Once again, Last Night's Podcast...but EMBEDDED.

I know I have linked this a bunch of times, but for some reason it took me this long to realize I can embed The Rising Apple Report. So, without further adieu, I give you Episode 8 - A Gal for all Seasons Joins The Rising Apple Report:

(...and if you missed Julian's Kid of the Week, either scroll down, or click this link.)

LET'S. GO. METS.

Thanks for reading! Follow me on Twitter @convertedmetfan. And for Rising Apple twitter updates, click here.

Julian's Kid of the Week

If you haven't heard the podcast yet, here it is, a fantastic show.


With the unfortunate 1-year anniversary having recently passed, Julian and his father felt this would be an appropriate Met of the week.

And rightfully so.

And now, because we have to laugh sometimes in the face of death, I present to you the best edited extremely-cheesy video ever (also linked here.)

GARY. CARTER.
LET'S. GO. METS.

Thanks for reading! Follow me on Twitter @convertedmetfan. And for Rising Apple twitter updates, click here.

A Million-dollar Smile in my Old Neck of the Woods

I can't believe it went completely over my head yesterday, but February 16 was the one-year anniversary of the death of The Kid. Two days later, I wrote the following, which I believe says much more about my feelings towards the man than anything I could ever write today.


As the eulogies poured out over the internet the last day and a half, I didn't feel I could add anything to the pot. I never saw Gary Carter play, let alone in his prime. My experience of Gary Carter is from reruns, and I can only go off what others say they saw in the man in person. But as I read all there is to read around the internet about The Kid, I remembered an article I read a couple weeks ago that I believe says it best about the man.

Down the street and to the right of Palm Beach Atlantic University was my 293 Cordova Road home in West Palm Beach, Florida from 1991 to 1995. Gary Carter was the manager for this school's baseball team recently, and a couple weeks ago he made his final public appearance on opening day for the Sailfish. He looked frail, sitting in the golf cart as everyone approached him. While his body struggled for survival, life was filled throughout his being, and that Million-Dollar Smile that lit up so many photographs and an ivory soap commercial wasn't going anywhere.

He is not only filled with life, he fills everyone around him with life. No matter how close to death he is, he and nobody around him is going to let his sickness ruin loving life and every day you have, because that is what it is all about. And while unfortunately he could only stay 3 innings, the Sailfish won 3-2 in the 9th inning, a win The Kid I'm sure was proud of.

I don't know about you, but I think of death every day. I believe it keeps me grounded and less angry and helps put things in perspective. And we all think of it more when such a fantastic life is cut short. But that smile, that smile that irked so many players in the 70's and 80's, that is what it is all about. Love life and every minute of it, and always strive to make yourself better, always strive to evolve, no matter your age. And while we all need to vent sometimes, we should more often than not have that same smile on our face that The Kid has. Because life is awesome. And so is Number 8.

LET'S. GO. METS.

Remembering 8 on August 8

The Kid popped into my mind today. I wish I could have seen him play, but I am blessed (and, to an extent, cursed, but that's a different discussion) to live in a time where Gary Carter highlights are at my fingertips. I discovered, however, that there are lots and lots of cheesy Gary Carter tribute videos, using the likes of "Dream On," "I Will Remember You," and a REALLY REALLY cheesy song from '89 which got me hilariously aghast at its usage. All I really wanted was an At Bat, or a play at the plate. Something short. Or Highlights strung together with only the crowd and the original television broadcasters as noise (no Michael Bolton cheese, please.) Then...I found this.

Let's find us a Catcher.

LET'S. GO. METS.

I just couldn't help it.*

 

*In no way, shape or form does Converted Mets Fan endorse When I see You Smile by Bad English. This is for comedic purposes only. Although, it is awesomely cheesy 80's. Plus, I thought it was quite awesome (word of the day) how well the Mets highlights were edited to the...echem...lyrics.

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Life's Too Short and We're All Gonna Die, But For Now, We Have the Mets

It's easy to poke fun at a sentence like that, and many people have poked fun at that type of sentimentality. "If I'm going to die one day, why waste my time on the Mets? And why waste my time on something like baseball? Why bother with sports in general? Doesn't it just add unnecessary stress?" The last one I have thought about, especially standing in the upper deck while the Mets have loaded the bases, still an out away from having the rally be for naught. Had Daniel Murphy not gotten the tying hit, had David Wright not gotten the winning one, had the entire thing been for naught the way it was a night later against the Cubs, I still would have sat there, looking out at the baseball diamond thinking it's the most beautiful image in the world, knowing that win or lose, I had fun.

'Cause this is what we signed up for. This is why we love this team, and this is why we love this game. How much sweeter is 2012 after having gone through 2006 to 2010? (How much sweeter was the no-hitter having gone through 50 years of 1-hitters?) Every time the Mets have won a ring, they came from outta nowhere. From 2006-2009, they were the "team to beat"... and people beat them. "You Gotta Believe" is the identity of this franchise. We want them to be consistent and they appear to be on their way, from changing "You Gotta Believe" into "Believe it," but nobody ever picked the Mets to win the World Series, or even go to one, at the beginning of the seasons they have won it or have gone there. And the year people probably did pick them to at least make it to the World Series, they had to pull off one of the greatest comebacks in the history of sports to win the trophy. That appears to be the narrative of this franchise. And I love watching it day in and day out.

I believe in the spirituality of baseball. I do not follow a religion (I identify myself culturally as Jewish), though I find God in my own particular ways, one being through the sanctuaries that house the diamonds. Baseball unfolds as life does in front of us, and we bend the happenings to fit into a particular narrative we believe we see unfolding, or we want to see unfolding. That is how the Curse of the Bambino was written. And while we have our role in the scripture, other outside forces, whether just luck or happenstance, add to the mystic nature of the game: Babe Ruth gets traded, Bucky Dent cracks a homer, Bill Buckner let's it get away, Bernie Williams walks off in game 1, and Aaron Boone wins it off the Knuckler. After A-Rod gets traded to the Yankees (changing his number from 3 to 13 because a certain Yankees' retired digits), the Letter B starts coming through for the Red Sox instead of against them mid-series. All of a sudden, Mark Bellhorn starts getting big hits for the Sox, and 86 years of momentum shifts, leading the Red Sox to beat the Yankees in game 7 at the stroke of midnight (clearly Bellhorn was not the only player factor...I'm just sayin'...The B's!) They have to take on a franchise in the Cardinals who beat them in 7 games TWICE. This time, however, the Red Sox sweep them in 4 games. The last out they need is in the form of Number 3 Edgar Rentaria, and once they get Number 3 out, the Curse of Number 3 will be lifted underneath a full, red harvest moon in St. Louis. This is the type of stuff we writers are supposed to come up with. But there is no way to fix THAT type of narrative.

A spiritual interpretation can be found through a happening in this current Mets season as well. At the beginning of the year, the catcher of the last Mets World Championship passed what felt like much too soon. At the end of Johan's no-hitter, the Mets had 8 hits and 8 runs, and some guy in a Number 8 Carter jersey felt inclined to run out onto the field to join in the celebration. Call it a coincidence, call it whatever you want, but the idea there is something else to it just makes me smile. It adds to the intrigue. It makes me smile that for as long as humans exist and, in turn, as long as humans follow the game and the New York National League Baseball Fans follow the Mets, a Gary Carter Number 8 Jersey will be in the celebration images of a game that lifted a huge burden off every individual attached to this team. What's wrong with thinking Gary Carter's spirit helped them along like Angels in the Outfield? It adds to the smile (and the hope of something else after this world.)

I love baseball. I love the way the field sprawls out in front of me when I'm right behind home plate. I love the layout of the players on the field. I love the smoothness of the game. The way the ground ball goes into the shortstop's glove and the rhythm in which he gathers it and throws to get the runner by a millisecond. I love how majestic the game looks, whether it be the turning of a double play or the simple swing of a bat. The way an outfielder times his jump perfectly to come together with the ball just when the ball was going to come together with the other side of the wall. I love every aspect of this game, and I love that I was destined to root for the Metsies. If they don't win, it's a low-down shame.

I love the New York Mets. I love hearing about Bud Harrelson and Cleon Jones, and how Gil Hodges turned all those boys into men who can compete. I love Todd Pratt's home run and Robin Ventura's home run, and Piazza's home run and Agbayani's home run. And Endy's catch (in the moment it happened.) I love the New Mets. I love the bad Mets. I love that I'll know who Omar Quintanilla is in 20 years. I love this franchise, I love that baseball is the thing I have decided to surround myself with in my life, and I love the 2012 New York Mets.

This squad has taken us on a classic amazin' ride so far. And even in all of that, we know they could have done better. But that's life, and that's baseball (couldn't help the metaphor and cliché). Sometimes you get the game-winning hit, sometimes you line up the middle into a game-ending double play. The patterns of the Mets' history show that it makes perfect sense for them to be just on the cusp instead of alone in 1st at the break. Even when the Mets were the dominators of baseballs, they had to chip away to win the championship. That what this team does. They chip away. 

The Mets could win it all this year. They could win it all next year, they might never win it all again (with the definition of "never" varying depending on the life-span of each individual.) Regardless, the Mets and players such as RA Dickey have taught me to take everything in stride. To learn from your mistakes. Grow from the moments perceived as failures. If you have patience, hard work and dedication, good things will happen. Be humble. Don't celebrate before it's over (like the Red Sox of '86 were doing in the visiting dugout of Shea.)

I'm not sure how my story, your story, the human story or the Orange and Blue story will end. And uncertainty brews fear. But however it goes, I know I'm going to have a whole lotta fun watching baseball and the Mets from now until then.

And hopefully, more often than not, the images we see resemble the image below.

Love life. And Let's Go Mets.

LET'S. GO. METS.

Thanks for reading! Follow me on Twitter @convertedmetfan. And for Rising Apple twitter updates, click here.

My First Opening Day

"They're a little bothered that people don't think we're very good." 

                                         --Terry Collins

Yesterday morning, I woke up with the largest smile on my face. The event I had been waiting for since the 3-0 win over Cincinnati had finally arrived. None of the negativity that has surrounded this team through the offseason mattered anymore. On April 5, the only thing that mattered was that a baseball game that actually counts would be played. And my girlfriend and I would be there thanks to a birthday gift from my aunt, uncle and cousin.

Decked out in my Mets jacket, and with my camera in hand, we hopped on the N train in Astoria to Queensboro Plaza and caught the 7. The local appeared to be the only thing that was running at the time, which ended up being a pleasant surprise, for I was able to get some nice shots of Queens along the way.

Now that I live in the borough, I have noticed that Queens is a hot bed for graffiti. Besides the 5 Pointz Aerosol Art Center, there is plenty of graffiti lining the buildings along the 7 line route. I had seen it before, but recently I bought a massive coffee table book called Subway Art, and have since taken a fascination in the ways of the aerosol. Some of it is vandalism, some of it is art, and which is which and what is what is completely up to the interpretation of the viewer.

 

As these buildings passed us, I glanced in front of me and saw, peering over the many Queens apartments, the Citi we've been waiting for. 

When we finally arrived, what a sight for sore eyes the packed, sun-drenched Citi Field Plaza was. It might have been a little chillier near the water, but no worries. There would soon be baseball to warm us up.

When we found our seats right behind home plate in the upper deck, we saw an even awesomer sight for sore eyes: Mr. Johan Santana, warming up in right field.

The usual opening day ceremonies I had seen on TV in years past were fantastic. Our Pelfing Bag Mike and the training staff got the loudest boos in the introductions (other than the Atlanta Braves) and Ike Davis, David Wright, RA Dickey and the Mets massage therapist got the loudest ovations. After that, it was the late Number 8's turn to shine. (He was before my time, but couple days after his death, I wrote about what Gary Carter means to me.) Howie Rose serenaded us with the memory of our Kid, and after a moment of silence, the Carter Family unveiled a memorial for Gary on the newly blue, left-center field wall in the image of the patch the Mets will wear throughout the season.

After the National Anthem (a song I cannot hear without thinking of baseball) the Carter Family threw out the ceremonial first pitches to Ron Darling, Keith Hernandez, Daryl Strawberry and Mookie Wilson. After that, it was time to play ball.

As Johan Santana took the mound in the crisp new/old jersey, the ballpark was filled with anticipation and anxiety. He had not taken a major league mound in a year and a half, and everyone was pumped to see how he would perform, none more than Johan himself. He is a very smart and professional pitcher, and he didn't let his nerves destroy his levelheadedness.

Except for a hiccup of a single (there goes the no-hitter in Mets game #7,969) Johan breezed through the first inning, inducing a ground out, a fly ball to right field and strike out of Dan Uggla. Overall, Johan pitched an excellent 5 innings, giving up only two hits and 2 walks. Those two walks came in the 5th inning, when looking up at his pitch count (he was on a strict 80-90 pitch limit) we could see he was running out of a little steam at around 75 pitches, which was understandable given his situation. After a double and the 2 walks to load the bases, Michael Bourn took the count to 3-1. We were nervous, but got behind Santana more than at any point throughout the day, with a "Let's Go Mets" chant reverberating around the ballpark. He got a strike on a fastball at Bourn's knees, and then, to the extreme delight of the everyone in the building, got him to chop the ball directly back to the mound. With everybody elated, Santana tossed a high throw over to Ike, who leaped ever so slightly before coming down on the base for the out.

It was a good ol' fashion pitcher's duel, as the Mets offense couldn't get a lick off the Braves starter Tommy Hanson. They only had 2 hits through the 6th inning, and around that time, I looked up at the scoreboard and saw that the 4 other games being played around that time were all scoreless as well. Who would be the first team to score? 

Andres Torres started the 6th off with a walk. Daniel Murphy then singled and Andres Torres showed off the speed and energy we brought him here for by racing from 1st to 3rd (more on that energy soon.) David Wright then stepped in and, much to the delight of all of us, swung at Tommy's first helping, singling to left field for the first major league run of the day.

Tommy Hanson, coming back from surgery as well, was done after that. Unfortunately, the Mets couldn't plate any more runs in the inning (with runners on, Jason Bay ironically got under a ball and hit it right in front of the new wall in left-center) and we carried a 1-0 lead into the 7th.

In that inning, with Ramon Ramirez on the mound (brought over in the Angel Pagan trade along with Andres Torres), a Brave hit a ball to right-center field that looked catchable if Torres were to extend and dive for it. He did extend, but it went over his glove and to the wall for a double. He came up awkward and started walking towards the dugout as Ray Ramirez, the head trainer, started jogging towards him. Turned out Torres strained his left calf, the same muscle he strained just two weeks ago. Andres Torres takes medication for ADHD, and going off of my own personal experience with ADHD pills, I wondered in this Rising Apple post whether his ADHD medicine might be a reason he keeps having these strains. Clearly, there is not one definitive reason why an athlete would keep having these types of injuries, but having experienced what it feels like to be treated for the diagnosis for 20 years of my life, I think the medicine could be one of the things that aids the strains.

With the Braves bats quiet but the Mets bats less so, we were treated to a first look of the revamped bullpen. After Ramon Ramirez, Tim Byrdak made his debut less than 4 weeks after knee surgery and looked real sharp. That man is a freak of nature, and he needs to grow his horseshoe back. Byrdak gave way to Jon Rauch, who struggled during the spring but progressed as March gave way to April. He pitched a solid 8th inning, setting the save up for our brand-spanking new closer, Frank Francisco.

The Mets got some runners on in the 8th inning, and we so desperately wanted them to get a little insurance for our 9th inning man. But alas, they left the bases loaded against Johnny Venters, and Frankie came out of the bullpen needing to hold a 1-0 lead.

Francisco struggled during the spring as well, and had a knee scare the last couple of days. An MRI turned out negative, and here he was trying to prove to the Citi Faithful he was the right man for the job.

The first out was a high chopper to second, and Ronny Cedeño, who had just entered the game as a defensive replacement to Murph, handled it with care and threw the Brave out at first. The second out was a grounder to short, handled very nicely by Ruben Tejada to throw the Brave out at first as well. The 42,000 of us rose to our feet, erupting with "Lets Go Mets."

The new Frankie quickly got 2 strikes on the batter, and, as loud as ever, we willed him to tomahawk the Brave.

With that, he swung on and missed, and all of us went crazy in the elation of the 1-0 Mets win.

All in all, what an awesome experience this first game was. Every year, baseball finds a way to feel fresher than ever to me, and this opening day was nothing short of that. We will be traveling back out to Citi Field to see RA Dickey make his 2012 debut on Saturday at 1:10 PM. My RA Dickey Blue throwback jersey will be making it's 2012 Citi Field debut as well.

LET'S. GO. METS.

The Exhausted Newbie

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The Right Thing Done Right

The Mets have gotten so many things wrong over the last 10 years, I actually questioned (As Greg Prince of Faith and Fear in Flushing can attest to) whether or not The Mets would wear Number 8 on their sleeves this year (and this coming from somebody, as you have seen since my first post, is filled with optimism.) He assured me they would do the right thing, referencing other times in mourning over the last 10 years they have worn the number of the deceased family member on their sleeves.

When The Mets released the above image yesterday, it was more than just a bittersweet moment. Just wearing number 8 would have sufficed, but writing "Kid 8" in a silhouetted home plate is truly the Right Thing Done Right in memory of Gary Carter.

It is amazing that The Mets have trained me to automatically think they are not going to "get it." I look forward to the day when my first thought in matters such as these isn't filled with cynicism. The team shows me more and more every day that they "get it."

You know, except for that whole chopper thing.

(Which isn't actually such a big deal.)

2011 Photo of the Day: A Win in Blue

Rest in peace, Kid.

I never got a chance to see him play, but all I've heard of the guy is how much of an outstanding human being he was. And all the clips clearly show he was a baseball talent above the rest. While he was taken what seems to be too soon, we should celebrate his life and all learn from it. How to handle ourselves and how to have fun.

And so we march on...

Kid