It's a dreary, rainy day. For the working people of the world, the fact that it is also a Monday adds "injury to insult". Retired from my "day" job, I no longer have to experience Mondays...but it still took me hours to get home from Manhattan today, and I arrived soaked to the bone and feeling very irritable.
I decided that I would just relax for the rest of the afternoon...as for this evening, were the Mets playing? I discovered they were in Pittsburgh, playing a mediocre Pirate team. The Mets had a rough weekend up in Toronto, lost two out of three to the Jays, The victories have been hard to come by the last week or so. But the No Name Mets are still working hard, still entertaining. I was looking forward to tonight's game. Question...was it raining out in Pittsburgh?Rain...and the Mets...a few examples come to mind...
The very first Mets game in history was rained out. The team had to wait twenty-four hours to begin their epic journey into history. The following night the opposition Cardinals scored the first run against the Mets. It scored when the Mets opening day starter - Roger Craig - committed a balk. It figured...
When Shea Stadium opened in 1964 the sidewalks still weren't all finished. (Preparations were so rushed, even the outfield walls were being painted practically up until the first pitch.) My Dad took my brother and myself to a Mets-Giant game in early May. Naturally it rained (almost right up until game time). I still remember wading through the muddy mess outside the stadium on our way to our seats. And trying to scrape the mud off my soggy sneakers between pitches.
In 1972 my family was living out in Suffolk County. I took the railroad into Brooklyn and tried to convince some of my old friends to go to that afternoon's Met-Giant game. (Living out in Suffolk - I didn't often get the opportunity to go to a live Met game.) It turned out my friends were more interested in walking over to Kings Highway and trying to meet some girls. I hadn't traveled fifty miles to experience rejection - I could do that back home in Suffolk County - so I took the subway out to Shea by myself. I purchased a Mets Yearbook, a scorecard, a hot dog and a beer and settled into my seat. I was looking forward to the game. It had been a beautiful morning and both teams were playing well, By the beginning of the sixth inning - with the Mets winning - the heavens opened up. Not just rain. Sheets of rain. I retreated to the shelter of the grandstand. And waited. And waited some more. Half-hour. An hour. An hour and a half. The crowd started to disperse. Obviously the game had been called by the umpires - and the Mets victorious. I took the subway all the way back to my grandparent's apartment in Brighton Beach. Turning on the television, I started going through all the stations (there weren't very many in those days). I reached Channel Nine - the Mets station - and discovered that the ballgame hadn't been called on account of rain. The sun was shining over Shea Stadium, it was now the ninth inning - and the Giants had the lead!And I had missed the second half of the ballgame.
Fast forward to last season...my daughter, myself and some friends had box seats, fourth row, at Citifield. (A very kind gift from a friend in the corporate sector.) We were looking forward to the game all week. I'd only experienced a baseball game from that vantage point a few times in my life. You can see and hear everything. Of course it started to rain heavily and we retreated into one of the exclusive Citifield clubs to wait out the storm. Once we escaped the rain we discovered Dwight Gooden - Dr. K - sitting on a stool, chatting with the public and signing autographs. The line to speak to him closed right before we arrived - but it was still great to be so close to one of the icons of the mid-eighties Mets. When the rain stopped and the game began, we saw arguably the most entertaining Mets game of the season - five home runs in Citifield!
And - finally - there was the Mets, the rain - and the man I call "The Avenger of Edenn". (Also the subject of my song by that name on the CD "In Retrospect".) The Avenger and I shared a similar back-story. We were the same age, both from Brooklyn. We both had been summarily yanked out of our native environment in 1969 in the middle of high school by our parents and transported to Suffolk County. Three years later we were now attending the same college - but we actually met while working at a local department store. The Avenger and I compared notes and hit it off right away. (Moving from Brooklyn to Suffolk County in 1969 was akin to entering a time portal at the Woodstock festival and ending up in 1962 Middle America. What we thought our parents had done to us was extremely bonding.)
And- we were both avid Mets fans.
The problem with the Avenger was that his method of dealing with a huge inferiority complex was to be louder than everyone else, be the center of attention - literally drown-out his competitors. (As contrasted with my own remedy, which was to beat everyone to the punch and voluntarily retreat into the backgournd.) The Avenger also demanded - demanded attention, demanded to do things his way - and demanded to be driven. As I got to know him I began to realize he was very self-centered. And I experienced came to known as "the psychic storm"...behavior that was sometimes so manic...it was impossible to deal.
But I'd left all of my friends in Brooklyn. And did not really have anyone to hang out with.
So...came the day in the summer of '73 when we decided to take in a Mets game...the Avenger demanded that I pick him up to go to Shea Stadium. (Even though he lived to the east (further away from Shea Studium, two counties to the west. ) Well...I didn't have a lot of friends. So I dutifully picked the Avenger up in my 1967 Dodge Dart, turned around - and drove out to Shea.
As soon as we hit the Long Island Expressway it started to rain. Hard. I wanted to turn around, go to another game. The Avenger wanted to keep on. He was sure the rain would stop. We continued...and pulled up to the Shea Stadium parking field just in time to find out that the game had been cancelled.
Since we had driven all the way to Queens (about fifty miles) the Avenger suggested that we take the opportunity to visit his grandparents out in Rockaway. Then he wanted to visit his grandmother up in the Bronx. In between he had an old elementary school friend in Brooklyn he wanted to see. And there was a pizza place in the old neighborhood - he just had to go there for dinner. I ended up driving him for miles and miles. In the rain. The Avenger's own personal chauffeur. He didn't even say thanks. Or contribute money towards the gas. At the time I was very insecure (not like today!) and certainly not very articulate, communicative, or assertive. But I wasn't happy - although I kept silent. (And why I put myself into that position?...well, let's just say I have had a lot of therapy. A lot of therapy - more than my share.) Still - the aborted trip out to Shea Stadium was the beginning of the end of my friendship with the Avenger.
We never did get to see a Mets game together.
And by the mid-seventies the Avenger and I were no longer friends. Even though he saved my life once upon a time...
But that's a story for another day.
See you all soon, till then,
Stevenn
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