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It’s over.

And I knew even going into it that it was just a fling.

A flirtation, really.

But it felt wrong anyway.

Every time I put on that Colorado Rockies cap, it felt just like the betrayal that I knew deep down it was.

I know it is never acceptable to use the excuse, "Well, everyone else is doing it," but I’d like to mention that my usually Mets-faithful husband was involved in his own post-season dalliance with the Boston Red Sox.  Unlike me, however, he seemed to suffer no self-condemnation because of it, claiming that (1) he has always like the BoSox, (2) his late mother was a big fan of the team, and (3) as a big-time Yankee-hater, cheering on the Red Sox–especially with the Mets out of contention–is his patriotic duty.

*****

But back to my own transgressions.

The strange thing is, I had actually assumed I would have no interest in post-season baseball.

What I found, though, was that with the miserable and seemingly sudden way that the Mets’ season ended, watching post-season baseball filled a void.

What started as an antidote to the bad taste the Mets had left in my mouth at the end of their fatal season, however, did not come without an unpredictable consequence:   I found myself unable to watch baseball–even without the Mets involved–dispassionately.

I guess I should have realized that it would be impossible to remain a respectful distance and "just be friends" with the Rockies.

I tried to justify my indiscretion by telling myself such things as, "Well, the Mets are out of it anyway," and "I’m just rooting for the National League team in the World Series."

I tried to assuage my guilt over my philandering by telling myself that it was like rooting for a "home team" of sorts since one of the Rockies’ farm teams–the AA Tulsa Drillers–play 70 miles from my hometown.

Having been aware of the tragedy that befell the Drillers’ this season followed by the chivalrous act of the Rockies players voting playoff shares to the Coolbaugh family, plus seeing the image of Mike Coolbaugh’s young sons throwing out the first pitch for Game 3 of the NLDS at Coors Field, my post-season love-in with the Rockies didn’t seem nearly so reprehensible.

Not only did this team have this sympathetic secondary story, but the fans were so into it.  Here you were, smack dab in the heart of football country in the middle of football season, and these folks had baseball fever!  They even went as far as filing applications to the U.S. Patent and Trade Office for exclusive rights to trademark the expression "Rocktober."

Not only was I impressed with the fans’ tremendous support for their team and excitement for its surprise playoff run, but I became increasingly irritated the more I read online and in papers and heard on television about how this World Series’ television ratings would be, in so many sportscasters’ and sportswriters’ opinions–if it ended up being a match between the two Midwest teams of Cleveland and Denver–even lower than last year’s ratings (which, I guess, set some all-time low.)

In other words, "Could some East or West Coast team please get into the World Series so that there could be a modicum of interest in signing on advertisers?"  God, I hate when television and advertising runs sports…which is like, all the time, I know.  I don’t try to to kid myself.  It’s just that it is more obvious at some times than at others.  But I digress…

So, there was this coming-together-after-tragedy feel-good subplot going on, the Midwestern fans not expecting a post-season and terribly excited about having one for the very first time ever and big, bad Fox Sports hoping not to have to broadcast from Middle America.  I should’ve realized at this point that the situation was setting the stage for my complete loss of self-control.

I found myself getting more and more involved.  I was thinking about my crush constantly.  I spent hours reading about the Rockies on the Internet.  I replaced desktop space on my computer formerly occupied by Mets players with an image of–yes, I confess–Matt Holliday.  I even pulled out my old John Denver records, singing along to the strains of "Rocky Mountain High".

The team itself couldn’t have been more attractive to any dejected baseball fan with a wandering eye:  young, hungry, excited.  These guys were on a roll, and there was no stopping them.  Rather than seeming to pose an obstacle, their lack of post-season experience appeared more a reflection of the team’s youthful naivete and exuberance. 

Admittedly, watching these young, limber players was something of a cheap thrill, but after an entire season of hearing about and witnessing all of the various middle-aged Mets players’ maladies keeping them on the DL and from doing their best playing all season, can you blame a gal for looking?!

Okay, I admit it:  I was playing around with a younger team.

I definitely knew the flirtation had escalated to something more along the lines of an affair when I ordered Rockies caps for myself and my daughter on MLB.com.  Now, don’t judge my daughter harshly on this one.  She is innocent.

First of all, she’s all of ten years old.  Secondly, she did not become nearly as wrapped up in all of this as I did.  And, thirdly purple happens to be her favorite color; I think that’s the primary reason she donned this cap, actually.

I wore the cap to work during the NLCS and the World Series, and my colleagues–knowing me to be the die-hard Mets fan that I am–looked at me incredulously.  I sheepishly offered that I was just wearing the cap during the post season, but the looks on their faces said it all.

Even before the end of the baseball season, true remorse had set in.

*****

Having a team to root for in the post season is sort of like having a date for the prom, I guess:  it’s the big event at the end of the year, and you really don’t want to miss it.  But if you can’t go with your sweetheart, you might as well stay at home.  It’s just not the same going with your brother’s best friend, no matter how much you tell yourself that it will be all right.

I should’ve sat this one out.

Having a team to root for in the post season–even a young, promising, hungry team–was not worth the life of lies and deception I had been living.  And that would’ve been true no matter the outcome of the Series.  Honestly.

So, as many major league players–and their agents–are wondering at this time of year which team’s cap they will don in Spring Training, let this serve as my confession and announcement that I will, from here on out, remain forever faithful to the Mets.  I know that that may make for some very lonely Octobers with no "dates" for the World Series or even the post season.  But since I’m in this relationship for the long haul, I’m prepared to live with that, and my eyes will not wander again. I promise.

If somebody exciting, new, and hot comes along and tries to "sweep" me off my feet again–even with something as sexy as twenty wins in a row–I’ll know just what to say,

"No thanks.  I’m taken:  by the New York Mets!"

I wasn’t there, but believe me, it’s the first thing all my colleagues told me about the next day when I got to work:  on Tuesday evening’s performance of Verdi’s Aida at the Metropolitan Opera, sitting on the very front row of the theater was none other than Hideki Matsui!

Apparently his seat location kept his presence at the opera somewhat low-key except for a few young autograph hounds.   However, with the orchestra players’ vantage point looking squarely into his face, he was apparently shown no mercy by my colleagues at the two intermissions and was pestered by hangers-on and autograph seekers from within the orchestra pit.

Although everyone who was there said that it was a really neat thing to see him in person ("He is so BIG!"), a couple of friends that remember said, "Yeah, but it was NOTHIN’ like when John Olerud came to the MET to see Wozzeck"!!

I’m sorry I missed seeing the Yankees outfielder (even if I’m decidedly NOT a Yankee fan!), and it got me to thinking:  with the Mets finished with their season why not issue our guys each an invitation to come to the opera? 

I figure some of them are back in the Dominican or Puerto Rico other points south by now, but there are probably others who are still here in our fair city who might enjoy taking advantage of some of the countless cultural offerings–including opera–that are either unavailable in the summertime or that they simply do not have time to take advantage of during the baseball season.

So, I figured I could use this forum to issue an informal invitation to any Mets players or staff members looking to expand their horizons in the off-season, but then it suddenly came to me that I could go one better than that.  Why not extend the invitation to them to come to the MET and appear ONSTAGE??!!

In case they or any other New York area readers of this blog have not heard, the MET has issued a casting call for supers, or extras, for the Prokofiev opera War and Peace–based on the Tolstoy novel of the same title–to be done later this year and had a casting call last week and will hold another on October 27th for extras to portray soldiers in Napoleon’s army.   

Granted, I doubt any of the players would have the desire to enter into such an enterprise for the fame and fortune considering all that has come their way already (although the MET does pay $20 per act for being a super.)  But what a great gift that would be to us fans–despondent at not having seen our boys in the post-season–to see them in November and December!

• Albeit in a far different venue. 
• And, sorry to say, one can’t get hot dogs and beer nor even EAT during an opera.  Pity that.
• However, the seats are a whole lot more comfortable!
• And one will not get drenched by rain.
• However, one will also not catch a souvenir foul ball either.

*******

Sasha Semin, the "marching captain" for the production, put audtionees through their paces, as you can see here.

But, I figure you can high-step with the best of ’em what with all of the warm-ups the Mets trainers put you guys through.

How about the opportunity of living out the fantasy of being in Napoleon’s army without the reality of that military campaign’s bloodshed, primitive weaponry, starvation, disease, and the bitter chill of a Russian winter?

**********

  And let’s certainly not forget about the COSTUMES!!

How classy is the uniform of the French Infantry circa 1812??

TRES MAGNIFIQUE!!!

**********

 

And perhaps a little

MILITARY DISCIPLINE

might not be such a bad things for some Mets players.

Considering some of the rumors of lack of discipline within the Mets’ ranks  and the fights that broke out toward the end of the season, the lack of hustle observed in not running out ground balls, etc., maybe a return to a little "basic training" might not hurt a few of those guys.  Ya think?

Maybe a bit of "boot camp" before Spring Training–that and observing those young, hungry, fired-up Rockies playing hard in the World Series–would serve as the "kick in the pants" a few of the Mets players supposedly lacking motivation near the end of this past season could use.

…there was still hope. But it quickly died with seven runs in the first third of the first inning.

…we still had a chance.  But the Nationals didn’t come to our aid.

…the Phightin’ Phils were on a roll and pheelin’ mighty phine.  Less than a week later, they looked phlat, and today there’s not nearly so much swagger in the City of Brotherly Love.

…I was depressed, incredulous, and–like Moises Alou–pretty much hated baseball. Today, I empathize with the Cubbies fan, but I also feel the tremendous joy and happiness of the Rockies fan.

*****

Naturally, I wish it were the Mets celebrating a NLCS victory, but I couldn’t be happier for the Rockies and their fans. 

Not only is this their first trip to the NLCS, but there are special "feel good" associations with this club and its win this year. 

In a very classy gesture, the Rockies players voted playoff shares to the family of AA coach Mike Coolbaugh.

And his two small sons threw out the first pitch at last night’s historic game.

                    *****

When I realized that only one week had gone by since that devastating loss at Shea, I could hardly believe it.  It seems like weeks have passed.

That makes me realize that I (and hopefully the Mets organization) will be able to move beyond the Collapse of 2007 so much sooner than I ever realized and–perhaps even before the 2007 World Series is played–I may even be ready to sing a few bars of "Meet the Mets" in anticipation of meeting and greeting the 2008 Mets Team in April at Shea.

How many weeks until "pitchers and catchers report?"

"Where’s Susan been?"

Apparently my "absence" on this site–particularly my lack of a response to the lamentable conclusion of the Mets’ season–has been noticed.

I apologize for my lapse in posting a timely response to a newsworthy event directly related to the subject to which this blog is specifically dedicated. 

Frankly, the mere fact of knowing that someone is interested in reading a post of mine will help to lift my spirits somewhat in what has been a pretty low time since, oh, Sunday evening…so thanks!  Also, the act of putting my thoughts together will distract me from the fact that the Phillies, not the Mets, are playing the Rockies on TBS as I write this.  Sigh…

Kaz Matsui just hit a Grand Slam to make it 6-3 Rockies. YES-S-S-S-S-S!!!!!

I have experienced a myriad of emotions in response to the Mets’ denoument.  With profound disappointment, shock, and a general emptiness being among the most prevalent feelings, my fear has been that if I sat down to write about my response to the events of this past week, the post I would end up with would be loquacious and self-pitying.

The resulting post, I feared, would primarily serve as a personal catharsis rather than as interesting reading for anyone else.

Secondly, any observations or criticisms that I have about the team and its downfall–why it happened, how it could’ve been avoided, etc.–have already been voiced by the media, by bloggers, by one’s colleagues at the watercooler–well before the end of the season and in countless post-mortems that followed immediately after the end of the Mets’ collapse.  While I certainly have my own opinions, I’m not sure any of them are completely original.

I’m quite certain the world is not waiting with baited breath to hear what Susan Spector would’ve done differently if she were managing the team or making trades.

*****

Since Sunday evening, I keep thinking that there will be one image–a photograph, perhaps–that will sum it all up for me.  I guess the cartoon at left comes the closest for me.

Summing it up:  I do think that’s part of the problem for at least this Mets fan. 

With Glavine having such a horrible outing on the very last day of the regular season, I assume that is the reason that the team did not come out on the field to say "goodbye" to the fans…perhaps that and the fact that by then Reyes was getting booed at every at-bat and (I heard–I had left by then) the crowd was chanting, "Fire Willie!"  No doubt the team feared the crowd’s wrath if they came out onto the field at that point.

I’m not sure how this could’ve been accomplished, but I wish we fans could’ve been provided some sort of closure on the season.  In spite of a devastating collapse, this team still provided a great season and came within ONE GAME of going to the playoffs.  They provided some very exciting baseball a lot of the summer, and yet all of us–fans and players and management–were left with a sour taste in our mouths and no way to truly express appreciation for the good that DID happen. 

So how do you make that bad taste go away? Maybe some fans would’ve felt better if Willie Randolph had been fired.  Mike Francesa of WFAN talked about the kind of fan that would not be satisfied until someone "paid" for this debacle, i.e., the "head on a platter" mentality.  Obviously, Randolph’s job is safe and I, for one, would not have felt any better had he lost his job.

• Telling ourselves, "There’s always next year?"

              Sounds kinda lame, doesn’t it?

• Rooting against the Phillies?

              Nah.  Only provides limited satisfaction.

• Rooting for the Yankees?

              What, are you NUTS??!!  I’m not THAT desperate.  Puh-LEAZE!

• Focus on the things in life other than baseball?

     That’s what I’m trying to do at the moment. 

     I’m meeting with limited success, but I’ll keep you posted.

     Literally. 

     Sooner, next time, I promise. 

…and the Mets ARE still ALIVE on this night before the final game of the regular season!

Who’da thunk, twenty-four hours ago that we Mets fans would be as happy and as optimistic, with as much to be thankful for, as we are at this moment??!!

THANK YOU, THANK YOU, Mets, for playing like it still matters!  For not giving up!  For showing some signs of life!

THANK YOU, Mets fans, for cheering, yelling, screaming, standing, chanting.  It was also nice to feel that there were signs of life from the stands.  I think the players heard us.  I think we helped today.

And there were PLENTY of signs of life in the game itself today.  There were signs of crisp defense.  There were runners not left on base.  There were numerous hits with runners on base and two outs.  And, when our players were confronted with ugliness from the opposition, immediate and obvious support–particularly in the form of the usually reserved Rick Peterson–came to life!

Yes, the Mets definitely showed signs of LIFE today!

My daughter Melanie, never having witnessed a brawl involving both benches and bullpens emptying onto the field, stared incredulously during the proceedings in the fifth inning.  She came home and promptly made this drawing and also insisted on watching that portion of the game which we had recorded from SNY.

Perhaps the brawls satisfied some of those players and fans who had become increasingly fed-up with Willie Randolph’s "no worries" , quiet exterior in the face of the Mets’ dwindling lead.  If those two confrontations proved therapeutic in some small way for some of our players and coaches (and, vicariously, some of our fans, too) and no one was hurt, thrown out of the game, fined or suspended, then I suppose it was harmless enough…except that it might’ve distracted John from his task at hand.

*****

BRAVO!  BRAVO!  And Grazie, Maestro Maine, your performance was molto splendissimo!! 

With each strike-out that was recorded, the afternoon’s game–already heavily imbued with excitement and expectation–took another level of energy and rush of adrenaline.  You came SO CLOSE to getting the no-hitter.  What a bummer to have it broken up by that stupid swinging bunt.  Sigh…

THANK YOU, Lastings Milledge and Ramon Castro, for being in the line-up today and making the contributions you did, particularly those three home runs!!

THANK YOU, Sandy Alomar, for so quickly and bravely thrusting yourself between Jose Reyes and the forward-propelled, out-of-control Miguel Olivo prompting the second of the two ugly bench-clearing brawls.  THANK YOU, too, Miguel Cabrera for putting a Reyes’ safety first and jumping into the situation to separate Jose from Olivo, thus keeping him from retaliating and possibly hurting himself.  That would’ve been JUST what we need when we have been given new life and another chance here!

THANK YOU, Manny Acta, and your nasty Nats!  Returning from Shea to watch your game on Fox, I must admit it was amusing to watch Charlie Manuel nervously bring in pitcher after pitcher while your man Chico did a fine job through six innings and then your bullpen finished off the the afternoon.  Any way you could polish those pheisty Phillies off for us for the season tomorrow afternoon as well, old friend?

THANK YOU, Milwaukee, for the win against the Padres.  With the Wild Card in the mix, the closer we can move ourselves to San Diego, the better our options in that department.  Nice RBI triple to tie it up in the ninth, by the way, Tony Gwynn, Jr.!!

I’m NOT crying myself to sleep tonight.  I’m going to bed with a smile on my face and optimism about tomorrow. 

I hope my team is doing the same.

It’s twenty minutes until game time.  I won’t be at Shea tonight.  In a few minutes, I’ll be shutting down my laptop and going into the pit at the opera house for a rehearsal.  But my husband and daughter will be there…with BELLS ON. 

Screaming their heads off.

Clapping until their hands are sore.

Chanting until they lose their voices.

I don’t normally find much food-for-thought from Mike and the Mad Dog, quite frankly.  But coming home from my first rehearsal of the day, I had their show on and found it very interesting that these two guys–neither of whom are really Mets fans–were taking Mets fans to task for flaking out on their team. 

Basically, they were chastising the fans for (1) not showing up at Shea this week to begin with and (2) being so quick to give up and sound the death knell on their team.

While Mike–the die-hard Yankee fan–could have been gloating about his team being assured a spot in the Playoffs, instead he took up the subject of the Mets, reminding listeners that they are still in first place and that they are–with these three games against the lesser Marlins–still in control of their destiny. 

If he could, he went on to say, he would have Shea officials not put up the out-of-town scores.  The players, he suggested, should not even pay attention to that information.  They should just do the job they need to do:  get down to the task of winning their own ballgames.

I was very surprised to find inspiration from this show and decided right then and there to stop feeling sorry for myself and get back to the "Gotta Believe" mentality ASAP.

And I did.

I may not be at Shea tonight, but I’m wearing my jersey, Mets socks, and Wagner and Pedro bracelets.  Tomorrow and Sunday, I’ll be at Shea.

In the meantime, for those of you whose confidence is flagging, I challenge you to think of it this way:  it’s THREE GAMES. 

Rather than looking backward at what they gave up, let’s look forward at what little they have to DO from this moment forward:  they need to win THREE GAMES. 

I liken it, psychologically, to this quote:

You remember the Duke of Wellington was talking of the Battle of Waterloo when he said that it was not that the British soldiers were braver than the French soldiers. It was just that they were brave five minutes longer. And in our struggles sometimes that’s all it takes-to be brave five minutes longer, to try just a little harder, to not give up on ourselves when everything seems to beg for our defeat.

LET’S GET ‘R’ DONE and LETS GO METS!!!

   C’MON, OLLIE!  YOU CAN DO IT!

     Remember what you did in Game 7?

That’d be positively NUTS, right?! 

They’ve been in first place since MAY!!!!

These are the things we Mets fans keep telling ourselves to reassure ourselves when the doubts start creeping in as we see the time starting to run out here.

*****

Much as I wanted to be a part of the gang and welcome the Mets back to Shea and help give them a much-needed SHOVE to the Finish Line, duty called:  I was in my seat in the oboe section in the pit at the Metropolitan Opera House for Opening Night.

The evening’s performance was of the Donizetti opera Lucia di Lammermoor–based upon a novel by Sir Walter Scott–which tells the 17th century tale of a young lassie, caught between the warring factions of the Ravenswood and Ashton clans.  The title character is essentially forced unwillingly by her brothers and others into a marriage that would better her family’s position and is tricked into doing so by being shown a forged note seemingly indicating that her lover had forgotten her.  Her lover shows up at the wedding and is incredulous and enraged at the turn of events, Lucia is heartbroken at the deception and her loveless betrothal, and upon retiring to the bridal chamber that evening, murders her husband.

What follows is one of the most famous scenes in opera:  Lucia’s so-called "Mad Scene".  For a good twenty minutes, the soprano is offered a tremendous vocal challenge and the opportunity for great theatrical expression as–at least in most productions–Lucia’s display of complete and utter insanity seeks to somewhat explain her actions.

Joan Sutherland and Maria Callas each made this a staple of their repertoire, and after last night’s performance, I daresay Natalie Dessay may too leave her indelible mark on this illustrious role.  While she was totally immersed in and given over to the dramatic portrayal, not a roulade nor trill nor any vocal beauty was lost in the process. 

Although this has never been one of my favorite operas, really, I was totally enraptured by her performance:  she WAS Lucia…a beautiful, youthful girl, deceived by society and those she trusted, shaken to the core, and–in the process–led to a psychological melt-down of epic proportions.

Speaking of a melt-down of epic proportions…

Sneaking into a backstage lounge at each of the two intermissions, I was able to keep tabs on the Mets game.  As frustrating as it was to find out the score at the first intermission at the top of the Sixth Inning, from what I gather, by sitting through the bottom of the Sixth, I saw the only really good part of the game with the bases loaded and the little rally and Moises’ hit to keep up his (now) twenty-eight game hitting streak.

By the time the second intermission came around and I learned the score, I felt like I was going mad.  In fact, as Natalie Dessay was laughing maniacally, spinning around in circles, and basically acting in a deranged manner while the Metropolitan Chorus looked on in horror, I thought to myself, "I feel like that’s ME watching the Mets!"

I feel like I’m just helplessly standing by while they flail around, let runs score, send pitchers out who can’t do the job, etc.  All I can do is wring my hands in despair.

Or, wait.  Perhaps, more accurately, I am Lucia.  I am the one going bonkers.  I have faithfully gone to all of these games, followed you guys all season, pinned my hopes on you, had all this faith in you (and why not?), and now–when we should be pulling out all stops, playing in post-season mode–you guys can’t beat last-place teams and lousy pitchers?! 

I feel like pulling my hair out and singing my own

MAD SCENE!!

So, now you know:  if you see a middle-aged, blond woman in Mets gear in a Mezzanine box behind Home Plate tonight, tomorrow night, or this weekend (unless we clinch) belting out what sounds like an a Capella Bel canto aria with a middle-aged gentleman and young child with blond pig-tails (also clothed in Mets gear) trying desperately to restrain her, you’ll know my story. 

My scena won’t be because I’ve had one beer too many. 

   I’ve just seen

One walk too many. 

One loss too many.

One error too many.

Hopefully, just NOT too many to clinch.  That’s all that matters. 

For the Division Title. 

For my sanity.

"STAYIN’ ALIVE"

    with the

MAGIC NUMBER

at

!!!!!

*****