin' that you need him to keep putting up zeros so that Amazin' number can keep dropping.
Single up the middle. Oh, boy.
He stole second. Braves are tough, they won the division after all.
Inciarte. out. Freeman? out. Markakis out.
Alright, alright, alright. I'm not loud yet, but appreciate the wigglin' out.
Then, if there was ever any doubt of where my 2018 Mets were, Jacob deGrom proceeded to suck me back into that ol' Mets feeling, mowing down like it was the first game of the year basically every single batter he faced thereafter in a 2-hitter Seth Lugo shouldn't have finished but did with flying colors. Groundout, strikeout, lineout. Jacob deGrom is going to win the Cy Young AND he'll be a winning pitcher at 10-9. It's so funny the little things we root for but a winning record was a factor as well.
And there it was. The reason we all came. No matter the darkness, there is always light in this game we play. Jacob deGrom can reaffirm my passion and conviction for this band of misfits, for this beautiful sport my dad helped bring to me in heavy dosages, and for life itself. It's been real tough and continues to be so, but at least we have Jacob deGrom. Or baseball itself. Or the New York Mets. No matter how much they aggravate us, as does life and death, you can count on them to put a smile on your face even if you're doing it while shaking your head.
It really was a good play indeed.
REST. E. Z. MAX.
LET'S. GO. METS.
(My dad was certainly a performer through and through. One of the last roles he performed was in a stage production of Man of La Mancha out here in Colorado. While this was not the role he played, he most likely burst out singing this song randomly while just living his life, so an appropriate way to end this.)
Not like the Mets are going to stop playing innings after they leave the Phillies, just probably not as many.
Probably....
Then again, unless you can get big hits more often and earlier, then the innings will keep rolling on. We've seen a bunch of extra inning games in the last few years, and I would like to do the research as to their record in such games, but I literally should be doing anything BUT looking that stuff up.
The Mets are lucky to have come away with 3 out of 4 so far, guaranteeing them a winning series against the Phillies. They've tortured the bullpen, however, leading to two bullpen moves over the weekend.
Who am I to complain? I actually like baseball and enjoy when it's bonus, for I do like a well-pitched ballgame.
...Unless its the Phillies and the Mets just keep doing stupid stuff.
All in all, though, it's been a fun one, and another memory to look back on.
"Hey, remember when the Phillies and the Mets played 57 innings in 5 days?"
Let's hope that's the ceiling. Because there's a grand possibility that the ceiling is higher...
WELCOME. TO. JUNE.
LET''S. GO. METS.
(I wasn't sure what song to use for this post, so I typed "Funky Baseball" into Youtube. OH MY GOD. I'm SOOOO happy I found that. Sidenote: If you missed Faith and Fear in Flushing's Greg Prince on the Bedford & Sullivan podcast this weekend talking NY NL legacy, plus plenty of great baseball tangents, head on over there. A fantastic episode indeed.) Thanks for reading! Follow me on Twitter @convertedmetfan. For more from myself and others on the Mets, head over to Rising Apple. And for the latest on a Brooklyn Baseball TV Series I am developing, Like the Bedford & Sullivan Facebook page, follow on Twitter here, and listen to the research processhere.
I have written about Matt Harvey's baller status before and all of us at Rising Apple poked slight fun at it in a Weekly Top Ten post. When somebody pitches that way, you don't have to say anything. You just have to watch. Dillon Gee goes for the series sweep with Eric Stults on the mound for the Fathers (what? that's what they're called...) 1:10PM Start time. And we're just getting started...
I may have been behind many of you on these, but this weekend I went on a 30 for 30 marathon. I started with Four Days in October (about the Red Sox comeback in 2004, which was...Okay), and then kept clicking whatever was next in the 30 for 30 series (mostly having something to do with baseball, though there is a doc about the world of the sports agent I watched as well, called The Dotted Line. And in that, they covered Johan Santana's contract and the agent who locked it down.) But then I SERIOUSLY discovered that I Didn't Know Bo.
I was born in 1985, a year before Bo Jackson went pro. So, I missed his Auburn running back days and I certainly was not conscious enough to remember what it was like to watch Bo Know Everything. PLUS, unlike many homes, my parents' TV was not tuned to sports as frequently as the latter years of my childhood. Anyway, my point is that I missed the era when Bo Jackson was basically the sports headline every day of the year. It's baseball season? Bo is gonna crush it, and dive spectacularly for a ball. It's football season? Yeah, Bo is gonna take off (and bulldoze anyone in his way.) He is only a story to me, a legend that is only here in whispers of the greatest feats ever and some highlights we've had on loop since his hip injury. I missed watching the greatest athlete ever, but enjoyed every second of people telling me what I missed. If you didn't catch Bo the first time around, or if you did and it's been too long since you thought about it or saw some highlights, do yourself a favor and watch You Don't Know Bo. It's on Netflix, along with the other 30 for 30's, but it is also broken down on youtube. So, let's begin at the beginning, shall we? Also, I want to get to more Mets stuff later, though there is a possibility I won't because of Passover (Good Yontif to my fellow Jewish brethren.) If I am not able to post more today, expect a Metsian post of some sort by the morning. OH! ...And opening day is in A WEEK!!!!!!!
For all of you watching this World Baseball Classic...it IS, right?
For those not watching or waiting for the USA to take off today... C'MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHN!!!!! That was an amazing game to watch live. You could tell early on how far Italy's pitching still has to go, but they held their own against a solid Mexican lineup. Instead of watching how much the Dominican team dominated the Venezuelan team in a rain-delayed game, let's check out what made this game REALLY AWESOME. Then came the Dutch Cuban game. I'm kinda flipping out about this Netherlands team, you guys. Dutch. Authentic Dutch. The next game I did not stay up or wake up for the 5 AM start time, but it went 4 hours and 47 minutes. When I woke up around 8 it was in the 8th. And we have a break till 5:30 this afternoon*, when Puerto Rico takes on Spain. It's the first time in the tournament for the Spanish, so I'm looking forward to gauging what kind of baseball they play over there. It appears by the competitive balance of the tournament that baseball is developing more around the world. So, it'll be interesting to see where Spain currently stands. USA and Mexico face each other tonight at 9 PM EST. Get geared up for that. And the Mets are playing today, but that is not televised or on the radio. (And did you say too much, George?)
Anyway, enjoy the rest of your day, everybody.
Watch a lot of our sport later.
THIS. WORLD. BASEBALL. LET'S. GO. METS.
*correction: Canada and Italy at 2:00 PM today. We'll talk about them more tomorrow.
Today is This Kid's birthday. It also happens to be a new acquaintance's birthday. And it happens to be something we call Valentine's Day as well, but has meant more to me over the years as a good friend's birthday. Only once can I remember getting somebody a Valentine's Day gift that will have a long-term effect on that person, even though we might not be together anymore. So, to all those people who have shared your Day with the "designated" day of love...
Every year, my birthday (Feb 9) means more than just another year old for me. Usually, within a week's time, Pitchers and Catchers report, and many people across this land take a huge breath at the site of their favorite players just playing catch. This year, I (and legions of other Met fans) only have to wait 4 days after February 9th for Pitchers and Catchers in the Mets organization to report to Port Saint Lucie, mainly because of the World Baseball Classic. As per usual, I am tired of the offseason chatter. I want games, and I'm sure most of you do too.
I feel as if I should say that year-round. "Happy baseball." Most people would look at me funny, if they don't already when I open my mouth. But that's me. That's what I feel like saying. I have no idea what it means...
But its what I want people to have.
As I've mentioned on here before, baseball is my religion.
And while culturally I am Jewish, my Dad was a Christian and my mother is of the Hebrew faith. As I entered true human consciousness (after that crazy phase where you make funny faces constantly, all while taking in the world for the first time ever and not remembering one single moment where you first learned all that human stuff...very sorry for the digression) I looked at that Santa Claus guy and basically said, "NO WAY I'm going to live in a world where I don't get to enjoy THAT." And my parents, each reformed in their own religions, ate up the holiday season with me.
(And had Santa always looked like that up there, I probably would have become a Mets fan a lot sooner.)
My Dad eventually converted to Judaism though.
"Does this mean we have to stop celebrating Christmas?"
'Cause when it comes down to it, I guess I'm more American than anything. And the Christmas we know today is a grand American invention taken from many old traditions, and some new ones that aren't as old as we all think they are. And I love it. I love the warmth of the Holiday season, the lights and the city, the food and the family. And the music. Oh, man, the music is awesome. (And, let's be honest, probably written by a bunch of Jews.)
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