John Leguizamo once described being a Mets fan as like the definition of unrequited love. Did you ever had that ex-girlfriend - The one that's materialistic, uncouth, difficult with your family -
you know deep in your heart that she's not really "the one", but you put up with her simply because she has the face of an angel, curves that will flip a Porsche, and once in a blue moon so she'll get so turned on that anything can happen...anywhere. Well, being a Mets fan is kinda like that. You give, give, give, hoping for the best, and all they do is disappoint, again and again. But deep down inside you still love them with every fiber of your heart, because you know that despite the long drawn comedy of errors, it still has that fiber of humanity that lends you to believe that it can go all the way - sure, the pitching staff pulled every upper body muscle group known to modern science, the offense is either injured, in a slump or phoning it in, but the same group of misfits remind us, as New Yorkers, that nothing ever goes our way.
The situation in Albany is so comical we have a national museum for corruption there. Our subway system is a duct tape battleship controlled by a Commodore 64. Every day another bit of shabtastic housing gets torn down and replaced by shellacked cardboard crate masquerading as luxury rental properties, and we wonder why a plate of flambeed radishes with raspberry sauce on the side at some new hipster hotspot costs us $25. But yet somehow, the subway shows up once in awhile and takes us to work, with seats and working air conditioning. There is free movie night at the local park. And hell, there's cholados in the summer, knishes in the winter, and fuck you, New York is a mess, but it's our mess. And just like New York City, a broken clock is right twice a day, and the Mets will make it to the post-season. It happened in 2000. It happened in 2015. It happened for that one day in 2016, and...well, it might happen again in the future, because dammit, they are the Amazins'. The team that pulled off the impossible in 1969, and then again in 1986.
I think that all men and women with a great sense of humor tends to back the lovable losers. People of Chicago looks towards the Cubs with a goofy smile. The Bay area will goof upon the Oakland As and their white elephant status. New Yorkers look at another blowout at Citi field, and giggle - of course, you can't really help but laugh - hell, Jerry Seinfeld, Chris Rock, John Stewart and Louis CK all did. Although the laughter is often in the sense of a mutual shared joke rather than mean-spirited jibe. "Oh, Wilmer Flores faceplanted going for the ball and cost us 3 runs? Ha Ha ha man it sucks to be him". And when Flores cried after the rumored trade in 2015, well, he reminded us that life sucks, and it's okay to lend him your sympathy. You certainly didn't laugh when he helped ignite the playoff run that got the team to the World Series that year. No, you go batshit crazy cheering them on, because they are your boys.
Of course, in a more practical sense, being a Mets fan is slightly easier on your wallet - their lovable losers status means that the tickets are not stupidly expensive (like the Yankers - fuck both teams, especially the Rangers...at least the Yanks had their glory hole runs back in the days, and didn't buy a certain championship in '94), and when they gave up 8 runs after 2 innings you can loosen up, grab a beer at Citi field (much better than that pile of shit someone mistakenly refer as Yankees stadium) and hope for the comeback in the form of the homerun Apples popping up again and again. If they lose, well, it's a beautiful stadium. When they win, it's a small victory - time for soup dumplings in Flushing. Either ways, you are guaranteed a good time - just don't take the game too seriously.
And yes. I am a Mets fan. Proud orange and blue. Eat, Sleep, Mets, Repeat. read more