I've experienced a lot of disappointment as a Mets fan in my life — if you're a frequent visitor to the blog, you know I've especially suffered in recent years — but I discovered a new way to have my expectations dashed this season.
I bought a cardboard cutout.
I'd assumed that, when I bought the cutout before opening day, I would see myself on television — my cardboard self, the one wearing sunglasses, a blue-and-orange T-shirt, and a huge smile across its face.¹ I didn't know where it would be in the ballpark exactly (I wasn't told) but I figured: Thirty home games during this abbreviated season, nine innings per game — surely it would appear on camera after a foul ball, or after a home run, or coming out of a commercial break as the announcer warns us that any rebroadcast, retransmission or account of the game without the express written consent of Major League Baseball is strictly prohibited.
But no! No face time for my cardboard face yet. And believe me, I've looked. I've watched most of the games on TV, repeatedly rewinding and pausing the broadcast whenever a ball was hit out of play. And when I couldn't watch a game, I pored over the highlights later. Hours and hours spent watching baseball footage. I've studied more Mets game tape than their opponents this season.
And I have little to show for it. I mean, do you have any idea how many times I've seen cardboard cutouts of dogs during that time? Dogs! How about the broadcast throw me a bone?
I thought I'd made a breakthrough the other day. Pete Alonso hit a walkoff home run to left field, and while I was excited that the Mets had won the game, I was even more excited to spot a cardboard cutout that I thought may have been mine. It was of someone wearing a blue-and-orange T-shirt in front of a white background, not far from where the ball landed. Never mind that it was surrounded by approximately 100 other cardboard cutouts of fans wearing a blue-and-orange T-shirt in front of a white background ... I had a feeling this might be the one.
I rewound the game, watched the home run, paused ... rewound the game, watched the home run, paused. Rewound, watched, paused, rewound, watched, paused. I did this for three minutes, without coming to any sort of conclusion. The paused image wasn't sharp enough. I needed a second opinion.
I called over to my wife, still squinting at the image on the TV: "Can you come check this out, please? I think that's my cutout. Is that my cutout?"
She took a look at the TV. Her skepticism was immediate. "How could you possibly tell?"
Well, I couldn't possibly tell. I could have rewound, watched and paused over and over again, and it wouldn’t have made a difference. Chastened, I turned off the TV, let down for another day.
At least my cardboard cutout was smiling ... wherever it was in the ballpark.
¹ I should point out that the purchase of the cardboard cutout benefited charity. I'm not sure I would've shelled out the money for a season ticket for my cardboard self otherwise.
