Playing Hookie

I felt like a kid again.

In a throwback to a bygone era, I took a day off from work Thursday and went to a baseball game. A not-so-guilty pleasure I’ve never experienced before, but one I certainly hope I can repeat.

In past times, the national past-time scheduled most games during weekday hours, causing the gainfully employed to choose between work and play on a regular basis. Kids skipped school, with or without their parents’ permission, to sneak off to games and sit in then affordable bleacher seats. But round about 30 years ago, Major League Baseball shifted more games to the evenings to capitalize on a larger television viewing audience, ticket prices started creaping ever upward, and a great tradition was nearly lost.

Thankfully, some teams keep an occasional mid-week day game on the calendar. With the tickets I won at a charity auction in February, my buddy Mark and I made the trip out to Queens to see New York’s best baseball team–the Mets, in case you haven’t looked at the standings lately–take on the visiting Philadelphia Phillies. The tickets belong to a season ticket holder who has great seats. No, I mean GREAT seats. The blue section, right behind home plate, Loge level. You can see everything close up, but with the perspective that comes from being up higher than the field level seats. But we were also close enough that when foul balls came ripping back, as at least three did, you had to stay alert. This was the no napping section.

Interestingly, and probably understandably, seats in this section don’t see many Black faces. We got there in time to catch the tail end of batting practice, when fans typically move closer to catch a glimpse of their favorite players. When it had ended and the grounds crew was getting the field ready for the start of the game, an usher came down to tell us we needed to move up to where he assumed we belonged. We weren’t having it. First, I showed him my ticket, then Mark and I gave him the third degree about why he immediately assumed we were someplace we weren’t suppose to be. It was fun watching him sweat for a few minutes, making up his flimsy excuses. Sad part, he was an older Latino, not much lighter in complexion than I, who I guess we hoped should have known better than to engage in such profiling.

Nevertheless we didn’t let it spoil our enjoyment of the day. The game, covered over in the Sports section, was a success for the Mets. They won 7-5 to take 3 of their 4 games with the Phillies. In the all important Jimmy Rollins vs Jose Reyes battle of the hot shortstops, Rollins went 2-4, including a three run home run to win the on-field competition. But both of them fill out a baseball uniform so well as to make it too hard to declare a clear winner.

The characters in that section of the stadium are a trip. There was a woman to our right sitting by herself, who can best be described as a real broad. A big woman with a mop of blond hair, who mentioned she had been in the Marines, she was chatty and had one of those real hard, New Yawk dialects. She kept a scorecard, was charting every pitch and had something to say about most every player.

To our left, a few seats over, were “the guys.” Four men who looked like co-workers maybe, in some blue collar environment. The type of guys who like to have 3 or 4 beers…an inning! Think drunk and loud by about the 7th. They were amusing yet harmless, but I hope there was a designated driver.

This was my first trip out to Shea since 1973, and the game that marked Willie Mays’ return to New York as a Met. They went to the World Series that year. The way they’ve improved since last season, perhaps this trip was an omen. I can hope, anyway.