meet the mets, meet the mets, step right up and greet the mets

When I was five years old I had a crush on a Met named Gary Carter. I can't remember why or how a little girl could become interested in a sports star - nonetheless a baseball player considering how damn slow the game is...but I did. Which may explain how I got to the point now where I consider myself a METS FAN. (yes in capitals and amongst other things, ha)

My Dad's claim to fame. Or rather, the claim to fame we hold my father accountable for is a homerun he hit out of Shea Stadium in '81 during the baseball strike when he was asked to go to spring training for the Mets. My Dad being my Dad lied about his age and figured he wouldn't get very far anyway and declined. He never really talks about it and he doesn't act like he regrets his decision but I can tell you he refused to go to Shea Stadium with M and I when we wanted to go to games.

I love everything about a ballpark. Every. Single. Thing. The smells, the sounds and the anticipation make me turn into a giddy kid.

I don't know when I became so passionate about the Mets. In the past few years since I moved from the south, I definitely enjoyed watching with my Dad and my brother but it was only an occasional thing. My brother would yell at me and tell me I wasn't a real fan because I wouldn't stop my life when a game was on like he would. Their lives revolve(d) around NY sports teams and I was just a casual bystander. You know how people were born into their political views? I was born into a NY sports team family.

My favorite memory so far this year is our first trip up to Citi Field. We were watching the game at field level and we were down by three runs when a player hit a three-run homerun to tie the game. The entire stadium erupted and we jumped up and down like we won the lottery and high fived every stranger and launched into each others arms. I won't forget that day as long as I live. And we didn't cry once because M wasn't there.

Maybe it's because my brother died this year that I've become the fan that he was. Maybe it's a way to bond with my Dad that I was never really able to be apart of. Maybe it's just that I really like baseball. I don't know. All I know is that this year I am catching more games than I ever have. There is nothing more exciting to me than hanging out and watching the game and yelling at the TV. I mean I wear dresses every day and hate ponytails and love handbags and I am twittering entire Mets games like ANYONE else cares. If I can't watch the game - I'm checking the score on my phone. I'm that hot girl you can have a conversation about sports with! It's exciting to realize a new dimension of myself no matter how unimportant.

I love that my team is nicknamed the Amazin's and their motto is 'You Gotta Believe' and that we hate the Phillies so bad it hurts. I love that all the players have so much passion and that they haven't won the World Series a hundred times and we have rookies who can turn a season around and can make an entire fan base feel the same excitement they feel.

Maybe the whole point about me loving baseball is because a whole season's worth of hard work can change in an instant. It's not like a TV show where you can guess the next scene. One minute your team can be number one and the next minute your team can all be injured and your season is down the drain. It's exactly like life except there are cute butts involved. And life is messy and I'd rather my entertainment not try to make me believe otherwise with really convincing dramas and romances and comedies that just make life pale in comparison anyhow.

My Dad says he wants a sign that my brother got to heaven ok. I am pretty convinced M's sign is going to be the Mets getting to the World Series after a slew of terrible years. I'm pretty convinced that M has a spot behind home plate for every game. Bastard.

you don't look a day over fast cars and freedom

This past weekend my friends and I went to an annual country music festival. I will make this clear before they flood me with comments - I WAS THE ONE DYING TO GO. I was whining and chomping at the bit and making grandiose expectations in my head about rolling around in the bed of a pickup. Whatever. That's not the point.

My friends are always up for a fun day drinking some beer and wandering around parking lots so we went.

And there was puke.

And filth.

And violation of personal space.

And penises. (TONS OF THEM. I DON'T KNOW WHY THEY DON'T KEEP THEM TO THEMSELVES.)

The point is, midway through this fiasco my friend S turns to me and says:

"Rachie, I think we're just too old for this shit."

And she was right. We were too old to be amused by dudes puking on themselves and chicks galavanting around wearing more clothes than a newborn child. No I don't want any of your moonshine - you're 14!

I really thought I was going to be able to relax, meet some new people and listen to some good tunes. This is generally what happens when my friends and I are together anyway - I just thought it would be delightful to do it amongst those who like the same terrible music that I do. And I wanted to be transported back to high school for a few hours. Yeah, I said it.

BUT INSTEAD we were irritated and I wound up in (my own) bed at midnight texting all my younger friends and telling them I was available if they needed rides home from wherever they were. Like a Grandma.

I have to defend myself here because I know I usually am cracking on being 25 and how old and lame it is but in this case I really just outgrew the entire situation. Like I outgrew watching Angels in the Outfield twice a day.

It's just one more thing I can cross off my list of Things Not To Do Anymore Because I'm Too Old! Maybe I can add knitting to my repertoire instead????