in october 2015, the mets went to the world series. i was fairly depressed that fall – i had just come back to new york from a (very very white) summer in seattle and i was subletting a room in an apartment with some of my best friends in (very very white) bushwick.
i remember the mets’ championship run in moments – on my bed, listening to the radio broadcast on my phone and cursing loudly at chase utley and the rest of the god damn dodgers; in bars, buying tequila shots for the bartender after cespedes smashed a home run as they swept the cubs; at work, where i learned the scores of every royals game from customers clad in orange and blue. i had just started dating a boy from work that fall; his name was jace and he had sweet eyes and long pink hair. for one of our first dates, i took him to this terrible bar on bleecker street called wicked willy’s to watch one of the final games (wicked willy’s claim to fame, besides dollar miller lites, is their built-in beer pong tables). when the mets allowed the royals to score, with the bases loaded in the top of the ninth, after holding them off for two hours, i poured the full contents of my beer all over our shared plate of nachos. jace looked on in horror and (i hope) amusement, while i sort of apologized but mostly screamed at wilmer flores and david wright and curtis granderson, and all my other heroes.
it’s become a great joke in our relationship, my fanatical obsession with the mets in particular, and new york sports in general. one of the proudest aspects of my season with the New York Rugby Club was the fact that our colors were also orange and blue, and comprised our post-game song (“Orange and Blue! Orange and Blue!” sang to the tune of “Olé olé!”) ((by the way, i am noticing a growing nostalgia and affection towards my incredibly short time with the NYRC Women’s team – sigh))
i wasn’t always a sports fan. in grade school, i didn’t really understand the import of the 2000 subway series or the way it split my school down the middle by allegiance, civil war-style. in college, i had no idea why everyone in every bar on avenue A was screaming as i walked home from the L train (the giants had just trounced the patriots to win their fourth super bowl).
right now, somehow, i’m sitting in a cafe in west philly wearing a rangers jersey and mets snapback. it’s opening day at citi field and i have the game feed on my phone next to my laptop.