Wake up, Mr. van Winkle

December 15, 2010

Wow.  This blog has been dead for a LONG time.  It’s probably not a coincidence that the posts stopped around the same time that the Mets went into the tank for 2010, although perhaps this site could have acted as a catharsis as I watched the season disintegrate down the stretch.

In any case, consider this formal notice of my attempt to revive Made in the Shea-de.  There’s certainly plenty of Mets-related fodder to blog about.


Frankie Says Relax

June 3, 2010

I can’t say I was altogether surprised when David Eckstein managed a 2-out, 2-strike hit against Frankie Rodriguez last night to tie the game and spoil yet another scoreless performance by John Santana.  No, definitely not surprised.  Not at all.  Of course, I certainly slammed my hands repeatedly on the steering wheel of the minivan when I heard it go down on the FAN.  But it was almost like I had already planned that reaction as the bottom of the ninth unfolded.  We’ve seen this before.

Of course it was David Ecksteinthat did it to the Mets.  That’s what David Eckstein does.  This is a player that gets by in the majors with less actual talent than just about anyone, which baffles (and irks the crap out of) every fan I know who also happens to play ball.  Yet Eckstein still seems to find himself on winning teams, time after time.  Somehow, he manages to compensate with guts and heart.  And David Eckstein makes a living being that pesky little guy who manages to ruins everything.

I can’t get too angry about Raul Valdes giving up the game winner.  This game was over the minute K-Rod let Tony Gwynn Jr. get on base, and everyone knew it except K-Rod.  How you can surrender a hit to light-hitting Gwynn — on an 0-2 count!!! — is beyond me.  A guy struggling to hit like he is should see a breaking ball out of the zone on 0-2 and a high fastball  – chin level or higher – on 1-2 before you think about putting one where he can hit it.

So Frankie took a dump on another scoreless effort by Johan, and the Mets still haven’t won a series on the road this season.  Why is it that Johan can manage to throw seven scoreless when he doesn’t have his best stuff (Exhibit A: five walks) but K-Rod can’t lock down 1.1 scoreless innings with his pitches working? 

Make no mistake, this is pathetic.  The only thing giving me (false?) hope is that a team that can thoroughly dominate at home cannot possibly continue to spit the bit so badly on the road all season.  The skills are there to play at least .500 as a visiting team.  It has to happen for them eventually.

Of course, I suppose it’s possible that they will instead start losing more home games.  And I guess the precedent is there for that option.  (Shudder.)

Let me not forget to take a snipe at Oliver Perez.  You see, after the showing that Valdes made on Tuesday, he had no business being in last night’s game.  Something is not right with him.  Too bad for the Mets that Ollie insists on taking up a seat in the bullpen that could be used by someone who could actually be useful in that type of situation.  I can’t even say the time has come to release Ollie, because the time came weeks ago.  Cut Perez and cut your losses already!!!


Dear David Wright,

Nice defense last night. Seriously.  But could you please stop striking out so much? 

Your pal,

Made in the Sheade.

27 World Championships… and Still No Class

May 24, 2010

This is going to have to be brief, but having been in attendance last night, I feel like I have to post something.

Great win.  Possibly the best game this team played this year.  The game was big.  The hitting was timely, and powerful.  The pitching was spectacular and efficient.  Ryota Igarashi was throwing gas in his first game back, but had no command; no matter, Frankie picked him up and got the save.  We don’t need to talk about that feeling we all had in the top of the ninth, the one where you are incresaingly sure you are about to puke in your hands.

Johan came up aces; Bay brought the big flies.  David Wright made a couple of nifty plays at 3B, and had a beautiful frozen rope double off the left field wall.  I even pretended he didn’t strike out twice when he stepped into the box in the fifth.

I have no voice today.  Generally it takes me almost a week to recover my voice after Mets-Yankees or, back in the day, playoff games.  Judging by the sound at the game, I am not the only one who is hoarse today.  It was great to hear Citi Field erupt when Bay hit his first bomb.

Aside from the game, there was this:

We could tell these guys were going to be trouble from the first inning


Yes, the image is blurry (does anyone know how to take good pics with a blackberry?), but if you look very carefully at the center of this picture, you will see my two section mates for last night’s game, Massengill and Summer’s Eve.  I wish I could say these guys were the exception, but who would I be kidding?  More and more, they are the rule.  They started taunting shortly before first pitch.  When the Mets scored 4 in the second, they stepped it up a notch.  When the Mets added two more in the fifth, they really ramped it up.  I wanted to ask them if they were actually watching the game or if they knew the score, but I thought better of it; that only makes it worse.

Big moment here for Summer's Eve: He counted to one out loud.

It must be great to be a Yankee fan.  After all, the Yankees never lose.  When they score fewer runs than their opposition, the game doesn’t count.  When the Yankees beat the Mets in these games, the Yankee-fan crowing never stops.  But when the Mets win, it’s a chorus of “enjoy your meaningful games in May!” or “This is your World Series!”  As the Mets started to open the game up, the Yankee fans lost all interest and started reminiscing about their 27 world championships, and, demonstrating that keen intellectual edge, correctly noted that that was 25 more than the Mets had won (actually, 27 more, if you factor in that the 1969 and 1986 World Series were both cancelled when the Yankees didn’t make it).  After Sergio Mitre threw a purpose pitch at Jason Bay (yes, it was obviously a purpose pitch), they were so bored and stupid and running out of people to mock that they were begging Santana to throw at every Yankee batter who stepped in.

He's SO gangsta.

Anyway, back to the douche brothers.  I tried most of the night to snap the above image, because it really encapsualtes what these guys were all about.  There was nothing in particular going on at this point in the game when I finally managed to capture S.E. doing the signature twin-six-shooters-homeboy-gangsta-wave dance, or whatever you call this.  I think it may have even been between innings.  But what better time to “represent?”  I would so love to see this guy go do his little dance in East New York or Washington Heights.

In a way, these two almost ruined the game for me; instead of rooting for a big Mets win for its own sake, and actually being able to enjoy the suspense and the eventual triumph, for me, from the sixth inning on it became all about serving up some justice and making them walk out with their heads hung low.

I guess the important thing is, eventually,  they did.

Open Mouth; Insert Foot.

May 17, 2010

Yeah, remember when I said I had a feeling the Mets were on their way down to Florida to reel off a few wins?

Not so much.

Let’s sum up this weekend:

The Good:  Ollie Perez finally worked his way out of the lineup; we can be sure he’ll work his way off the 25-man roster in short order.

The Bad:  Let’s see… Oh, who am I kidding.  I have work to do today.

Roger Bernadino Has A Day

May 13, 2010

It’s hard to explain why, but yesterday’s loss did not cause me to hang my head.  I was disappointed.  I was even annoyed, especially since I let Howie and Wayne take up almost my entire afternoon, when I should have been working, rather than “working.”  But I did not hang my head.  I shook it for a few minutes. I might have smacked it once or twice.  But I did not hang it.

My best guess as to why I was not completely dejected about the game is that the Mets fell behind twice but came right back both times.  There’s no point in recapitulating the things they failed to do yesterday, except maybe to point out that Jose Reyes made a positively bone-headed play trying to cross over to third on Jason Bay’s grounder in the 5th, one that was hit so deep in the hole that Bay might have reached first safely if Christian Guzman had been forced to try throwing him out.  I assume Reyes thought the ball was going through to LF and was trying to score the go-ahead run, but still, you learn at a relatively young age when you play this game that you don’t try to advance to third on a ball hit in front of you.

Speaking of Reyes making a boneheaded play, I cannot understand his failure to get down the sacrafice bunt in the 7th.  When I see a guy fail to get the bunt down in that situation, I always wonder if he thinks it’s beneath his dignity and isn’t really trying.

Regardless, I think the reason I couldn’t get too down is because the Mets were beaten yesterday singlehandedly by rookie Roger Bernadina.  What Bernandina did to the Mets yesterday with his bat and glove is what we ballplayers call “having a day.”  I can hear his teammates now, sitting on the bench, yelling out at him in the 9th inning, “Have a day, Rog!  Have a day, kid!”  That is, if any of them know his name.  Francoeur basically got the job done and all but put the game back in the Mets’ hands, except that Roger Bernadina was busy having a day, so Francoeur’s bases clearing extra base hit turned into an “F9” in the book.  “F,” indeed.

(It’s always the no-name rookie who beats the Mets, right?  Well, the rookie and Chipper Jones.  And I guess Willie Harris’s glove.  And… oh, never mind.)

Anyway, for some reason it seems to me like the Mets are ready to reel off some wins this week/weekend against Florida and Atlanta, so I’m anxiously awaiting tonight’s first pitch.  Because days like the one Roger Bernadina had yesterday simply do not happen on a regular basis.

And he can’t reach us from Denver, anyway, which is where he’ll be tonight.

The Little Things

May 12, 2010

When I was a kid, I used to tease my little brother by playing a game called, “I’m Not Touching You.”  You probably know this game – I certainly didn’t invent it, and I imagine older siblings everywhere played it.  It ususally got started when the younger sibling was getting tired of getting pushed, smacked, poked, or knocked around, told a parent, and then the parent threatened, “if you touch him one more time, [insert punishment].”  When you are nine or ten years old, for some reason, this phrase sounds an awful lot like, “PLAY BALL!”  After observing the peremptory five- to ten-second silence, the older sibling obligingly stick his index finger right in front of the younger’s nose and waves it there for as long as possible, taunting, “I’m not touching you!  I’m not touching you!” until the younger one explodes in a rage, punches or kicks the older one, and then gets in trouble for starting a fight.

For most of last night’s game in Flushing, the boys in blue and orange continued playing the major league version of I’m Not Touching You.  As they had done for nine innings the night before, the Mets quickly went back to their maddening game of putting runners on with less than two out, inning after inning, waving them in our collective faces, and then ever-so-carefully avoiding causing most of them touch home plate. 

And then came the eighth inning.  Clearly this was the best inning we’ve seen out of the Mets this season; in my opinion, it was one of the best they’ve had in a couple of years, not just because they hit, but because they executed.  They extended the inning.  They jumped on the opposition and made a fielding error really sting.  They kept the opposing pitcher off-balance and piled on the runs.

The play that defined the inning for me was not the Barajas double, or the Pagan single, or even Chris Carter’s double.  It was Alex Cora noticing the infield playing back and dropping down a perfect bunt.  It’s small ball, sure, but that kind of play does more than move a runner and keep the lineup turning.  It shakes the pitcher and the infield, and causes an inning to spiral out of control for the defense.  It looked to me like that bunt broke Clippard, setting up the rest of the inning.

As disappointed as I was that Ike missed a grand slam by a few feet (and I’m sorry, but how annoying are these video replay breaks?!), I loved watching him put the icing on the cake with yet another flip into the dugout to end the game.  Great shot of Frankie just smiling and shaking his head after Ike made that play.  Davis had better be careful, though – one of these days he’s going to make a play like that with runners on base and less than two outs.  Check your rulebooks: all runners move up a base if the fielder ends up in the dugout (or the stands) after making a catch.  Just sayin’.

Aside from the eighth, I was pleased to see Wright finally hitting the ball where it was pitched, instead of trying to place it every time.  He will hit — including for power — once he goes back to just doing that.

Welcome to New York, Chris Carter.  One AB is only one AB, but given the clamor from the fans to get him up here, and the nature of his personality, I ask you: Is “The Animal” going to be our next Super Joe McEwing/Endy Chavez?

Let’s see if the Mets can turn this one huge win into a run of success.  Don’t forget, momentum is only as good as the next day’s starting pitcher.  Are you listening, Big Pelf?

Water, Water Everywhere, But Not a Drop to Drink

May 11, 2010

Twelve hits.  Two runs.  Somehow the Mets managed to accumulate twelve hits last night, but still figured out how to dodge home plate almost every time.

I had the “pleasure” of taking this one in from section 422, on another windy and cold evening in Flushing, thanks to some free tickets from a court reporting service I sometimes use.  Early on, I thought the Mets were going to keep me warm with some real offense.  After all, they loaded the bases in the bottom of the first with one out.  But alas, yet another whiff by David Wright, and a matching gift from Ike Davis.  I’ve seen this scenario so many times, one would think I’d be used to it by now.  I guess it is actually starting to sink in:  as Wright strode into the batter’s box, I was thinking wild pitch, rather than two-run double.

Needless to say, Wright really heard it from the few fans that made it out to the game last night.  As the jeers rained down on him, I sat and shuddered thinking about what it will be like to watch the Mets ten years from now.  Ten years ago, boos were generally reserved for:

  • The big villain on the opposing team;
  • The umpires;
  • The douchebag who wandered into your section in the fifth inning of the Mets-Braves game wearing his red Yankee jersey (open three or four buttons to reveal the big gold chain) and red Yankee cap (twisted to the side), pointing at the “NY” logo with one hand and making the “No. 1!” sign with the other; and
  • Doug Sisk.

Seriously, for the most part, a Met only got booed if he was dogging it nightly or if he did something to call out the fans or the city.  Now, all it takes is a couple of bad ABs.  I pity Ike Davis if he ever goes three games without a hit.

Booing your own team for struggling is just completely classless.  Within your rights as a paying customer?  Sure.  But classless just the same.  If our fan evolution continues on this path, I imagine in ten years we’ll all be daring our sons and daughters to run on the field and get tased, or throwing up on those sons and daughters for fun.

Speaking of classless, and of feminine hygiene products, I’d like to give a shout out to the people sitting in section 423 last night.  This was douchebaggery at some of its very best.  (Thanks to Julie R. for that term.)  I particularly loved the guy wearing the fake tattoo sleeves, who was swearing from the moment he sat down (as the kids in my section stared in wonder).  These fine young people spent the whole night singing inane songs, usually about how David Wright sucks, or is “gay,” or both, or how “Takahashi ate [their] dog.”  They seem to like Ike Davis for now, though: the girl sitting with them whipped out a version of “Ice Ice Ike Ike Baby” that would make Vanilla Ice himself shake his head.

Anyway, it would be great if our kids didn’t learn to boo the home team every single time they fail to get the big hit or strike out the opposition.  Once upon a time, we supported the guys in white even when they lost.  Heck, once upon a time (long before my time, sadly) the guys in white lived in your neighborhood, rode the subway to work just like you, and when they struggled at the plate, you sent letters of encouragement and threw in a prayer for them the next time you were in church (or synagogue, etc.).

Putting aside that little bit of wishful thinking, let’s go back to twelve hits and only two runs.  That’s pretty bad.  It’s worse when the guy on the mound is a rookie no one has heard of, who’s throwing his fastball at about 85 MPH.  Meanwhile, John Maine had his “John Maine Inning” in the third, giving up back to back shots to Adam Kennedy (!) and Ryan Zimmerman.  Pudge acted his age… by putting on a hitting clinic and stealing a base.  Jose Reyes had a tantrum and got ejected, “Perpetual Pedro” sent Jerry Manuel (also ejected) a memo on overuse of relievers, Frank Catalanotto failed again (for the last time), Jason Bay continued to look mostly helpless, and the kosher stand ran out of soft pretzels in the fifth inning.  A disappointing night on many levels.

Oh, well.  At least my tickets were free.

Blown Away

May 10, 2010

As so often seems to happen over weekends in the summertime, when it came to the Mets, I missed all of this past weekend’s fun and had to settle for the scraps.  And these were some very wind-blown scraps, let me tell you.  Thanks to my deeply held religious convictions – no, I’m talking about the ones that don’t concern not walking the leadoff man, or stealing when behind more than a run in the late innings – I didn’t experience Friday night’s he-ROD-ics until early on Saturday morning, and only via a few columns of newsprint in the Times.  The Mets did their best to make it up to me by staging an encore on Saturday (albeit via the understudy), but again, becuase the show went on before the stars came out, I had to settle for the official Mets post-game alert e-mail on Saturday night, followed by a quick visit to Mets.com for the highlight clips. 

Mother’s Day is not a great day to try watching the Mets game, unless your wife is a baseball fan, I suppose.  Mine is not, so I didn’t really expect to catch too much of the game.  I was pleasantly surprised, then, when it looked like I was going to catch a good portion of yesterday’s game thanks to a late change in plans. 

As you can imagine, I was not pleasantly surprised for long.

Oliver Perez appears to be getting worse, not better.  With another guy out there, I might be willing to chalk some of his line up to the conditions, but I have a nagging suspicion that Opie’s line yesterday might not have been too different even if it was 72 and calm.  Three innings, seven walks and a hit batter?  Come on.

Also, Wright just has to be better.  Four Ks?!?!  A couple of years ago, this was a guy whose ABs did not start until there were two strikes.  Now, once he gets behind in the count, you expect him to whiff.  I don’t understand it.  I was less baffled by the power outage last year than I am about the enormous strikeout rate.

Putting all that aside, there was certainly a good dose of silver lining yesterday.  The team spit the bit against Lincecum in the first, and then fell behind 4-0 a few innings later.  But instead of packing it in like they would have done last year, they stayed in the game and actually came all the way back.  Yes, we all saw the help they got from the Giants and the weather, but it is what it is.  No, Bay’s “2 for 4” did not exactly inspire confidence, but as they say, those hits were line drives in the book.  I am still not concerned about him.  In fact, I’m convinced that when he finally breaks out, he is going to be scorching hot for an extended period.  It’s the law of averages.

Hate to see Mejia suffer the loss there.  No one on the planet – including Aaron Rowand – thought that ball was going out, especially as it was hit to right-center.  He found the right spot in the wind tunnel at the right time.    Unfortunately, it happens.

Here’s to a bounce-back win tonight, when yours truly will be in attendance thanks to the good folks at Veritext court reporting services.

Harder than it Looks…

May 7, 2010

Well, who thought it would be so hard to find 15 to 20 minutes each day to write about baseball? 

Okay, that’s not completely fair, since it always ends up being closer to 45-50 minutes, and little things like work and family sometimes get in the way.  But Made in the Shea-de has to do a better job of staying on top of this blog, and he will.

Rough week for the Metsies, this past one.  I won’t comment on the Philly series.  It was what it was.  All I will say is, I was present the last time we saw Johan do what he did on Sunday night, and it wasn’t pretty.  Yes, last year my brother’s father-in-law scored us seats in the Jim Beam section at Yankee Stadium for the Sunday game, so we were eyewitnesses to the last beating he took.  But Philly was worse – all he needed to do was get one out, facing the bottom of the Philly order, and he couldn’t do it.  I’d be lying if I claimed I’m not worried about physical issues; after all, that’s what it turned out to be last year.

As for Cincy, I spent this week frustated like the rest of you, but for some reason, I actually found some small solace: each day I actually believed they could win, even when the ‘pen coughed it up late in the game. 

Notwithstanding that sentiment, I have to wonder what Manuel is thinking (as usual).  Forget the lame double switch on Wednesday (I get it, you claim you need to keep Tatis in the game in case Henry Blanco goes down, but Tatis for Wright?!) that didn’t have a chance to kill them.  Forget that.  Let’s talk about Fernando Nieve and Pedro Feliciano.  They have been great, so I can’t kill them for faltering this week.  I can, however, get on Manuel for using them to the point of obliteration.  I recommend we all enjoy these two pitchers now, because in about a month, they will both be useless, if not hurt, from overwork.  It’s not like we haven’t seen this before.

I’ll remain cautiously optimistic for this weekend against SF – maybe they’ll cool off like… well, like the Mets did.  Pelf will bounce back, Johan will be Johan, and Bay will hit.


We Believe in Comebacks. Sort of.

April 8, 2010

After a long layoff (mostly due to the tremendous amounts of matzah I was busy stuffing in my face), Made in the Shea-de is back.  And I’ll need to believe in comebacks just like the Mets do, because that weight I was so diligently shedding prior to the holiday is trying to make a comeback of its own.

Thanks to the unfortunate timing of Opening Day (corresponding to the 7th day of Passover), my first visit to Citi Field had to be postponed to last night, Game 2 of 162.  It was a beautiful day – 88 degrees and sunny, almost unheard of in these parts, where the first week or two of the season is usually enjoyed in heavy jackets and warm hats (Scarf Day is actually coming up soon at Citi Field) – and when the family came to NYC to meet me for a picnic lunch in Central Park, I decided to keep my oldest at the office with me so the two of us could hop on the 7 train at the end of the day.

Note to self – even on “value” dates, unless you can afford an extra 20-30 minutes, spend the extra 12 bucks on Mets.com so you can avoid waiting in line at the park box office.

There was no time to explore the newer additions to Citi Field, but here are today’s random musings on our inaugural 2010 trip to Flushing:

  • Maybe it was due to missing Opening Day, but I had a weird, detached, “not-ready-for-baseball-yet” feeling during the first 2 innings.  It was kind of nice to be out there, but I wasn’t absorbed by the game until much later.  By the end of the night, I was back in the swing of things… and left feeling eerily similar to so many nights in 2009.
  • We sat in the Promenade Club (408) for the first time.  The view was good, but our seat location did nothing to assuage my ongoing fears that Citi Field simply does not get loud like Shea did.  90% of the time the crowd noise sounded like it was being funneled through a tin can, although I suppose there was not that much to cheer for large swaths of this game.  But the PA also sounded like someone stuffed socks in all the speakers (or in Alex Anthony’s mouth).  The roar of the crowd is a good 50% of why I go to the game, so the apparent loss of this factor really hurts.
  • Speaking of noise, I know many have written about this already, but I find it utterly depressing that my fellow fans need to be told by the scoreboard when to get loud.  In the good old days, we knew well enough when to start yelling Let’s Go Mets, when to stand up and holler on a full count, and so on.
  • Maine’s arm looked dead.  Worse, it seemed like he was pitching behind in the count on every hitter.  By the fifth, my 8-year old son knew what was coming from me every time I opened my mouth:

“2-0 again.  What’s he going to throw next?” 

“A fastball.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because he has to throw a strike.” 

“And who else knows that, son?” 

“The batter.” 

“And is that good?” 

 “No, daddy.”

Luckily for him, as baseball savvy as he is, he can still get distracted by the simple things, like noticing — 12 or 13 times — that with 1 out and the count at 1-2, the scoreboard says our house number.  “Look!  1-2-1, again! Ha!”  Kids are so lucky.

  • Jason Fry at Faith and Fear in Flushing summed this up best:  “[Maine] spent most of his time on the mound looking like a guy confronted by an overflowing toilet.”  I laughed at that so much I came back and updated this post just to share it with you.  (Lucky you.)
  • Aside from Dan Uggla, the Marlins looked bewildered by Sean Green and his new delivery.  That could be good.  (But see Uggla, Dan.)
  • Jennry Mejia.  The result was not so good, but he was still exciting to watch.  If Maine’s arm doesn’t wake up in a few weeks (and/or if Pelfrey and Perez fail to impress), it will not shock me to see Mejia find his way into the rotation.  Right before the hammer drops on Jerry Manuel.
  • Wow, the Marlins are awful.  They have a bunch of power hitters and three impressive starting pitchers, but no bullpen whatsoever and atrocious defense.  Even Hanley Ramirez didn’t look good in the field, and Uggla… well he did his thing.  And yet, they’ve manage to ruin so many trips to the game for me.
  • Speaking of the Marlins’ bullpen and defense, don’t call it a comeback.  That’s what the diamondvision did (“We Believe in Comebacks!!!) when the Mets tied the score, but those of us in attendance saw what it was: a give-back.  And the Mets did all they could to treat the game like a hot potato.  It was all too familiar.  After reading about how cleanly they played on Monday, I wasn’t sure I was in the right place or the right year when I watched Tatis get tagged out at home with Wright standing in the box.
  • Did I mention my hatred of the Marlins?  Every time I see them I think of 2008, when many of these same utter losers — who can’t muster enough grit to play well when they are still in the race, but who can’t seem to lose when they might be able to ruin the party for someone else — all talked about how great it was to see little children crying in the stands at Shea when they knocked off the Mets.  I mean, children.  Really.
  • My son noted that he didn’t like the smile Cody Ross was flashing in his diamond vision picture.  I agreed.  “Carlos Beltran has a nice smile,” he said.  “He looks nice.”  I agreed.  “That Cody Ross smile, that’s not a nice smile,” I said.  “That smile says, ‘Hi, I’m Cody Ross.  I just smashed your windshield with a crowbar.”  My son laughed at this.
  • Despite my desire of late to save calories and money, the minimally-planned nature of this trip found me at the kosher stand in the 4th inning.  The food was tasty, as usual.  But it cost me $35 to get a hot dog, a sausage with peppers, a knish, a pretzel, and 2 sodas.  I guess that’s not all that bad by ballpark prices, but it still hurt, especially after I was so psyched that the tickets were only going to cost me $36 apiece.
  • While I’m on the kosher stand, I heard all year last year that there would be a stand by section 401, right near my (former) season seats (508).  I did not see it open even once.  Tried again last night to no avail.  I guess I’m being a little spoiled, crabbing that I have to go all the way downstairs or to the other side of the Promenade level to grab food.  After all, the fact that it’s there at all – and in 2 locations! –  is fantastic.  (Another reason I love New York.)  But I was still a little bit disappointed.  I don’t think they’re going to open it this year.
  • My son asked me why they don’t just make the whole stadium kosher.  Oh, to live in such an innocent world as that of the 8-year old mind.  I told him that all the folks who like (and are allowed) to eat cheeseburgers and pepperoni pizzas would be angry.  It wouldn’t be fair to them.  (Later that night, he asked me about the man who, noticing my yarmulke, was yelling at us — angrily — in the subway walkway between Times Square and the Port Authority, about “Yeshua ‘Maschiach’ [Jesus, ‘Messiah’], King of Israel.”)
  • Thanks to NJ Transit, we didn’t get home until 1:00 am.  I hope my son is doing better in class today than I am doing here at the office. 

Tonight we get Jon Niese against Nate Robertson.  Should be interesting, and hopefully not too depressing.  Tonight I’ll leave it to Gary, Keith and Ron to bring the game to me… although I am definitely trying to figure out when I can go out there again.  I don’t like being 0-1, but I believe in comebacks.