A good pal recently took his kid to their first ballgame. The Orioles shut-out the Mets 2-0. I remember my first ballgame, and curiously enough, it involved the Mets. They won that day in I don't remember when or against which team, maybe the Cubbies. I used to remember, I'm sure. That wasn't the lingering effect, though. The lingering effect was to make me a lifelong fan some four decades and twenty-five hundred miles away.
You gotta be careful with firsts.
Dad had done a good deed for an old buddy, a deed worth well more than nosebleed seats at ol' Shea. I recall Dad commenting that the birds seemed confused as to why we were up so high. The game ended in maybe six when the rain started. We most likely got wet an inning before the players did. But a win is a win and I was hooked for life. I hope Baltimore keeps the kid in years of wins. Back to the Metropolitans, when we grieve one thing, we re-grieve all our other losses.
Actually, the Metropolitans were defunct in 1887, long before the 1962 expansion Mets came into being.
When I think of firsts, I think of other firsts. My first kiss at day camp, a mustachioed Italian girl. My first live pro wrestling card was headlined by Jimmy 'Superfly' Snuka taking on 'Magnificent' Don Muraco. I was hyped. I wore my Macho Man shirt to the event, the purple one. Dad and I watched Snuka throw a kick and Muraco catch it. They hopped around the ring for 30 seconds then tumbled out. That was it. I was hooked.
A friend of mine said Snuka helped his dad change a tire on their Buick on the way home. I was hooked again, this time on calling bullshit. Kids are funny like that, little sponges. I often worry about what my own son is soaking in when he pretends to be ignoring me. But for now, I'll light a smoke and root for B'more the rest of the season, seems the least I can do; children being our future and all. The good thing about being old is being jaded. The bad thing about being young is not being jaded. It really shouldn't be that way.
for R
::: very :::