Subway Sh*tshow

This past Saturday I took my girlfriend to see her first baseball game (We aren’t anywhere in the photo. Sorry, all you would-be stalkers.), and I did it up right– the Yankees versus the Mets, with Andy Pettitte going for the Bombers and Johan Santana for the Metropolitans. And unlike the Yankees, their fans were really the only ones who showed up.

We sat with the Bleacher Creatures, yet another reason why it made her first game one to remember. Jeet started us off with a 2-run shot and things were looking pretty damn good at that point. Hell, even a Met fan offered a Yankee fan some of his rum from a little airline bottle (the Yankees fan who was already bombed spilled some and the Met fan cried out that a beautiful, cross-town moment was wasted, but it was quickly forgotten).

Like the spilled rum, the Yankees quickly dropped the lead, never to regain it. Andy forgot he was on a mound and thought he was a chef, serving up meatballs and letting dingers leave the Stadium like no one’s business. After Reyes was out after his first at bat, a “.256″ chant started, making reference to his batting average (which is a helluva lot higher than most of the Yanks’, but I digress). The Met fans came back with Carl Pavano chants… and if that is the best the Met fans can do, especially when the Yanks are stellar in the cellar right now, then things aren’t really as bad in the Bronx as I thought they were.

After a few innings, Farnsworth came in; I could end this blog here, but then I wouldn’t get to the entertaining part of the day, because the game sure as hell was not it. Farnsworth came in and let up a few runs, surprise-surprise, his long ball prompted a barrage in the stands that was the most beautiful thing that I saw all day (save the new facade in the New Stadium…that thing is gorgeous). One guy threw some sunflower seeds from one of the upper rows of the bleachers after Farnsworth decided to suck like Paris Hilton on a homemade sex tape. An older woman who was a Met fan got up, turned around and yelled that her son was there and there was no need to throw things. The Yankees fan who she was directing her comments to was a female with quick wit and responded that she “hadn’t thrown anything, you crazy b*tch.” This set off a series of cataclysmic events:

1. The people directly behind us, as well as me and my girlfriend, started chanting “Crazy B*tch!”, which then prompted the woman to look for the NYPD in the stands and plead for help, when then led to blank stares from the uniforms, upon which the woman decided to show her dismay by flipping off the police;

2. All of this then prompted a Yankee fan to stand up and shout to the PD that they should check the woman’s water bottle. She then stood up and said “You wanna check it, here!” and threw it at him. No sooner did it bounce off his chest than there were NY’s finest up in the stands telling the woman she had to leave. She then proceeded to cry (along with her 7-year-old son… welcome to the Bronx, buddy).

3. The NYPD hearts must’ve grew three sizes that day because they let her stay. After this was all said and done, Farnsworth gave up another long ball and she stood up and pointed her hands in a “Y” shape and said “Thank you!” She was then pelted with more sunflower seeds and the NYPD turned to look at the field… apparently they knew she would be worse off in the stands with 50,000 pissed off Yankees fans surrounding her than out of the Stadium and out of harm’s way. The boys in blue are crafty little bastards.

As for the rest of the weekend– I watched basketball… and I hate basketball, but at this point, I’m almost hating the league’s highest paid team, so I’ll do anything to take my mind off them. Give me a couple of hundred grand and I can bat .180 and make a half dozen errors too. Bush league…