I find myself in the rarest of rare situations in that I feel like I have…nothing to write about. What else can be said except: Ok, Pedro’s out. Let’s see what happens. I mean, isn’t that just it in a nutshell?
Still…I’d be remiss in my blogging duties if I didn’t pause to take a moment to consider what might be the prototypical paradigm of what I will dub The Samson Effect. In other words: Pedro Martinez, I never, ever thought I would say this, but maybe you should consider growing back your hair in the off season. You know, because of its obvious special powers and all.
Back in April, I was so overjoyed. There Rob and I were at the pre-opening warm up, watching the blessed boys exercise their hearts out in preparation for the next day’s season opener. And lo and behold–oh heavens yes!–Pedro Martinez had chopped off that painfully unattractive mop of saggy jehri curl. I think I actually screamed out "Yay haircut!"
But who knew? Who could have foretold! Pedro’s powers–his very health–was locked in that hair. Those slick, greasy strands held the secrets to his toe, his hip, his very legs in their hanging curls.
There’s no avoiding it. Pedro, babi. Grow back the mojo.
See, I’m all excited. Because a very generous, and slightly crazy, Rob decided he and I had to be there for you at every Shea game of the post-season. Now, whenever I think of sitting in our third-row loge seats, I feel butterflies in my tummy. About a week ago, those butterflies were the kind where you can’t believe how lucky you are. The kind where you think you’re about to see the most amazing, uplifting event ever. And you’ll be sharing it with a stadium of over 50,000 people.
Boys? I’m nervous. Pedro? You’re starting in eight minutes. And I’m hoping I won’t have to watch with my hands over my face.
We need this one. Obviously not because it means anything within the division, but because of where your heads need to be come next week. You need the confidence. The swagger. You need Pedro and Jose Reyes goofing around in the dugout. And you need to believe with every play that you can win this thing. If a win with Pedro on the mound is what it takes? Then please, Pedro, turn this month around for us. Okay, amigo?
To come so far. To feel such excitement, such gratitude. To have it all fizzle away would be heartbreaking for all of us. Whatever you need to do, Mets, to get back to where you’ve been. Please, please get there.
You know, quickly.
Thanks, guys! Love you!
I’m glad that Saturday’s game was my last of the regular season at Shea. For the most part, it turned out to be a delightful day. Maine didn’t pitch his best ever, but the offense turned it up like it hasn’t much in the past couple weeks and cranked out 12 runs to win the game against the Nationals.
You should for sure check out the whole photo album, because I caught some great shots of the on field action.
Which brings me to the not so fun. Oh, God. Seeing Nick Johnson collide in a squirmworthy injury that we would later find out is a fractured femur? Ouch, is all I can say. It was tough to watch. But because the injury occured right in front of us, I got some really good pictures of the poor guy. Skip past that part of the album if you just don’t want to see the pain.
After the game, Rob and I waited on line for the clubhouse store because there was a certain–sigh–Kids’ long sleeved t-shirt that I’d admired in the dugout shops but hadn’t been able to find in a Medium. While that shirt remains lost to me, I did purchase a SUPERB kids jersey to wear post-season. And I took a moment to pose with my man (erm…my other man) Cliff Floyd.
Which brings me to the most fun part of the day! After waiting on line for so long and (frustratingly) trying on so many poor fitting women’s shirts (I know, I know. Dead horse, I’ve beaten you senseless), it was quite late by the time Rob and I sauntered out of Shea. And–who knew?–when we got to the Mets Office exit, there was a group of people waiting to see who would come out.
Clearly I had to make Rob wait to see if any of our beloved Metsies would cross the threshold. And clearly because a) Rob is everything generous and good, and wants nothing more than to make me happy and b) Rob’s life would have been a living **** if he had said I couldn’t wait, we waited there a goooooood long time. But it was worth it!
You can see all the people we saw at the end of the album, including (in chronological order) Nats manager and hall of famer Frank Robinson, our own Omar Minaya (!), Michael Tucker, and Chris Woodward’s cute-as-anything daughter, his super nice wife, and his generous, smiley, good-hearted self. I haven’t given Chris Woodward much credit this season, but the guy’s been playing injured, he had a great game Saturday, and he and his wife sought out kids and fans outside the Mets Office to give them a little something extra special after the game. Every single fan outside couldn’t stop exclaiming how lovely Woody and his wife were.
And his daughter? Oh my GOD she’s cute. She must be about 3 or 4, and you can tell she adores (and resembles!) her daddy. While Woody was signing, all smiles, she would hide behind the door to the Mets Office, opening it a crack and yelling "Daddy, look what I can do!" Then when he turned around, she closed the door to hide herself inside again. DYING of cuteness.
After Woody, and also in the album, we saw Mota and one of the Wilpons.
All in all, it was a perfect way to end a (mostly) wonderful day at Shea.
Now (almost) on to post-season!
And come on, Mets. Let’s get our game back on right and give it everything.
I think that’s who this is (in blue shirt). We like him!
Their father is watching, saying he’s “got goosebumps.” It was Woody’s wife who waved the girls over for a picture. She’s as nice as he is! A truly giving, sweet couple.
She has his chin, and she is the cutest little girl you could see.
He signs and smiles and poses for pics and smiles.