The day before the MLB postseason began, I shook my good pal Scott Reingâs hand and we made a bro-oath, a broath, that if the Mets made it to the World Series, weâd make the trip to an away game. In case you live under a rock or have no regard for what is important to me personally, you probably know the Mets, despite being the Mets, made it to the World Series.
For no other reason that weâd lose respect for each other and ourselves if we didnât follow through on our broath, we followed through.Â
We decided to go to game one because Scott and I agreed that âthereâs only one game one.â Which sounds good until you think that thereâs only one game two, one game three, one game four, etc. To save money, we planned on this trip all taking place in 24 hours. We would not be staying over night in Kansas City, Missouri, the city that never sleeps in, the city that is always early to rise and go to bed early, Kansas City, Missouri.Â
In another effort to save money, we didnât fly to KC directly, we flew from NYC to Chicago then from Chicago to Omaha then drove three hours to KC (and did the same thing on the way back). Well, it wasnât all just to save money, it was also because taking 4 planes and driving 6 hours to see a baseball game is funny.Â
The day before we left, The New York Post caught ear of our trip and asked to interview Scott about it. Scott then asked them if they wanted to interview me too, which they did, but I declined. I didnât want the attention (for once in my life). The fact that I didnât want the attention will come into play later.
I met Scott at Laguardia at 5:45 AM on Tuesday, 10/27 for our 7AM flight to Chicago. We were head to toe in Brooklyn Dodger Blue and New York Giantâs Orange, the colors of the New York Mets. From privacy-violating airport security all the way to our seats on the plane, we were met with smiles that washed away downtrodden New York City faces accompanied by a quick shout of âLetâs go Mets!â
Then we landed in Chicago for our one hour layover until our flight to Omaha, where we were met by Cubs fans who have never known happiness, joy, or what it feels like to be not overweight. Everyone was nice enough though, we mostly encountered fans disappointed in the Cubs for having lost to the Mets than they were angry at the Mets for beating the Cubs. While my heart goes out to them, they can totally eat my ass. It should also be on record that I ate a McDonaldâs âBig Breakfastâ at the airport during our layover. I ordered it without knowing what it consisted of. I was not disappointed. It includes mad McDonalds breakfast foods, which is what you want (I didnât eat the eggs that came with it though because they looked like a yellow version of fake dog doo-doo that you buy at Spencerâs Gifts, Spencerâs Gifts, Proud Sponsor of Mamaâs Good Boy).
Moments after we took our seats for our flight to Omaha, a Flight Attendant made an announcement on the loudspeaker saying there were two Mets fans on the flight and we were immediately booâd by everyone.Â
On our walk to pick up our rental car in the Eppley Airport in Omaha (home of the $4 8.6 ounce Red Bull), we ran into more baseball fans asking us if we were going to the game. Iâd say in the 24 hour period this all went down, at least 50 different people started conversations with us about baseball. It was so cool. After we were upsold on a rental car by a very nice seemingly trustworthy man, we hit the road.
By the way, we still didnât have tickets to the game yet at this point. Scott was in charge of travel and I was in charge of tickets. Throughout all this, I was constantly monitoring ticket prices on Stubhub. On Friday, 10/23 Standing room only tickets for this game wouldâve run us $600 a piece. I knew that if weâd hold out to buying our tickets as close to game time as possible the prices would be much cheaper, but itâs risky. But hey, snake it till you make it, dude.
After a three hour drive, at about 4:00 PM, we arrived at Jack Stackâs Barbecue to eat steaks for lunch like weâre made of hundreds of dollars or something, the cheapest tickets were at $375. But those were the worst seats in the house. My goal was to get us as close to the game as possible for under $400 bucks. At this time, field level seats were about $800 (on 10/23, they were in the $1500 range). Jack Stackâs was lousy with Mets fans who I assumed found this place through yelp, just like I did. We sat next to one at the bar when we ate. He was wearing a Matt Harvey jersey and he was as annoying as he was wearing a Matt Harvey Jersey. Towards the end of our meal, a middle aged couple went up to him, complimented him on his jersey, then said something else as they left and he ran out after them. Turns out, they complimented him because they were Matt Harveyâs parents. The guy asked to take a picture with them, they declined and he told them âah, thatâs alright, no problem.â What a nice guy, it was no problem at all for the people he accosted for a picture to turn it down.
We got to the game around 5:45 PM, it begins at 7:00. We still do not have tickets. Iâm eyeing a pair of field level tickets for $450 a piece, row E, I assume thatâs row 5. I should pull the trigger, but itâs the allure of the game that calls my name. By 5:50 theyâre $410 a piece. Daddy want under $400. This section on 10/24 were selling at $1,500, mind you. At 6:12 they drop to $372 a ticket. I pull the trigger faster than someone who is really good at Duck Hunt pulling the trigger to kill a duck in Duck Hunt. We head into the game.
There it was, Kauffman Stadium. Home of the American League Champion Kansas City Royals and the chili cheese dog I ate that is still giving me diarrhea. On our way in we were met with nothing but friendliness from Royals fans. This would be the standard for the entire night, so many people asked me if I came from New York for the game then suggested a BBQ place I should go to while I was in town. Of the 10 people who suggested BBQ places to me, nobody said the same one twice. I have never met people so nice that didnât want something from me in a Machiavellian type way. May the God they believe exists bless them all.
Our seats were incredible. Row E is apparently the first row of section 111 of Kauffman Stadium.Â
We sat next to a nice older man and his middle aged son and two other nice men who were so friendly to us. Everyone around us was so welcoming. I bet all of their politics are horrible though. After Dave Wright made an incredible catch in the game, a Royals fan tipped his cap to Scott. Scott returned the favor when their third basemen, Mike Moustakas, made an incredible catch of his own, the prick.Â
The game was emotionally exhausting. The Mets gave up an inside the park home run after a miscommunication between left fielder Michael Conforto and center fielder Yoenis Cespedes. At the time, I wanted them both dead and their families to pay for what they did, but I calmed down after the Mets tied it up.Â
To begin the god damned 7th inning stretch, a woman in the armed forces sang a beautiful rendition of God Bless America. When it came to the part of the song that goes âfrom the mountains, to the prairies, to the oceansâŠâ Everyone in the stadium went up an octave for the prairies part, which makes sense, considering we were in the prairies. It was a very cool moment. It made me wonder how excited local fans get when they sing the song at baseball games taking place in either the Atlantic or Pacific Ocean.Â
Following GBA (God Bless America) âTake Me Out to the Ballgameâ was sung by all. During the song, vendors run up and down the stairs throwing bags of Cracker Jacks into the crowd. After the song, a woman came up to me, smiled and said âhereâs your prizeâ and handed me a Mets sticker she got from her Cracker Jack. A moment later a boy about the age of 10 with Royals face-paint did the same thing but said âthis hereâs for you.â I have never been treated with such kindness by strangers before. It was truly beautiful. I pray to god that the Mets somehow win this series and break all of these wonderful peopleâs hearts.Â
Eventually the Mets had the lead in the 8th inning 4-3 and thatâs when it happened.
Video courtesy of Mr. James Coker.
With inconsistencyâs Tyler Clippard on the mound for the Mets and a man on second, I was on television for about 7 seconds. Doing what? Was it enthusiastically cheering on my beloved Mets with the confidence of a drunk white year old man visiting the big city from the suburbs for his 21st birthday? No. I was on TV for 7 seconds losing my mind with Mets anxiety. My phone blew up with people texting me pictures of me losing my mind, it was all over my facebook page. Me, the man who didnât want the attention and declined a profile in the New York Post, was just broadcasted into millions of homes folding in on himself during the most watched baseball game of the year.Â
People who donât like the Mets canât comprehend this anxiety. When the Mets are good, being a fan of theirs feels like being the child of a parent who has substance abuse issues and has left you in the past but is suddenly back in your life, sober, and loving you so much. Sure, everything seems great now and could be great for a couple of years, butâŠcan you trust this? When is it all going to bottom out again? Because letâs face it, itâs going to bottom out again.Â
While watching the game, I looked at Royals fans and they didnât have anything close to the awful feeling I had despite the Mets winning and the Royals losing. I think itâs because in the past the Royals have been beaten. They were in the World Series last year and the Giants beat them. They got beat. Of the literally thousands of Mets games Iâve watched where theyâve lost, 100% of the losses were because the Mets beat themselves (not true but kind of is, but not, but is).Â
If the Mets didnât Mets-up the games theyâve lost. Theyâd be an undefeated franchise and have more championships thank the Yankees and Cardinals combined. Iâd also have full head of hair and a penis that functions sexually whenever I needed it to, one that wouldnât embarrass me like the one I have now. Stupid penis.Â
In the 9th inning Jeurys Familia, our MVP of 2015 and the best closer weâve ever had, gave up a game tying home run to Alex Gordon with 1 out in the 9th inning to make it 4-4. Iâd be more gutted than I was if I wasnât already bracing myself to be gutted since the day I was born. Scott and I stood together, heads down, truly sad amidst a sea of well deserved happiness. The Mets had beaten themselves. Familia eventually got out of the inning at we went to extras but at this point, Iâm just waiting for the Mets to lose.Â
The game refused to end. The Mets kept putting guys on base and not scoring and so did the Royals. After the Mets had just weaseled their way out of losing in the 12th to push it to a 13th inning, I looked to my left and there was the kid who gave me a Cracker Jack Mets sticker. Hunched over the rail keeping us off the field, exhausted. He turns to me and with a comfort well beyond his 10 years said âclose game, ainât it?â Something washed over me as he said that. I realized that he and I were equal. At that moment, this child and I are the same. Sports is the great equalizer not just for those competing, but for those admiring and watching too. Good god, I hope Dan Murphy hits a game 7 winning home run on that kidâs birthday and ruins his 11th year and maybe even, the rest of his life.
The Mets eventually lost in the 14th. When they did the nice fellas around us shook me and Scottâs hands. Scott and the older gentlemen exchanged rally towels, Scott brought his from Citifield, and the older fella gave Scott one of the Royalsâ from their run this post season. It was all very cool. The Mets had just lost game one of the World Series in the most Mets like fashion possible. But we had just seen what will go down as one of the best games in the history of the World Series and had one of the best experiences in our lives.
We drove back to Omaha, staying awake by eating candy and drinking soda or Red Bulls we bought at service stops that made me feel like I was going to be sexually abused. Iâm not sure if it was the sugar or the fear that drove me to stay woke.
We arrived at Omaha at 4:00 AM for a 6:00 AM flight. I ate a sausage, egg, and cheese on a croissant because I thought it was funny. I fell sleep at 4:30 AM sitting on a chair outside our gate while Scott, devoid of shame, slept on the floor. We were the only people around.Â
We both startled awake around 5:30 and we were suddenly surrounded by people awaiting flights to get the fuck out of Omaha. Scott thinks that we were sitting across from Ellie Kemper while waiting to board. Let me tell you something, this person couldnât have looked less like Ellie Kemper if she tried. It was the first time he got on my nerves in 24 hours. Iâm still kind of upset about how vehemently incorrect he was/is. I canât even make a good joke about it. He was so wrong and heâll never believe me. I hate it.
We lumbered onto our Omaha flight to Chicago and were greeted by the same flight attendant who called us out on the way there. Once we sat down he made another announcement saying there were Mets fans on the plane. Everyone booâd again.Â
We slept through that flight then we slept through the Chicago to NYC flight. We arrived back in New York around noon on 10/28. So much had happened since we left. This trip was the first time Scott and I had hung out just the two of us. Couldnât have gone any better. Our attitudeâs couldnât have been more similar throughout the trip. People kept telling us weâd be exhausted taking the trip, itâs crazy to do, or whatever. But we just thought it was funny and fun. Which is what it was. It was one of the best days of our lives, despite it kind of being one of the worst.
As I write this, the Mets are down 0-2 to the Royals. I have been to 5 postseason games this year (2 in LA, 2 in NY, 1 in KC), Iâm probably going to either game 3 or game 4 or both. It doesnât look good for the Mets but I canât give up on them now, even though it looks as though theyâre about to relapse and turn back into the absentee dad version of the team.Â
I love the New York Mets. They connect me to the 10 year old boy I was when I first fell in love with them. A hopeful, loving idiot who makes himself vulnerable to be hurt by something he canât control. The Mets test, but strengthen my faith in things and Iâm better because of them. Itâs easy to quit or to be cynical. Itâs harder to stick it out, have hope, and believe.
Ya gotta believe. Letâs go Mets!
