I’ve taken in the past couple of days of Mets games. Yesterday, I was watching live, as the Mets were officially (i.e. mathematically) eliminated from playoff contention, as if any of us really needed math to tell us their season was over. Today, it’s on the TV in the background as I fold laundry, drink coffee, and munch on concord grapes, which are the most delicious snack known to man. That’s right: they’re even better than those cheddar cheese and peanut butter cracker sandwiches.
Anyway, the Mets are playing the Atlanta Braves. Back in the late 90s, the Braves were the Mets’ main rival. The Braves always won the division, and the Mets always threatened but never seemed to overtake them. And the Braves have that offensive tomahawk chop and would have empty seats in their stadium during playoff games. I mean, what the fuck. Yes, I grew to dislike the Braves very much.
Here we are ten-plus years later, and the Braves have spent a couple of years toiling away in obscurity while the Mets have had their epic collapses. Somehow, the Phillies have taken over as the Mets’ main rival.
So as the Mets lose to the Braves (again), I’m rather torn. The Braves are just a few games behind the Phillies for the division lead. Playing the role of spoiler is the only pleasure left in this season, but if the Mets beat the Braves, it helps the Phillies. So although I’d like to see the Mets win, especially while they’ve got all these young homegrown kids playing, I would rather see the Braves win the division. Not the Phillies. But I just don’t feel right rooting against my beloved New York Metropolitans.
It’s very hard being me.