For me, the outing was more a sentimental journey rather than a ballgame experience. You see, the first ballgame I went to was also to see the Mets. It was at their original home, Shea Stadium. I couldn't tell you who they were playing, but I remember that Tom Seaver was the pitcher. Lucky, huh? But even luckier for me was that my dad took me and my best friend, Jenn. My dad taught me the rules and Jenn taught me to watch the batter's butt as he wiggled it before taking a hitting stance. That's the difference right there between a girl and a boy's observation in sports.
The game we took our boys to was supposed to start at 7:10 pm and wouldn't you know it - at exactly 7:09 the skies opened up and it was raining cats and dogs. Spectators were directed to the stands indoors until the weather cleared. A bad start? Not really. You can't dampen a kid's spirit, especially when they're with their friends. They saw it as an opportunity to play. We parents took the opportunity to talk, gather and drink beer at inflated prices.
I have to say, eight bucks a beer isn't too bad but five dollars for a tiny bag of Cracker Jacks? Where do these vendors get their prices - La Guardia airport?
The downpour lasted about twenty minutes. Thanks to all the iPhone-Blackberry-Android clad Dads, we got the minute-by-minute weather report.
"This too, shall pass." They said. And it did.
Once the game was underway, at 8:10 pm, I tried to explain the rules to my six-year old. He looked bright-eyed and interested, not dull and confused like he usually does when I'm trying to explain something. But his questions weren't at all pertinent to what I had just told him.
"Okay, now that pitch was a ball because it wasn't in the strike zone - four balls and the batter walks. You got it?"
He nodded his head. "Can I have a pretzel?"
|In front of Citi Field|
|Waiting for the rain to stop|
|The sun gets a thumbs up|
|Peace, friends and baseball|
|Let's ask for a hot dog|
|Looking at fireflies instead of the game|