A Fool For The Citi
A Visit To Citi Field Made For A Delightful Spring Day in New York– Especially For This Braves’ Fan
A recent quick stop in New York City provided an opportunity to visit Citi Field to see the Mets take on the Atlanta Braves. The spoken reason for the visit was to celebrate my daughter’s birthday. Sarah and her family have been residents of Brooklyn for nearly a decade. They had never been to see the Mets. So we set out to change that.
With some significant help from a couple of Sarah’s friends, we snagged some choice tickets for this May 1st game. The rare Monday 1:15pm start time revved the grandkids’ enthusiasm– since that meant they needed to exit school a bit early on game day. By noontime we were en route to Citi Field on the Number 7 train, the same subway line made famous a generation earlier by then-Braves’ pitcher John Rocker in his bigoted rant about Mets’ fans in Sports Illustrated. I re-read his old remarks on my phone during the train ride and they sounded just as harsh 23 years after the fact. Whatever, John Rocker. Social commentary aside, the smooth # 7 train dropped us off at an incredibly convenient spot– about a hundred yards from the stadium gates. Many cities could take a lesson on this fine example of mass transit well done.
The plaza surrounding Citi Field features several points of interest, including a statue of Mets’ Hall of Fame pitcher Tom Seaver (aka Tom Terrific), plus monument plaques testifying to the Mets’ glory years of 1969 and 1986. Then there’s the iconic Big Red Apple, moved over from its original site at Shea Stadium which was the Mets original home back in 1962.
While waiting for my son-in-law Julian to join us , we enjoyed our time taking in the sights and sounds of Mets’ game day. I engaged in light chat with several fans dressed in Mets jerseys. The recurring scenario was that the Mets fans thus engaged were immediately- and passionately- in character . There was a guy wearing a Max Scherzer jersey. The real Scherzer- the Mets best pitcher– had been suspended a few days earlier for using forbidden “sticky substances ” to grip the baseball. He had protested that it was only sweat and rosin, a storyline the league had roundly rejected. So I asked this version of Scherzer, “Max, what were you really using on your hands?”
His answer came quickly back to me.
“No! I swear it was only sweat and rosin! I sweat buckets when I pitch and that’s all it was!” His passion was compelling. For that brief moment, this fan WAS Max Scherzer.
Another nearby fan was wearing a older Mets jersey with the name WILSON. I approached him by saying ” Mookie, is that you?”
” Yes it’s me!” he said, ignoring the fact that he was the wrong age and race to be the real Mookie Wilson, erstwhile hero of the 1986 World Series Champion Mets. Once out of character, this Superfan did explain why Mookie had always been his favorite–“he played hard all the time!Opening Day, playoffs, exhibition season– it did NOT matter to Mookie!”
Also prominent on the plaza was a superfan dog. Yes, a midsized hound dog, so calm and so accommodating that I wondered if he had been sedated. Sitting there in his Mets shirt, wearing a hat..and sunglasses..and gumming a pipe (?)…Fido was ready to shake hands with any fan, offering photo ops, with his owners hoping to garner a few bucks for the moment (and yes, we bought in). Those owners had to be nearby, but we never saw them.
When Julian arrived to join us, we found our seats at the field level about 20 rows back from the 3rd base dugout. A couple of rows in front of us was a middle-aged man, small in stature but big in voice and energy. He seemed to me to typify a loyal Mets fan. Scrappy and loud, he was tuned-in. He was there by himself, dressed in a Mets cap and a satiny bright blue Mets warm-up jacket, and he enthusiastically called out various vague threats to the Atlanta ballplayers .
“You’d better watch out, Riley! We’re coming for you! You’d better watch it!” he barked to Braves’ 3rd baseman Austin Riley who was a couple hundred feet away , well out of earshot to this wannabe micro- menace. Every few minutes came another cheer/ warning.
“OK Braves! You’re in trouble now! You’re gonna be done!” he warned. With each little outburst he would look about our area, seeking– and getting– smiling approval of the other fans. My grandkids were highly impressed with his passion.
In the 5th inning, we got a bonus of sorts. With a smooth snag, Julian grabbed from the air a sweet bright orange Mets t-shirt tossed from the ushers from atop the dugout. We did not really get close on any foul balls, though a few did find their way over the safety net.
In the top of the 6th, I took a self-guided tour around the stadium on the field level. This park has great sight lines and a strong open- air feel, along with good access to all types of concessions. They provide multiple places for fans to spend their money. It worked on me. We had already gone in for the hotdog/ French fry combo plates (at 14.95 per) Like many parks nowadays, there was no option to pay with cash so my credit card got quite a workout. I’ve noticed that when using the card for these smaller purchases in public settings, I tend to focus more on the process, as opposed to the actual transaction– not to mention those awkward but omnipresent prompts for tips.
Back to the ballpark. My biggest revelation was yet to come. It was not the wonky fence lines in left and right-centerfield, nor the Shea bridge, a nice vestige from yesteryear before Citi Field opened in 2008. No, it came when I learned post- purchase that my 12 year- old grandson Ramon does not like cotton candy. Not even a taste. Not even if it is bright blue… and costs $6.95 (plus tip). Which explains why on this day I ate cotton candy for the first time in probably 50 years. Sweet! Ok, too sweet.
As for the game itself, the Braves jumped out to a big early lead and held on for a 9-8 win. Unlike me, most of those present were not happy with that result, especially Mr. Superfan who was even more animated at game’s end.
” OK Atlanta! You’re done! Do you hear me? DONE!” He peppered the Braves with his calls. They remained calm and blissfully unaware.
Other notable moments included our primo view of the Braves’ Ronald Acuna hitting a home run into the upper deck. His at-bat came with a weirdly good picture taken right from my seat with my humble phone. And I learned from my granddaughter Margot that the venerable New York mascot , Mr. Met, now has an accomplice, whose name is…. Mrs. Met. Presumably they are married. No word yet on any family of little Mets.
At game’s end, our departure from the park was made easier by the fact that a second game was set to follow, so many fans stayed for Game 2. This rare doubleheader was made necessary by 2 rainouts in the preceding 3 days. But we had an important dinner date at Chez Ma Tante restaurant back in Brooklyn where we would more formally celebrate Sarah’s birthday with additional friends and family. That event went well too, though cotton candy was notably absent from the dessert menu.
Before dinner was complete, I had to make my way back to Laguardia for the flight home. When I departed the restaurant, the dinner party was in high gear, and it looked like a birthday to remember for our daughter Sarah. She was there in the warm company of her family and close friends for the fine food and a fantastic evening. It was a happy birthday indeed, and I felt fortunate to be a part of it all . Certainly I will remember this special Monday in May most fondly.
I’m not sure how soon Sarah and Julian and the kids might again visit to Citi Field. They might be bigger fans of the minor league baseball experience, for which there are several good options in their area. Either way, this day played out well, with a pleasant visit to an enjoyable park , one known for its vast legion of loyal fans.
I always say baseball is the game that is most like life itself. Nobody goes undefeated. Everyone gets humbled from time to time. The very best teams win 6 of 10. And that margin between a win and a loss is often thin. Occasionally the outcome turns on plain old luck. But either way, there’s another game tomorrow. Don’t get too high, don’t sink too low… and be ready to go again. And really, that’s what it’s all about.
Patrick Conarro
RamblinSports.com