Last season I was field level at a Mets game, got taken out on a date, and boy did I enjoy it. The firecracker bright orange seats. Electric green field. Red clay diamond. Big stadium sounds. And down home snatches of conversation in the women’s restroom.
So, how bout those Mets?
In case you don’t know, “So, how bout those Mets,” is an mainstream American expression, spoken rhetorically, to lightly push past a lull in a conversation between two people. But these days, “So how bout those Mets,” is a pressing question for Met’s baseball fans. You are most likely to find Mets fans in New York’s most parochial boroughs. But even in Manhattan, you don’t go too long before seeing ’em. A father on the subway with two little ones tucked on either side of him, the whole family in Mets gear, head to toe. The Mets have made it to four World Series, more than any other expansion team in baseball history. But in the current season, the Mets are plagued by injuries, wins slipping beyond their grasp, a losing record stacking up like unused season tickets.
But honestly, how much of sports is about winning, given a healthy society? In a balanced societal structure, price tags wouldn’t take the place of faces. Unfortunately, we’re not in a society that’s mad balanced. So sports becomes less about building qualities like enthusiasm and loyalty and more about reinforcing an increasingly narrow definition of winning. Okay, so the Mets are having an off season. But it’s they just moved into a new house, a new age. A new layer of packaging, at every orange and blue stage.
I know these franchises aren’t perfect. Greed has corporate puppeteers of the commerciality gouging fans on the regular. But, we would be remiss if we made players and artists our primary target of wrath. Not when this game has players and artists more like pawns, knights, rooks to the conglomerate kings, queens, and bishops.
So, how bout giving those Mets a break, huh?