On May 5, I attended my first Major League Baseball game. Baseball has such a deep-seated history in New York, especially, so I figured I should partake. I went on a friend’s invitation to the Mets game versus the Arizona Diamondbacks.*
I have never been much of a baseball fan, per se, but I have always enjoyed being at baseball games, even in the nosebleed section (where our fine tickets granted us seating). I like the leisurely pace, the white-noise drone of the announcer, the good-natured nostalgia of it all. Citi Field did not disappoint. Nor was it without its adorable old men who had probably attended every game since before they hit puberty, sitting beside their admiring grandchildren, dressed identical to their elders: the next generation of fans in training. The blowsy old women could bellow at the players with the best of them, and every single fan had the most stereotypical New York accent that even the LaGuardia planes flying overhead couldn’t drown out.
*Next on the NY sports docket, hopefully a Yankees game.