Left my office in midtown Manhattan to watch my last Reds game of the season Tuesday night, Game 161, officially. Watched Jay go deep one more time; saw Joey… well, just be Joey once more; and of course, watch Coco do the all too familiar. Remember that phrase Marty had for Arthur Rhodes after he’d finish off another opponent with that snarl of his?
Sat for most of the night just off third. Witnessed a wonderful play by Frazier right in front of me. The way he and Francisco have played the position defensively gives me hope that when Rolen goes on that inevitable DL next year, the club might not be so bad off for it. Moved around behind the dish to ride the Coco Coaster in extra innings one more time. Cold and damp, the die-hards were in full throat. Francisco tripled and shortly thereafter a Met fan stomped out with his girlfriend muttering ” %$#$&@ umps take another one from the Mets.”
I’ve come to hate New York fans. Certainly Jets and Yankee fans. But Met fans are special. No matter how bad the team is — and make no mistake about it, this team is awful — they behave as if they are the toast of the town even as they stink up the place with their Bad News Bears brand of baseball. The organization, hamstrung by the owner’s fateful business dealings with Bernie Madoff, are ironically the very same picture of arrogance that landed Bernie in the federal pokey, from announcer Keith Hernandez all the way down to the fans in the stands.
While the rest of the baseball world is trying to play MoneyBall, the New York Metropolitans play MadoffBall. You may have your stupid Cubs. I have my stupid Mets. Fugggedaboudit.
There are maybe 12 of dem left in the seats around home plate. One guy is mocking Cordero something fierce.
“Can’t even throw a strike, ya bum!”
I decide to show a little support–a little love in the not-so-friendly confines of Citi Field. He can hear me. It’s just me and my best buds wearing their garish blue and orange.
“Finish ’em off, Coco.” He bends over, lets his arm hang straight down that way he does, reminding me of the Coco Cordero Bobble Arm Doll promotion I’m eager to sell to the front office next year.
Four walks, a balk and a hard line drive later, it’s over.
I can almost hear Marty. “And Francisco Cordero does what Francisco Cordero does. Give people Angina.”
What a season.
Father. Iowa born, Kentucky raised, NYC finished. I write about baseball. I wonder what Willie Shakespeare would have written had he met Willie Mays. Richard resides in protective custody at an undisclosed location in New Jersey.