BRONX, NY –Today is Wednesday May 29th, and this evening I am going out to Queens to watch the New York Mets get destroyed by the Los Angeles Dodgers. Here are my thoughts on this endeavor, the two teams, and baseball in general.
Live Baseball. A couple of weeks ago I went to see some live music with a few friends at Pier 17, down at New York’s South Street Seaport. I’d mention who the bands were, but it didn’t really matter. Being outside on a nice night with people I like—accompanied by amazing views of the Brooklyn Bridge, Empire State Building, and East River—was all I really needed. As I mentioned to one of my friends: “This could be a puppet show and I’d be having a great time.” This is the way I feel about this Mets game tonight. Having a beer and a dog, and catching up with some pals I don’t get to see as much as I’d like, should more than make up for the absolute shellacking the Mets are going to take. Bring it on!
Los Angeles Dodgers. Like a lot of Gen X baseball fans, I have a much better recollection of the Dodgers in the 1970s and ’80s, than I do than, say, the last 35 years or so. I remember Davey Lopes playing second and then Steve Sax, then don’t ask me to name anyone after that. As far as I’m concerned Ron Cey, “The Penguin!,” is still playing third, Steve Yeager is behind the dish (ably backed up by Joe Ferguson), and Steve Garvey’s at first, and not some GOP douche running for the Senate. Speaking of old Dodgers, shouldn’t Tommy John and Fernando Valenzuela both be in the Baseball Hall of Fame? The former because his numbers (288 wins, 3.34 era), and the fact that he has a friggin’ career-saving surgery named after him, warrant it. The latter because, did anyone capture the public imagination the way Fernando did when he broke in? Getting to see him and Doc Gooden pitch back in the mid-80s was something special. He doesn’t have the stats, but I think there should be room in Cooperstown for players that should never be forgotten.
New York Mets. Same as the Dodgers, my heyday with the Mets was many moons ago, back in the days when they had giveaways like Photo Album Day (who didn’t want a picture of Del Unser or Bruce Boisclair on their bedroom wall?) and you could get free tickets by drinking a sh!t ton of Dairylea milk. But, unlike LA, I’ve made the mistake of continuing to follow the Mets. Don’t get me wrong, there have been some truly entertaining moments, especially when Shea was still standing, but far more disappointment. That said, I’ll take the vibe at the new-ish digs in Queens over that of the new-ish digs in the Bronx any day… and I live much closer to the latter. I suppose “lovable losers” is my sports love language. God help me.
Before I sign off, I want to get back to the idea of “memorable baseball players” I discussed earlier. The game is missing a lot of that today. Everyone seems programmed to say and do and look a certain way. Younger fans who think home run bat flips are the height of originality never saw Mark Fidrych manicure the mound on his hands and knees and talk to the ball. They also never saw Oscar Gamble’s afro or Lenny Randle blow a ball foul or Mike Hargrove’s insane batter’s box routine or Dave Parker smoking in the dugout or Rick Dempsey’s rain delay routine or Reggie Jackson and Billy Martin trying to kill each other in the middle of a game. Trust me, if you knew what it was like, you would weep a little for today’s game. Eh, we’ll always have Bartolo’s home run, I suppose.
See ya next week. Buddy Diaz is up next in the order tomorrow.
