In case there’s any doubt, our little baby is a going to be born with a Mets baseball pennant in his little hand. (Okay, the most probable scenario in his earliest days will be him sporting a Mets onesie.) That’s due mostly to dad being a rabid Mets fan.
But it’s also minimally attributable to the amount of Mets games mom’s been willingly watching. Sometimes, when one of Jay’s season ticket threesome has been unable to make use of their ticket, I’ve been the lucky attendee. I must say I have come to increasingly enjoy the game — it has a wonderfully democratic feel to it, the crowds being a mix of social classes that other professional sports ticket prices prohibit.
The highlight so far was attending one of the Mets playoff games at Shea Stadium. (Yup, you bet dad was a little unhappy to be at a Berkshires management retreat during that one!) It was fantastic. The thrill of 57,000 fans singing and emoting in unison was quite an experience.
And how do I know our baby’s a fan? Well, from the drumbeat of kicks and bumps he gives during games. (And no, it’s not *all* related to my nutritionally deficient ballgame diet of a hotdog, a diet soda and, at the palyoff game, a lurid blue ball of cotton candy — “candy floss” or “spook asem” (literally ghosts’ breath) as us South Africans like to call it.)
Take last night’s game against the Cardinals. Our little guy went into an activity frenzy when Carlos Delgado scored that three-run homer. If that’s not proof, what is?