Opening Day 2007

Yesterday, I played hooky from work to take my two boys to Shea Stadium for the Mets 2007 Home opener.

Though quite cold for a day in early April, we ventured out for Shea from the Babylon LIRR station where we caught up with a multitude of like-minded Mets fans headed for the game. It was a well-heeled crowd aboard the 10:06AM express to Penn Station, but not exactly a sober group as a bunch of college-aged kids decided to imbibe on $7 six-packs of Bud Light rather than purchase a $7.25 12-ounce bottle of the same stuff at Shea. Who said college kids these days are idiots? (A special thanks goes out to the young man that handed me two of his Bud Lights at Woodside. Free beer always tastes good.)

We arrived at the LIRR Shea Stadium stop at 11:30AM, and already there was a buzz in the air about the game. The parking lots were filling up fast, and with each "7" train that pulled in, hordes of fans poured out into the cold Flushing sunshine.

I could feel the energy all around me. That is until my 12-year old son (call him "12") -- the ever vigilant Yankee fan -- snapped me out of it when he decided to whip off his hoodie, proudly expose his #13 A-Rod jersey, and yell out in his best, puberty-induced, cracked-voice holler, "Let's Go Yankees". I thought I would have to kill a few folks to save him from being mauled, but my 10-year old (call him "10") capably took care of the situation for his fellow Mets fans by throwing a viscous body check on "12" and telling him to "shut the hell up!"

The moment reminded me of the time when my dad took me and my brother Ralph to a Mets game. I don't recall ever getting into a pre-game shoving match then, but I do have some great memories of that game in 1975. Having witnessed 10 and 12's brotherly melee, I would chance that the probability that my dad was also an unintended referee to a pitched shoving match between me and my brother. Thirty-three years later, it only seems fitting that this scene of true brotherly love would be replayed on the outskirts of Shea Stadium in Flushing, NY. Like baseball, shoving matches between siblings is a long-standing tradition and rite of passage for every parent.

We all settled down as soon the game got underway. I purchased a scorecard for "10" so he could keep track of the game, something he did surprisingly well. Pre-puberty boy, "12", proud in the Yankees jersey, was just content to watch the game and try and rile up the Mets fans every time the Phillies did something good. I thought I was going to have to drag him out of the stadium when the Phillies took a 5-3 lead off of Ryan Howard's three-run bomb over the left field fence. Come to think of it, I now ponder the wisdom of letting him go to the men's room on his own considering his attire. "12" could have been his last year had he decided to run his mouth outside the safety of my watchful eye. I guess some people are lucky that way, or I'm not giving "12" enough credit for knowing when to keep his mouth shut.

But then came that fateful moment when the Mets opened up a can of "whup ass" on the Phillies scoring 7 times in the bottom of the eighth to take an 11-5 lead. Me and "10" went nuts, whooping it up with each run scored, joining the other 56,000 fans in the derisive chant of the Phillies shortstop's name -- JIMMY ROLLINS!!!! JIMMY ROLLINS!!!!. This is what we came to see! A Mets win on a glorious (but cold) afternoon. What was "12's" reaction to all this? Read on:

12: Ah, but how many World Series have the Mets won?

Me: Two. But so what? They're only as good as the year they're won in.

12: Yeah, but the Yankees have won 26 and have been in it 39 times.

Me: Oh would you just shut up about that? Can't you just be happy for us for once?

12: Let's go Phillies!!!!!

Some people are just incorrigible. He has to get that from his mother because that trait can't possibly  come from me. Can it? Really? Nah! No way!

The Mets closer, Billy Wagner closed out the game in quick order (a "1-2-3" inning) and by 5:00PM we were rolling back to Woodside on the LIRR; the first leg of a long train ride back to our home in Lindenhurst. When we finally got home, all of the shoving and yelling that transpired was forgotten with a succinct, "We had a great time, Mom!" That's when it hit me -- this is the moment when all the stupid little shit that two brothers do at baseball games disappears into the ether. Of course, they're going to tell mom that they were little angels! Did she believe them? Of course not! But why let pesky details ruin a great day with their dad? You'll hear no complaints from me. I got to watch the Mets win and drank two free beers. What dad can forget that?