Saturday, June 16, 2018

The Mets Lost Again. Shoot.

My wife and I recently added a new wrinkle to our morning routine. As we're having breakfast at the living room table, chatting and enjoying each other's company, we'll have the following exchange:

Wife: "Did the Mets win last night?"

Shane: "NO."

Wife: "Shoot."

"Shoot." She's said that a lot lately, with reason. The Mets have lost 17 of their past 20 games. For those of you who don't follow baseball, let me explain: That's a bad stretch of games. A really bad stretch of games.

I never expected the team to play this poorly, which is saying something since I had low expectations entering the season. I always have low expectations. You know how you take a bite out of a Nature Valley crunchy granola bar and you hold out hope that 50 percent of it will end up in your mouth before it falls apart and you're left standing in a pile of granola crumbs? That's kind of my approach to each Mets season. I anticipate that it will crumble, but I still hold out hope that I can enjoy at least 50 percent of it.

My wife is relatively new to all of this. She didn't grow up in the New York area, she hadn't been a baseball fan, she doesn't yet know the disappointment that comes with rooting for the Mets year after year. She's a Mets fan by marriage. She had to take this organization for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. And if you follow the Mets, you know they don't have money, the players keep getting injured, and things just get worse and worse.

This is one of the many reasons why I love her so much. I lean on her for support in so many ways: as a friend, as a confidante, as a human subway pole. But for her to willingly become a Mets fan, as an adult, realizing what that entails...that takes a special person.

The other morning, after she again asked if the Mets had won the night before, and I gave my standard response, she had a follow-up question.

"Is the season over?"

I paused and gave it a moment's thought.

"YES."

"Shoot."

Yes. Shoot.

"But," I added, "it could be worse. You could have married a Jets or Knicks fan."