so i went to this game with my brother-in-law. He's a MFY fan but he bought tickets as a belated birthday present for me, because he loves SEINFELD. Lets re-read that: HE loves Seinfeld. I could give a shit about Seinfeld. But i don't want to be rude, and its a free ticket, so wtf. i drive, and we go early to eat dinner. I get my favorite spot (under the highway, on the right, right outside the leftfield lots) which gets me onto the Northbound 678 after the game really quick and easy. We go to Foxwoods and things start to turn sour when we can't find a seat (we end up sitting with a disputatious trailerpark duo) and then i have to wait 1/2 hour for a foot-long with fake cheese and even faker bacon, and a Dole Whip float, which tasted even worse. But we get to our seats and... whaddyaknow, they're the third row off the field, on the left field line (sec 125). we're behind that annoying (but necessary) extended netting, but I don't think i've ever sat any closer (well, once, behind home, in the early 80s, which i bought off a desperate scalper for pennies on the dollar). It was a super-hot day, but it's become a comfortable evening, and i'm in a good seat, and i got a bobblehead, and deGrom is starting, so everything is looking up... until deGrom's 1st pitch, which exits the yard with alacrity. But he settles down and pitches a 1 hitter into the late innings, with a 2-1 lead. Meanwhille, i get close on a few foul balls, but no cigar (i've been trying to catch a foul ball for 50 years now... i'll let you know if i ever get one. Actually, you'll know i got one because Hell will have frozen over). I consider punching a big, drunk, fat Phillies fan (i know, redundant) who has grabbed a foul ball out of the hands of a dad, trying to get it for his kid, but he looks like a brawler and is surrounded by fellow travelers, so i let it go (i haven't actually punched anyone since middle school, so to say i "considered it" is overstating the case). But Mr. Met comes by, and he throws t-shirts into the crowd... and i leapt a full 3 inches off the ground and snagged one. Its a good shirt, too.! So its 2-1 and i say to b-i-law "we need more; a 2-1 lead for our pen is like being behind." sure enough, its 2-2, going into the 9th and i say "lets go". I know what's coming. I don't want to see it. Instead, i get to listen on the radio as Diaz, Famila and the rest of the Manson family spooge all over the field for yet another bullpen loss. Still, i'm able to zip right out of the lot and onto the highway. No traffic, and i'm home in 20 minutes; the 9th inning is still going. I thank b-i-law; he wants to make plans for another social activity but i'm tired of trying to make conversation with him all night and don't relish the thought of trying to do it again, so i beg off and go to bed. My wife, hearing me come in, sleepily asks "did they win?" I give her a kiss on the head, climb into bed, and mumble "what do you think?". "I hate baseball", i say, as my eyes close. She chuckles and rolls over. I drift off, numb once more.