Oh mah gaw

The Mets are going to the World Series. The Mets are going to the World Series. The freaking Mets are going to the freaking World Series.

If anybody needs me, I’ll just be somewhere in Sharjah, quietly freaking out.

My Mets mojo is still in effect

I got to attend two Mets games when I was home for the summer, but if I’d had an endless amount of time and money, I definitely would have gone to more. I was happy that I got to take the kids to see a game. Satanski had a good time, as usual, but it was Pork Chop’s first baseball game, and I was please to see how much she enjoyed herself. Perhaps unsurprisingly, she had a great time at the game, especially when it came to helping me heckle various players, calls, officials, and the like. Only the littlest one was actually wearing Mets garb, as mine was in the laundry (oops) and Satan had outgrown his (in fact, she’s wearing his Reyes jersey from seven years ago).

So, for various reasons, I was bummed to leave the same time zone as my favorite baseball team. Not that I’ve ever had the most stable sleep patterns anyway, but having most games start at 3 AM my time puts a strain on feeling like a good fan. I’m super excited that the Mets are somehow still as good now as they were when they went on that 11 game win streak in April. Of course, there were a few missteps that reminded me that they’re still the Mets, but on the whole, I’m really stoked about what they’re doing these days. Usually Mets fans have to abandon all postseason hopes by like July (at the latest), so the fact that the Mets are still in first place IN SEPTEMBER is huge!

And it’s all because I live 6,000 miles away. Mets fans, should you want to express your appreciation, I accept appreciation in the form of Amazon gift cards, PayPal, and worsted weight yarn.

You’re welcome, Mets fans

Why did the Mets wait until 2015 to start off smoking hot, with a 10 game winning streak (without David Wright, Travis d’Arnaud, Jenrry Mejia, or Jerry Blevins)? How has Wilmer Flores (mostly) stopped sucking? How did Bartolo Colón at one point have more RBIs than Curtis Granderson? It’s because I moved to another continent. Duh!

You’re welcome, fellow Mets fans.

So much win

The best things about the comments section in this Deadspin post are 1) while nobody is commenting directly on the post, they’re all making jokes based on it, and 2) all of those jokes are hilariously random. I may end up visiting Deadspin more often, just for the funny commenters. Deadspin: what Gawker was 5 years ago.

Who is breeding with these people?

For the last time, people (and by people, I mean men), put down the babies before you lunge for foul balls. Thanks.

Brooklyn, Baseball, and Bumper Cars

I decided not to stay home and brood on the day that my job was closed due to budget cuts. Instead, I took my nephews (Elder Satan, 14; and Satanski, 5) to Brooklyn. I can count on one hand the number of times that I’ve been to Brooklyn, but that’s more due to a lack of any specific reason to go, than to an opposition to the borough. The primary reason for our trip was to see the Brooklyn Cyclones, the Mets’ Short-Season Class A affiliate. I really enjoyed the minor league games I went to when I was going to school in Virginia (Single A Lynchburg Hillcats and Triple A Norfolk Tides), and thought that it would be a fun trip to see with the boys. I didn’t want the first baseball game I took them to to be a MLB game, especially since those tickets cost a lot, and I wasn’t sure if the kids were willing to stay for an entire game.

We arrived in Coney Island about two hours before we needed to get to the stadium, so we grabbed something to eat and then went to an arcade and played air hockey, skee ball, and that basketball game where you see how many baskets you can get in 30 seconds. Elder Satan and I had hoped to compete against each other, but the balls took forever to come back, and we agreed that it would be a waste of time to count the few baskets we were able to get before the time ran out. We did better competing at skee ball and air hockey, and I’m not mentioning them just because I won.

We played bumper cars, too, and it cracked the boys up to see me driving anything. I am awesome at bumper cars, though, and with Satanski by my side, managed to crash into Elder Satan a lot, while avoiding most of the weird strangers who kept trying to ram us. It was harder to find things for Satanski to do, since we learned the hard way that he didn’t have the height for the basketball game or the coordination for skee ball (his balls had the disturbing tendency to end up one or two lanes over from where they’d started). He had a great time on the motorcycle video game, although his brother had to help him steer, and on Dance Dance Revolution, where a helpful little kid stepped on whatever food pad caught his fancy, sometimes even making the correct combination. Although we were excited about seeing the Cyclones, we were all a little sad to leave the arcade when it was time to head over to the stadium.

We shouldn’t have been, because we had a great time at the game. One thing that I love about minor league stadiums (I know, I know: technically, stadia is more correct, but hardly anybody uses that word anymore) is that they try to get and keep your attention in a way that major league ballparks do not. As we walked to the game of MCU Park, people in Carvel shirts gave Carvel Flying Saucers to anybody who cared for one (Satanski declared that he was frightened of these, and did not take one), and after we had our tickets scanned, stadium employees handed out CUNY duffel bags to the first 2,500 fans, so we got some of those, too. It was Thomas the Tank Night last night, so kids who wore Thomas clothing got to take the field (I didn’t dress Satanski in anything related to Thomas, but he did enjoy the Thomas songs and trivia throughout the night). Did you know that Thomas & Co. are 65 years old? I didn’t either.

Satanski made friends with a similarly-aged boy in the row behind us, and they laughed for five innings straight at the beverage vendor in our section, whose call was, “Beer and a bottle of water!” He did have a thick accent (like New Yorkers often sound on tv and not as much in real life), and for some reason the boys just died every time he said that. I didn’t get it, and the joke did grow old with repetition. I didn’t mind it so much when that kid and his family left after the fifth.

Satanski was more into the game than I’d dared to hope he would be, and he got really excited when the Cyclones scored on a two-run double. “Touchdown,” he yelled. It was pretty cute. Even after I explained that there were no touchdowns in baseball (“or cheerleaders, either,” he added), he yelled the same thing the next time the Cyclones scored. Another thing that he enjoyed was when three people dressed as Ketchup, Mustard, and Relish had a race along the left field line. Satanski and I do not like mustard and relish, so we rooted for Ketchup, but he was vanquished the gooey, oddly-textured Relish. I listened to him talking on the phone with his dad, trying to explain how we booed Mustard and Relish, and took the line to explain to my very confused brother that his son and I had not randomly jeered condiments.

My older nephew, who is not as evil as his brother but is nevertheless known as Elder Satan, was not as chatty as his brother during the game. We did share a laugh over a 20-something hipster couple where the guy had an insane handlebar moustache and the woman had fuschia Lee Press On nails.  We spent two innings trying to get a picture of the guy, and I finally was able to get it not too long before we left at the top of the eighth.

It was a long trip back home (an hour on the subway and then a wait at Port Authority, and then traffic at 11 pm on 495), but we had a really great time yesterday.

Beer bad

You’d think that a nickname like “Black Superman” would mean that you were pretty much the most awesome thing ever. You’d be wrong. There’s something so sad about overcoming so much to obtain your dream, only to allow your personal demons to take it away from you.

World Cup: Rah Rah?

at least we know who to blame...

If you’re American, and so-so on soccer (those things may be closely related), but decided to watch the World Cup anyway, you’ve most likely heard the vuvuzela, the South African instrument whose loud buzzing sound most closely resembles that of an angry colony of bees. Maybe you don’t care about it, but then again, maybe it’s driving you crazy (or deaf, for fans attending the World Cup) and preventing you from joining the rest of the world in Football Mania.

Never fear, you’re not alone. Lifehacker linked to a guide that will help you reduce or eliminate the buzzing sound emanating from your speakers (fyi: the original guide is in German, so this link is to the Google translation). All that might be moot, though, because Host Broadcasting Services, which provides the worldwide broadcast feed for the World Cup, is going to filter vuvuzela noise as the games are broadcast, before the sound ever reaches viewers ears.

I wonder how the whole vuvuzela controversy will affect Neil van Schalkwyk, whose company has produced a quieter vuvuzela (it’s a whole 13 decibels quieter).

Human element, my foot

I’m really sick of hearing the words “human element” used to excuse really crappy calls in baseball, and I’m sure that now Armando Galarraga is, too. Poor guy.

How Disappointing

I read the headline “Sumo Ganger Ring Busted” and pictured a group of awesomely large sumo wrestlers who moonlighted as gangsters. They’d probably get whatever they wanted whenever they wanted it, because their sheer bulk would engender enough fear that they wouldn’t have to harm anybody. Who wouldn’t be afraid of massive figures of organized crime??? Alas, that’s now what happened at all. This is merely a boring article about Sumo wrestling coaches who gave ringside seats to gangsters. From the movies (and the news, to a much lesser degree) I know that Japanese gangsters are scary and lethal, and not a bit like the large and non-violent Sumo gangsters of my imagination. Pity.