For once, it was a good day for Mets fans to be ensconced in the basement. I don’t mean the National League East standings, lest Marlins fans grow jealous of our impinging on their hard-earned territory, but specifically the basement party room at Foley’s, where our little get-together to celebrate the recent release of the first volume of The Happiest Recap and, peripherally, my upcoming 50th birthday gathered steam away from a frigging, swigging swarm of Santa Clauses, average age approximately Not Old Enough To Drink.
While the Santas took Manhattan, most of my train in this morning and the cavernous bar area of Foley’s, we were, per AC/DC, safe in New York City in that down in the basement there were was no overrun of Santas (not counting the giggly line of young lady elves lined up to use the adjacent privy) and no Internet reception. In a room lousy with terrific bloggers, you might think that would be a problem…and not just because there went our chance to match the profile of our vocation (you know, blogging in our mother’s basement, albeit with pants fully on). No Internet meant not a single phone’s browser could track the progress of the R.A. Dickey trade talks.
And for that, I am glad.
Maybe you remember an episode from the later, preachier seasons of M*A*S*H in which Hawkeye, B.J. and Hot Lips conspire to fudge the time of death for one of their patients so it doesn’t appear the soldier on their operating table died on Christmas Day, lest his kid back home think only sad thoughts every December 25. In that same spirit, I didn’t want a few dozen Mets fans to remember that where they were when R.A. Dickey was traded was with that damn Greg Prince and his eminently readable and enjoyable book.
So I had that going for me. Dickey wasn’t traded Saturday afternoon, and even if he was, one would have to fight his way upstairs through, around and over the exponentially multiplying Santas to find out. Not worth the trouble, let alone the heartache.
But you know what was worth doing? This party. Geez, I can’t thank enough everybody who spent this Saturday away from the park with me. As David Wright has said again and again (and again and again), Mets fans are the greatest fans in the world, and I am compelled to add that Mets fans who read Faith and Fear in Flushing represent a whole other level of greatness, one generally inverse to the quality of the team itself. Let’s just say I’ve never sung the entirety of an a capella version of “Meet The Mets” with a better bunch of fellow travelers, and I doubt I ever will.
Thank you. You gave me and my book a day we’ll cherish for a long time to come.
The Mets can go and make their stupid trade now.