Yankees vs. Mets:


I went on another date with a boy I met on Tinder. There are some really genuine guys on that site, but also some incredibly creepy fellows. One guy I was talking to invited me to a Yankees game. Seeing the Yankees was definitely on my summer to-do-list, so I gladly accepted the offer.  He asked me if I cared where we sat and I confessed that I wasn’t a huge baseball fan (or a fan of any sport for that matter). It’s a decent activity to engage in, but I don’t really find pleasure in watching televised sports. Cheesing into a couch, sitting in my living room wearing an unflattering sports jersey, eating unhealthy amounts of Kentucky Fried Chicken, and shouting at the TV screen isn’t all that appealing to me. I told him if he got seats in the nosebleeds and a few beers, I’d be completely satisfied.

Of course, rather than heeding my advice, we were seated nine rows back in right field along the first base. These seats were obviously expensive because you could see the players sweating and hear the pitcher as he tapped the ground with his foot. I was a little embarrassed about the situation because I honestly didn’t have a clue who any of the players were except Derek Jeter, but everyone knows about him. I’m a group crier, but also a group clapper, so I found myself clapping on accident when other people were clapping for the other team. Oops!

I didn’t have any Yankee gear in my collection of clothing, so I went into a little touristy shop. There were two grown men eating subway sandwiches on the floor near the back of the store, and they jumped to my service after wiping mustard off their hands. I asked if I could try on a few of my selected baseball-tees. A small Indian man took me to the back of the store and opened a side-door. This door opened to a dirty stairwell that led up to what looked like a small apartment. It was also the broom/cleaning supply closet apparently, because it was packed with a jumble of these things. I asked the guy which shirt he liked the best and he said, “Honey, anything would look good on you.” What a salesman!

I also went to a METS game out in Citi Field. We had to take the same train that I take to work at Calypso out there, except it was almost the very last stop so I swear that I was on the train for over an hour. The people I was going with told me not to be late, so I hurried myself out the door. I felt bad at first because I was going to be 5 minutes late, but once I got there, they ended up being more than 45 minutes late. One of the most annoying things in the world is waiting for people, especially when they specifically tell you to be punctual. At Citi Field I experienced life in the true nosebleeds. I don’t have a real fear of heights, considering I’ve jumped off a 6-story building into water before, but I kept getting a dizzying feeling up in these seats.

Both stadiums were equally beautiful, but the Yankees seemed more colossal with its huge marble arched entries. I couldn’t drink at the METS game because of my acute hangover that had been worsened by the horribly long train ride. The ticket was the two mustard and onion-covered hotdogs I ate. Though they didn’t make me feel better about myself, they made me feel better. I must be bad luck or something, because both of the baseball games I witnessed were losing games. Last summer, all three of the Mariners games were losing games as well, but that’s just a given.


Alena Netia Horowitz

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