The Mets have been mathematically eliminated. This should be no surprise, and it's not, but it doesn't make it less sad. I had thought the team was so promising at one point in the beginning of the season, and then everything just fell apart.
I finally realized why I've been so edgy the last few years, especially in the last few homes games, though. As my friend Chap once said, the team has seen fit to ripping our collective hearts out and eating it right in front of us. Although she was pegged as being "melodramatic" at the time, I could not help but understand where she was coming from. See, it's bad enough that the season has to end eventually. The way the Mets had ended previous seasons just made a bad situation much much worse.
When we lost Shea Stadium though and got CitiField in return, it was hard for me to identify what was truly a "home." CitiField has become my home this year, and I have gotten over my nostalgia for Shea. It doesn't mean I don't miss the grande dame. There are some nights I feel like a toddler going through her Terrible Twos, stomping on the ground, holding my breath, saying "IwannagotoSHEA!" 2009 was just sad to me. I didn't have a home AND the Mets were just going through the motions. I think my attitude was shitty but then again, it seemed to be a result of my post-traumatic Mets disorder.
See, they are officially eliminated from any postseason contention after tonight. And that's okay. Being a lifelong Mets fan, or however long you've been one, we should be used to it.
I'm not upset about being mathematically eliminated. No, it's not that. It's that baseball season is ending. After October 3, there will be no more baseball for me. Rather, I will turn to Jets football and Rangers hockey to keep me warm in those winter months.
But now that I feel as though I can identify with CitiField, I can make a house into a home. And I welcome you all into it. In a few days, I plan on doing something I have not done since 2007. And that's go to every game in the final home stand at CitiField.
It's gonna be tough, frankly because I am old and can barely go to one game a week without it screwing me up. But seven games in a row? I must have a death wish.
It's not because I'll be watching baseball that doesn't matter. Because to me, baseball always matters. When it's still in season, of course. What matters is that I'll be with my friends and family and people I choose to call my family, which is the cornerstone to what makes My Summer Family what it is.
When the postseason goes on, I will watch simply because it's the closest thing I have to seeing the live real thing. Till it ends. Then I will have nothing except the Gang Green and Broadway Blueshirts. As my buddy Whit calls it, "Not-baseball season." The period leading up to Spring Training. But it's not the same. It's not my team. It's not my laundry.
It's not the end of the world as we know it, it's the end of the season of we know it. But I can enjoy the last few nights on this planet called CitiField for just a little while longer, if it can hold me over till April. It always seems to, though. So I'll just be sitting in blissful ignorance, counting down in my own selfish way what's left of my baseball season.