So after Ricardo Rincon gave up a three-run home run on the VERY FIRST PITCH OF HIS FUCKING OUTING, I decided that it was time to pull a Frank stunt.
Woodside Frank from Section 22 in the Mezzanine would stand up at a point like that and say, "Fuck these guys, I'm goin' to Donovan's. Who's comin'?" And we'd pile out one by one.
So I said, half-seriously, half-not to Mr. E, "I'm ready to leave whenever you are." Being that the rain started to come down, not hard but just annoying enough that, well, I was annoyed (not to mention that the Mets were BLOWING IT for the second straight game), Dad got up and we decided that waiting for 20 minutes for the next train under the awning was a better fate.
We heard some cheers from the distance, but at the same time, most of the Mets fans (we had plenty of company) on the train platform were already talking about 2009. In fact, as we walked down the stairs to the platform, Mr E put his arm around me and said, "It aint over till its over, baby...but I think it's over."
Hell, to the amusement of some of the conductors on the platform, I said, "Hey, I've accepted my fate. I'm just going to enjoy baseball while I still have it."
Now, you'd have thought that Mr. E and I might have learned something from 2000 -- you know, we were in attendance June 30, 2000, when the Mets came back from a 7-run deficit against the hated Braves in the bottom of the 8th, scoring something like 8 or 9 runs with TWO outs. The reason we didn't take off? We took the ferry in, and it left 30 minutes after the last out, so we were stuck. Of course, over the years, we'd heard stories about those who had made the fateful decision not to stick it out.
Don't get me wrong. Mr. E and I are NOT fair-weather fans. We were fully committed this game. I think with the upcoming weekend, ugly weather forecasts, and the overall ugliness of the Mets play lately, we just got sick of it.
Too old for this shit, as I usually say.
So imagine our surprise as someone nonchalantly says, "Yeah the Mets tied it up in the 8th."
We book into Houlihans, where other Mets fans (making the same decision as we did), were pleading with the staff to turn off the college football/infomercial/European football games for the Mets game. We doubted ANYONE would mind (I needed to only look at the many Mets colors around). I even got some people to put their rally caps on in the 9th inning. After all, Mr. E had a train to catch.
But the beauty part?
I managed to miss the Beltran walk-off single.
You know, I did fairly nominate myself to the Big Pussy Pick of the Week this week over at GBU. But hey, nature called, and I figured that Beltran would take a dump anyway. How apropos.
I walked out as a I heard all the hootin' and hollerin' -- to which our new friend, Maine Boy (not as in John, as in the state) pointed at me and said, "Hey! She missed it!"
But on My Summer Family, since we are all "family," I have a confession to make. I've missed something else quite significant in Mets history due to nature calling and me decided that the moment was not "important" enough for me to "hold it."
There was something called "The Catch" in the 2006 NLCS. 'Nuff said.
I'm a fucking jinx. Put me in the bat-room.