So I went to a Mets game yesterday. They won, it was cool. I wasn't that emotionally invested in the game, being primarily a Yankees fan, but I won't turn down tickets. Also, Oach is pretty dyed-in-the-wool, and we had to investigate the possibility that he may have been jinxed. The last two games he had attended, the Mets lost 8-4. Truth be told, I was rooting for that outcome again, because the anguish would have entertained me for days.
But after the first inning, when the sing-along came to "Meet the Mets" I got to thinking... people with baseball heads have extremely limited career options.
44 years young.
Now I think Mr. Met is one of the lucky ones. He's managed to make something of himself, getting all the way to the top of the strict ladder that society imposes upon Baseball-Americans. He even has a wife, Mrs. Met, and three adorable spherical children.
But is their marriage a happy one? Mr. Met has a busy schedule, traveling with the team in addition to all of the home games. It makes one wonder just how much time he has to spend with the wife and kids. Sure, he looks pretty happy, dancing and shooting t-shirts out of that crazy air cannon of his, but who knows what kind of sadness lurks in the heart of number 00?
Mr. Met, you're an ok guy in my book, I just want to make sure you've got your priorities in order. Don't be such a workaholic. The last thing you want is to drive Mrs. Met into the arms of another man.
Single and lookin'
That's all for now,