Met Game

A good friend and his wife treated my wife and me to a Met game today. He had a share in season tickets in a primo space: first section, behind home plate (netting above us). These were corporate boxes but for rinky-dink tri-state companies you'd never heard of ("Bob's Glass & Roofs," "The Jersey Clam Hut, LLC"). The day was sunny and in the 70s. Perfect! Except that the Mets play like sick nuns.

Note, my baseball knowledge is leaky and weak but I have a good "Sicknunnometer" and it was ringing so much I put it on vibrate. Still, I loaded up at the kosher food stand. One of each ... for under 30 dollars! Not bad for lunch for 2. Especially when lunch is oily and in earth tones.

Side note, ever think about what the team names would be like if you translated them into another language and then translated them back? It'd be the New York Municipals vs. the Montreal Trade Fairs! Or the New York Subways (which would make sense, mind you).

As usual with Met games, the peripherals were more entertaining than most of the gameplay. The fans getting whacked with foul balls, the best job in the world (the guys who shoot T-shirts from a cannon) followed by the worst job in the world (Mr. Met Ball Head). A wonderful time was had by all.