So, I’m sitting here, eating my lunch and watching the Mets-Phillies game courtesy of CBS Sportsline. What’s wrong with this picture?
Well, anyone who knows me knows that if it’s Opening Day, Deb and I are usually found at Shea Stadium.
This year, though, the Mets decided to make tickets to Opening Day and Subway Series available via on line lottery. That meant in addition to Mets fans, a ton of Yankees fans flooded the lottery pool. No one, not a single one of the usual suspects, won the lottery. In my family, we were 0-for-9.
Through the years, going to Opening Day became a ritual. In 1988, Deb and I watched the home opener from the hospital, as she rested from having delivered Robbie. Ever since, from 1989 through 2006, we haven’t missed one.
At DC Comics, you could count on me arriving to work in full Mets regalia, putting in half a day and then hightailing it to the stadium. In time, we started going in a group, often with area freelancers along for the fun.
When they began limiting the number of tickets an individual could order, we went in a group then split up, trashing talking and sharing good times via cell phone. Along the way, we endured:
The year three of us from DC Comics were stuck in the elevator for half an hour and arrived during the first inning.
The rare Saturday home opener that meant we could finally bring the kids along only to have the game called on account of rain, learning this while stuck in traffic on the Throg’s Neck Bridge.
The year Deb drove from Connecticut a little later than she had hoped and circled the vicinity for something like half an hour and going back home since she couldn’t find any parking.
Last year when we allowed Robbie to skip a day of school and come for Opening Day only to be stuck in even worse traffic and arriving in the sixth inning.
And now this indignity.