I struggled to sleep that first night, I couldn't seem to get my neck into a comfortable position. When I'm not in my own bed, I never seem to sleep well that first night, it doesn't matter if I'm in a house, a hotel, on a couch, or on a floor! I eventually woke up around 8:45 and headed upstairs. As usual, Ellen offered me everything under the sun for breakfast. I accepted two slices of rye toast and a glass of OJ. I knew better, I was going to save my appetite for Citi Field later on that afternoon.
Catherine came downstairs and Francis followed a while later. Now a month prior, Francis had purchased a new car. I went outside and took a look. Now I'm not a big car guy, but this was tremendous. He has a black Chevy Camaro with a red stripe going down the hood. It's a 45th anniversary special edition. Two doors, leather interior, XM radio, digital instrument panel, I admit it is one sweet ride. While Catherine took her usual hour to get ready, Francis asked me if I had my driver's license. When I told him I did, he asked if I wanted to test drive the car. My mouth dropped. "You bet I would!" So I took the car for 10 minutes with him in the passenger seat. We cruised around Juniper Valley park twice. About five minutes before we arrived back at the house, my phone vibrated, but I was not about to check it while I was driving someone else's car.
We pulled up to the curb and sure enough, Catherine was standing outside, hands on her hips, giving both of us the death stare. She got into the shotgun seat without a word and we left at 10:30. The three of us were dead quiet the whole 15-minute ride. Halfway through, I checked my phone and realized she was the one who texted me, asking us to come back.
Catherine came downstairs and Francis followed a while later. Now a month prior, Francis had purchased a new car. I went outside and took a look. Now I'm not a big car guy, but this was tremendous. He has a black Chevy Camaro with a red stripe going down the hood. It's a 45th anniversary special edition. Two doors, leather interior, XM radio, digital instrument panel, I admit it is one sweet ride. While Catherine took her usual hour to get ready, Francis asked me if I had my driver's license. When I told him I did, he asked if I wanted to test drive the car. My mouth dropped. "You bet I would!" So I took the car for 10 minutes with him in the passenger seat. We cruised around Juniper Valley park twice. About five minutes before we arrived back at the house, my phone vibrated, but I was not about to check it while I was driving someone else's car.
We pulled up to the curb and sure enough, Catherine was standing outside, hands on her hips, giving both of us the death stare. She got into the shotgun seat without a word and we left at 10:30. The three of us were dead quiet the whole 15-minute ride. Halfway through, I checked my phone and realized she was the one who texted me, asking us to come back.
Anyway, she and I took the 7 train to Citi Field. As we got on line at the Jackie Robinson Rotunda, I looked to my right and saw this tan dog that had been dressed up. He was wearing a black Mets jersey, a funky blue and orange Mets hat, a burnt orange bandana, and a pair of dark sunglasses. Oh, and he had a pipe in his mouth. Poor guy. So as we entered, we got our Mike Piazza bobbleheads and headed straight for the Acela club in left field. It's a very bougie club, with a prie fixe menu. It would be a nice place to stay and watch a game, especially if we had taken the row of seats that are outside the club and almost hang over the field. Maybe that'll come another day.
We walked downstairs to the left field corner and watched Houston take batting practice. One guy was screaming at a Hispanic Houston player for an autograph. When the player refused, the fan actually started cursing at the player. Even worse, his kids were standing right next to him. And he subsequently got thrown out along with his kids. How dumb was this guy?
Anyway, after unsuccessfully trying to shag a ball, we went over to Mamma's and got a couple of Italian special sandwiches. Considering it was also Italian Heritage Day at Citi Field, it seemed only appropriate. Genoa salami, peppered ham, homemade mozzarella, roasted peppers, and marinated mushrooms on a semolina roll, it's just a wonderful combination. Continuing to avoid Pepsi, I drank a Lipton citrus green tea and it was really good too. The Mets brought in an opera singer, Chris Macchio, who sang a few Italian songs before the game. I couldn't understand one word, but his voice sounded magnificent.
Then around the 8th inning, this older guy sat next to me and called me by my name. "Adam, do you mind if I sit next to you for a minute?" I had no idea who this was. But once he told me his name, it all clicked. It was Paul Linekin, who's a Rangers fan I had met two years ago at the viewing party in Hackensack. We caught up for a few minutes before he went back to sit with his kids. I guess his kids saw Catherine's Henrik Lundqvist t-shirt and then he recognized me.
As for the game, R.A. Dickey had an excellent performance on the mound, which he's been doing all season. He earned his 16th win of the season and I hope he'll find a way to get four more before the year is over. Justin Turner hit a home run and the Mets snapped their five-game losing streak with a 3-1 victory over the Astros. Catherine and I stayed another few minutes afterwards, hoping to find an extra Piazza bobblehead. No luck.
From Flushing, we took the 7 Express train to Queensboro Plaza, before boarding the N Train to Coney Island. The whole trip took about an hour and 45. We made it to MCU Park in Coney Island around 5:50, just 15 minutes before first pitch. This park is absolutely tiny, even by minor league standards. The lines for the food were absolutely ridiculous, each one must have had 30-40 people on it. In the third inning, Catherine took off for a while. Ten minutes later, I got a text from her saying there was a contest going on in the Cyclones bullpen in right field. There were three different cups set up throughout the grass and if you could drop a quarter in one of the cups, about 15 feet down, you could win either a baseball signed by the team or a baseball signed by Johan Santana.
We tried about a dozen times combined, but never quite pulled it off. Not even when we tried dimes or nickels. Then we walked around the concourse before heading into the team store. We found some nice gear, but nothing really worth buying. Actually, I really liked the blue and orange alternate Gary Carter memorial jersey, but not for $106.00. They also had a local kid who's with the Harlem Globetrotters now signing autographs. I think his name was Cheese or something like that.
We tried about a dozen times combined, but never quite pulled it off. Not even when we tried dimes or nickels. Then we walked around the concourse before heading into the team store. We found some nice gear, but nothing really worth buying. Actually, I really liked the blue and orange alternate Gary Carter memorial jersey, but not for $106.00. They also had a local kid who's with the Harlem Globetrotters now signing autographs. I think his name was Cheese or something like that.
The game was never really a contest as the Cyclones wasted the Yankees 11-0. That was the only game they would win in the three-game series. Since we hadn't eaten since 12:30 and it was almost 8, we needed to get something to eat. The shortest line we could find was for the Brooklyn Burger stand. It was maybe eight people long. We stood in that damn line for at least a half hour just to get a pair of thin burgers. Not really worth it.
For this game, the Cyclones were sporting these really unique jerseys. They were black with ice blue outlines of the various rides at Coney Island Amusement Park. After the game, they were going to raffle the jerseys away to the fans right off their backs, kind of like the Rangers do at the end of every hockey season. So we brought ten raffle tickets for $10.00. Our six digits ranged from 208530 to 208539. Now usually with these tickets, the first two or three numbers are always the same and then it's all up to luck. Well, they called 20 numbers and only once did we even get the first digit right! At least 15 started with a 5. It got so bad that as they were reading off a number, I started shouting out "FIVE!" And after just the fifth jersey didn't go our way, Catherine was on the verge of cussing every time they called a number out.
The evening ended with a fireworks display over left field. Not the best I've seen this summer, but it ended well. We weren't quite ready to head back home yet, so we took a walk on the beach. As we shuffled barefoot through the sand, we gazed back at the amusement park, which was all lit up. And it looked pretty spectacular. Then, we found this vacant lifeguard chair, which we climbed into and we just held hands and kissed for a while. After a while, the wind picked up and turned colder, so we jumped off the tower together and walked back to the boardwalk.
I was pretty hungry so I decided to grab a hot dog at Nathan's before boarding the subway. We went to the boardwalk Nathan's stand, not the main stand, which is a block away from the beach on Surf Avenue. I should have known quickly what we were in for. As I looked at the staff, most of them seemed pretty disinterested in what they were doing. I didn't pay too close attention to the two groups ahead of us in line, but I know they messed up the order and it took way too long. After 20 minutes of waiting to just order, we asked for one hot dog apiece, Catherine got hers with sauteed onions. She ordered a small diet Coke while I asked for a medium regular Coke. The girl who took the order began to fill the medium cup with diet. No good. We had that corrected and she apologized. About five minutes, I got my frank. We waited at least ten minutes for Catherine's frank. Meanwhile, the two women behind us already received their order. At that point, I'd had enough and spoke up. We explained we wanted a hot dog with onions. She came back two minutes with a plain frank. I tightened my jaw as Catherine asked for the onions for what really was the third time. Then she took the frank again and began spooning, not onions, but sauerkraut on top. We stared at each other in disbelief. Was this idiot hard of hearing or did she just not give a damn? We just figured we'd forget it. I added mustard to mine, she added ketchup (inexplicably), and we gobbled them up. I love those hot dogs, but that service was an absolute abomination. If I was her boss, I'd have fired her on the spot.
Then, began the saga home. We took the N and in the car next to us was this homeless guy. He had a thick gray beard, his shirt was ripped open in the back, and he actually reeked through the car. Catherine noticed him first as he urinated between cars out onto the tracks. She looked very uncomfortable, so we switched to another car. Once we sat down in a car that we knew the man would not be able to walk to, we were both breathing a lot easier.
Then we took the L and there was basically no room to sit down or even move. She leaned against the window facing the car, while I faced her. All of a sudden, her jaw dropped instantly in shock. I ahd no idea what was going on, but I spun around to my left to see what was going on. This one guy had a cage filled with six or seven exotic birds. One of the birds had gotten loose and was flying through the car. Thankfully, this one guy who looked like Snoop Dogg got him and returned him to the owner.
We were only going to ride the M train for only four stops back to Metropolitan Avenue, so I figured the drama was over for the night. No such luck. I sat down and Catherine stood across from me. I looked to my left and saw this small dark-skinned lady with a bolt in both her nostrils and a pile of dreadlocks on her head. Now I've seen some long dreadlocks in my life. But these didn't just hang down. These were swirled on her head, maybe in honor of the dairy Queen, I don't know. It was like a molehill or a bird's nest. I had no problem with it, if that's part of her culture, that's cool. It's just hair, she can wear it how she chooses to. But one gentleman didn't feel the same. He must have been 60, wearing a wife-beater, had a big potbelly, looking miserable. Even my grandfather would have seen this guy and said "Lighten up, man." He sat down near me, noticed the woman, and mumbled out loud "What da fuck is dat?" Catherine looked over and did her best to not totally burst out laughing. She told me later she thought the guy was looking at the birds. Unfortunately, Mr. Sensitive wasn't done. He mumbled out loud about how she must be carrying tons of diseases and how screwed up the world was. Over a head of hair. I couldn't have been happier to get away from him. Actually, I was happier to get away from the homeless guy, but not by a wide margin. Just an other Saturday night on the NYC subway.
We made it home at 12:45 a.m. After we both changed and cleaned up, she came downstairs to the basement and after a while, we said good night...both wearing smiles.
Then, began the saga home. We took the N and in the car next to us was this homeless guy. He had a thick gray beard, his shirt was ripped open in the back, and he actually reeked through the car. Catherine noticed him first as he urinated between cars out onto the tracks. She looked very uncomfortable, so we switched to another car. Once we sat down in a car that we knew the man would not be able to walk to, we were both breathing a lot easier.
Then we took the L and there was basically no room to sit down or even move. She leaned against the window facing the car, while I faced her. All of a sudden, her jaw dropped instantly in shock. I ahd no idea what was going on, but I spun around to my left to see what was going on. This one guy had a cage filled with six or seven exotic birds. One of the birds had gotten loose and was flying through the car. Thankfully, this one guy who looked like Snoop Dogg got him and returned him to the owner.
We were only going to ride the M train for only four stops back to Metropolitan Avenue, so I figured the drama was over for the night. No such luck. I sat down and Catherine stood across from me. I looked to my left and saw this small dark-skinned lady with a bolt in both her nostrils and a pile of dreadlocks on her head. Now I've seen some long dreadlocks in my life. But these didn't just hang down. These were swirled on her head, maybe in honor of the dairy Queen, I don't know. It was like a molehill or a bird's nest. I had no problem with it, if that's part of her culture, that's cool. It's just hair, she can wear it how she chooses to. But one gentleman didn't feel the same. He must have been 60, wearing a wife-beater, had a big potbelly, looking miserable. Even my grandfather would have seen this guy and said "Lighten up, man." He sat down near me, noticed the woman, and mumbled out loud "What da fuck is dat?" Catherine looked over and did her best to not totally burst out laughing. She told me later she thought the guy was looking at the birds. Unfortunately, Mr. Sensitive wasn't done. He mumbled out loud about how she must be carrying tons of diseases and how screwed up the world was. Over a head of hair. I couldn't have been happier to get away from him. Actually, I was happier to get away from the homeless guy, but not by a wide margin. Just an other Saturday night on the NYC subway.
We made it home at 12:45 a.m. After we both changed and cleaned up, she came downstairs to the basement and after a while, we said good night...both wearing smiles.
No comments:
Post a Comment