Shea Stadium

Shea Stadium

23-01 Roosevelt Avenue

Flushing, NY 11368

July 8, 2008

Ahh…July. Nice and humid. A perfect day for a Mets/Giants face off. A perfect day to finally get one’s picture with Barry Zito…maybe even say more than two words to him without stuttering or drooling on oneself. It was also a perfect day to appreciate the New York Jets…though we’re not quite sure how this idea came to fruition. We arrived at Shea Stadium in time for batting practice (as usual). As we walked to the gate, what did we happen to see? A New York Jets jump, jump. At least, that’s what Lisa saw. Serena spotted something much more important with her shoddy vision. Mr. Met. And he was wearing a Jets jersey. Naturally, we needed our picture taken.

Note that constant happiness on his face. Even when the Mets’ bullpen blows a 10-run lead, Mr. Met’s smile never wavers. No. He doesn’t call the relief pitchers nasty and foul names like we do. No. He doesn’t call David Wright a jerk for avoiding Lisa and Serena yet again. No. He doesn’t run away and hide in fear from Lisa and Serena’s cameras despite the fact that he may want to. No. He only smiles and high-fives his admirers with his giant, soft, fuzzy, and white hands. Could our luck really be changing? We met Mr. Met within a mere 5 minutes of arriving. Maybe this was the day that we’d leave a Mets game with a marriage proposal by both Barry Zito and David Wright. At the very least, a date? Maybe we’d win this ridiculously great prize like a JetBlue getaway. Or (and this was the more likely option) was this a sign that we were about to be struck by lightning and die?

We sincerely hope that there are multiple people playing the role of Mr. Met. After all, we’ve had at least 6 pictures taken with him up until this point and if it is only one individual, he probably fears for his life. Anywho, we practically skipped into Shea Stadium after that chance encounter and headed down to field level to watch batting practice. The Giants were on the field and our primary mission was to meet Barry Zito…again. You might recall our incident in DC when we attempted to get his autograph at RFK Stadium and failed, however that was not our first encounter with Mr. Zito. Admittedly, we met him at an earlier Mets/Giants game. Serena had managed to get him to sign his Athletics baseball card. Unfortunately, in her nervousness, she forgot to remove the card from its protective plastic covering, so he signed that instead of the actual card. She’s a real jack ass. We meandered our way down to the left field wall and waited patiently as he stretched nearby. Eventually, he slowly made his way over to where we stood. Behind us, two Giants fans requested that Lisa get Zito to sign their baseball.

Of course, Serena forgot the baseball card for him to sign, but she did manage to get her picture taken with him without fainting. He seemed nice enough, but he didn’t say much and he didn’t ask for Serena’s phone number. Perhaps David Wright told him not to. That bastard. Or maybe because Serena looked like she had a stink eye. We may never know why.

To thank Lisa for her kindness, our newly found Giants friends treated us to the largest beers we’ve ever seen. They sat with us for a little bit in the field level section while we watched the rest of batting practice. They even took this somewhat decent picture of us:

Unfortunately, as we proceeded to get drunk on empty stomachs, the novelty of us wore off. We started rambling about random topics until finally, they stood up and claimed that they had to leave in order to “use the bathroom.” We’re pretty sure this was code for, “you guys are really annoying and we’re going to leave you now. We’re so sorry that we bought you those beers.” We’d just been dissed by two fat, unattractive dudes. We decided we needed hot dogs. Now, listen. This is very important. When visiting Yankees Stadium, you do Italian sausage, but here in Flushing? You do the doggies. We’re not sure how or why this happened, but the Mets do hot dogs better and the Yankees do sausages better.

After purchasing our dogs, we headed up to our real seats in the upper deck to watch the game. When we reached our seats, we noticed that it was magically the 2^nd inning. Where the hell had we been? How did we miss 2 whole innings without recalling a single play? And the Mets were winning! You’d think the Mets leading the game would have managed to stick out in our minds. Who gets that drunk off of one beer? Were they magical cups of Bud Light?

At about the 8^th inning, we got tired (we were probably coming down from our drunken hot dog high), so we decided we wanted ice cream. Our favorite ice cream place was a little family-operated place around the corner from Serena’s house. In fact, that night was buy one, get one free night, so we decided to leave. Before leaving our section, we got our picture taken by a 12-year old girl who showed off better photography skills than most of the adults we’ve bumped into during our travels. Please disregard the sweaty, skanky look that we are sporting in this picture. We like to think that we clean up rather nice.

Of course, we couldn’t exit our section without bumping into twins celebrating their birthday. They were quite fond of Lisa. They grabbed her and insisted that Serena take their picture. Wanting to get out of the stadium alive and not raped, Serena acquiesced.

As we headed down the ramps of the stadium leading to the building’s exit, we bumped into the “cherry on top.” What, might you ask, could possibly make this night better? Meeting Mr. Met again. Never one to pass up a photo op with one of the league’s best mascots, we took another picture with him. We acknowledge the fact that we don’t look hot in this picture, but look at how thrilled he is to be taking yet another photo with us!

We briefly got lost in the parking lot while searching for Lisa’s automobile.

Thankfully, we found it by Lisa incessantly pressing the panic button on her alarm key chain. Serena just so happened to be standing next to the car when the frightening alarm went off.

A worthy note regarding a piece of Shea Stadium’s history that needs to be included in this post, but is unrelated to this game is the home run apple that lives just beyond the center field wall. Since no one on the Mets hit a home run during this game, we didn’t get to take a picture of it. The rising of the paper mâché apple (it’s supposedly made of fiber glass, but it certainly doesn’t look like fiber glass) from a faded black top hat following a Mets home run is one of the most exciting things that Shea Stadium has to offer. No matter how many games we attended at Shea, it never failed to excite us when a Mets player hit a home run and it wasn’t just because they put a run on the board. It was because that old, shabby apple slowly crept its way out of the hat. We also secretly hoped that one day it would accidentally topple over and squash Carlos Beltran.  It’s not like we wanted Beltran to die. We just wanted him out of the lineup. Perhaps on another team. Despite its ratty appearance (and rumors that Middle Earth and a squirrel colony inhabited the top hat), we’re quite fond of the apple. We’ll be extremely put out if we discover that Citi Field does not accommodate its presence.  In fact, we may instigate a revolt.

In the famous and highly brilliant words of Bon Jovi, “oh, we’re halfway there. Oh, oh. Livin’ on a prayer.”

How to Make Lisa Depressed in 5 Votes or Less

There was absolutely no rhyme or reason to last week’s poll. We wish there was point to it, but there isn’t. We asked what would you do for a Klondike Bar. Unfortunately, it seems like you people have grossly interpreted the choices that were made available to you. Now Lisa wants to kill herself and/or gorge herself on M&M cookies. You were supposed to pick the “extreme sport” that you’d be willing to do in order to be rewarded with a Klondike Bar. As in I love Klondike Bars so much that I’d do this just to get one! 5 of you chose “Make out with Lisa.” Do you really think that making out with Lisa is equivalent to an extreme sport? Or did you cotton-headed ninny muggings really think that by choosing this option, you’d get a chance to make out with Lisa? 1 person chose “attempt to ride a great white shark across the Atlantic Ocean.” It’s no secret as to who the person is that chose this option. If you need it spelled out for you, you clearly do not read this blog often enough. Other acceptable choices would have been: wrestling a bear, standing on your head for one whole hour in the middle of Times Square, eating 6 pizzas in one sitting, or streaking through the quad.  

On Monday, Justin Verlander became the first starting pitcher since 1986 (young Boston pitcher, Roger Clemens) to win the AL MVP Award with 280 points. Jacoby Ellsbury finished second in the race with 242 points. There have been arguments against Verlander being the winner, citing that Ellsbury’s numbers/contributions outweigh the worth of Verlander’s. Apparently, there are also a few folks displeased with the outcome of the NL MVP race. Ryan Braun finished ahead of Matt Kemp by 56 points on Tuesday. It’s easier to compare the numbers of Braun to Kemp considering that both are outfielders whereas Ellsbury’s batting and fielding statistics are a wash when compared to Verlander’s pitching statistics. Verlander doesn’t even hit. They’re simply not comparable. The discussion surrounding Braun and Kemp does not lie in the offensive stats, but in the fielding. Braun is not a good fielder, whereas Kemp is. Plus, Kemp plays centerfield, the most important position in the outfield while Braun patrols left. It is hard to argue in favor of a player whose team did not make the playoffs against a player whose team did. Neither Ellsbury nor Kemp helped the Red Sox and Dodgers advance to the playoffs. In fact, both teams failed to perform up to expectations. The Red Sox, in particular, suffered a major collapse at the hands of the Rays late in the season. The MVP should be given to the player that has brought the most value to a team. It boils down to this: Ellsbury might be more valuable in the sense that he played every day and contributed to his team every day, but when push comes to shove, Verlander’s performance directly contributed to the Tigers making it to the playoffs. Ellsbury’s every day playing did nothing to help the Red Sox. Kemp might be a better fielder, but his fielding did not help the Dodgers. Braun’s offensive prowess did however help the Brewers make it to the post season.

The Twins have parted ways with yet another player this week. Closer Joe Nathan signed a 2-year deal with the Rangers worth $14.5 million. This addition will move closer Neftali Feliz into the rotation next season. This begs us to ask the question: are the Twins going to retain anyone??

Mariners outfielder Greg Halman was stabbed to death in his home in Rotterdam, Netherlands. His younger brother was arrested as a suspect in the incident. An investigating judge has ordered that the brother be detained for an additional 2 weeks. Between the abduction and this murder, this baseball offseason is starting to sound like a typical NFL offseason…or NFL regular season for that matter.

The Red Sox are expected to announce their new manager within the next few days. The options have been whittled down to either Bobby Valentine or Gene Lamont. This decision obviously has more effect on Serena than Lisa being that Lisa is a Mets fan and has more of an adverse reaction to anything Phillies-related. Therefore, Serena prefers Gene Lamont because the sight of him and the sound of his voice won’t make her throw up in her mouth like Bobby Valentine will. So…Red Sox, if you’re listening, go with Lamont. We know what we’re talking about. Look at what has happened to the teams/players in the past who haven’t listened to us…most specifically the Mets.

In touring-related news, we’ve finally decided which series we’ll be going to this season! We’ll be visiting Atlanta in May for the Braves/Nationals series, Toronto in July for the Blue Jays/Tigers series (the fact that Verlander pitches for Detroit is a minor coincidence), and DC in August for the Nationals/Cardinals series. MLB 2012, here we come!

Horrible poll voters, “you’re the meaning in Lisa’s life, you’re not the inspiration. You bring Lisa on the edge and now she might jump.”

Oriole Park at Camden Yards

Camden Yards

333 West Camden Street

Baltimore, MD 21201

April 19, 2008

We arrived in Baltimore late the evening before and climbed straight into bed without showering…which is gross, but we were tired. The next day after touring the lovely city of Baltimore, we changed for the game and walked to Oriole Park from our overpriced hotel, the Tremont Plaza on St. Paul Street, hesitantly wearing our Yankees hats like battered women, assuming that O’s fans were just like the violent Phillies fans from the night before.

However, it turned out that we needn’t be concerned about being victims of a hate crime. Soon we were joined by a mass of Yankees fans making their way to the game as well. We were surrounded by a comforting blanket of navy blue and white. No one would be spitting on us while we rolled with this posse.

As we approached the stadium, our nostrils were greeted by the amazing smells of sausage sandwiches (did we mention that we like Italian sausages?), shish kabobs, and roasted peanuts. Initially, we thought a bunch of people were just hanging around making tasty delights, but it turns out that they were actually peddling their homemade shit. Being that we were in Baltimore for the purpose of exploring the city’s baseball stadium, we chose to continue on our merry way to “Birdland.”

Oriole Park is pretty much the cookie cutter for what all ballparks should be like. It’s perfect. A friendly couple (O’s fans, we’d like to point out) offered to take our picture. Lesson learned? O’s fans do not care what team you root for. Baltimore is like the Witness Protection Program for New York fans, whereas Philadelphia is the angry mob looking to deposit your body in Jersey…probably in Elizabeth. It smells bad enough there. One decaying body or two will definitely go unnoticed.  

The scintillating smell of Boog’s BBQ nearly tempted us from our ridiculous Sausage Theory, but no. We refused to let go of our love for sausage. You would think that our sausage sensation in Philly would’ve taught us something, but no. Nope. Can’t part with a sausage sandwich. There’s an excellent chance that we’d successfully complete the New York City Marathon in record time if someone ran in front of us with a sausage sandwich dangling in front of our faces. Sticking to this asstastic plan would prove to be yet another f*cking food mistake on our parts, but we’ll get to that later. Anyone in town visiting Oriole Park, eat at Boog’s BBQ. You won’t regret it. You will, however, regret a sausage sandwich.

We’d arrived at the stadium with plenty of time to spare, so we decided to check the place out. They had a jump, jump for kids who weigh less than we do, a wooden playground for kids who are shorter than us, and a fast pitch game that we weren’t interested in trying out because we’re lazy. We did get our picture take in front of an enormous poster of the field because we thought it would be super funny to tell people that it was the real field. We don’t know why we thought this was so funny at the time because as we recount this now, we’re not even chuckling at the prospect of sharing this “joke” with other people. We’re obviously complete morons.

As you can see by this picture, our plan didn’t work out. We just look like giant a-holes standing in front of a poster. We walked around a bit more and took other photos before heading to our seats:

The view of the field from our seats:

If you were an O’s fan, this game was super exciting. However, if you were like us, cheering for the Yankees, it was pretty pathetic. The Yankees were pummeled. Not only were they pummeled, but we were constantly being reminded of said pummeling by the random d*ckhead Red Sox fan shouting and carrying on like an imbecile two sections over. His behavior was so atrocious that his friends (who attended the game with him…willingly bought tickets to spend time with him) actually stood up and left in embarrassment.

Around the 6^th inning, we got bored of watching the Yankees run around the field like the Bad News Bears, so we went in search of The Bird because that’s what normal people do when they’re at a terrible baseball game. Obviously, the TBB have a very one-track minds. It’s either Italian sausages or mascots.

The employees at a nearby souvenir stand gave us a secret tip about The Bird…that we’re now sharing on the world wide web. Look at this a-hole picture of Serena with the cartoon picture of The Bird.

Aside from her looking like an a-hole for posing with a cartoon poster plastered to a souvenir cart, do you see that door in the background? Apparently that door is The Bird’s hidden portal from his hideout to the field. It became quite clear to us what we had to do. We walked to the closest sausage sandwich stand, bought our sausages, and had a sausage stakeout by this infamous door.

While inhaling these sandwiches like a lions devouring a zebra, we decided that we should probably start buying the food that ballparks are known for instead of dealing with the constant depression that follows eating lame overpriced sausage sandwiches. Serena had just finished her pathetic sausage and Lisa was nearly done with hers when the door we’d been waiting for opened. Low and behold, a giant, black, fuzzy bird stepped into the hallway. Lisa dropped the remainder of her sandwich on the floor and we ran for it. The Bird’s entourage took our picture with him, so we were guaranteed a normal picture. No fuzzy ass. No clapping Lisa. Normal. Except for that weird orb…

By this point, it was around the 8^th inning. Yes…we hung out with the souvenir stand people for close to 2 innings. Yes, we are aware how pathetic that really is, but if you knew how bad the game was going for us, you’d understand.

The next day, we packed up the car and strapped the kids in for the ride home. Our little travel family was slowly expanding.

We drove past the stadium again on our way out of the city.

It was a relief to finally cross into New York again. To be back with our people again. Who wouldn’t judge us for being New York fans. Or for loving Italian sausages. The city that can actually make a good Italian sausage sandwich.

Our weekender can best be summed up in the following words: “Life is a highway and we want to ride it all night long…until we get tired and hungry. Then we have to stop."

Most Likely To Succeed

In light of the failed How I Met Your Mother poll, we asked this time around which show’s cast you would’ve preferred us to use as a comparison. We’ve ended up with a sea of 1’s. 1 person wants us to do Dexter, 1 wants Weeds, and 1 wants NCIS. 2 of you actually chose The Big Bang Theory. First of all, neither of us are smart enough to pass for scientists. Nerds, yes. Smart nerds? No.  Second of all, we’re not sure which one of us is most like Sheldon and which one of us is most like Leonard, but this process does beg us to ask the question: Why Dexter? Is one of us similar to a serial killer? Or are you more likely to compare us to Debra Morgan or Joey Quinn? No one chose The Office or That 70’s Show.

It’s that time of year again, folks. The time when the MLB announces its year-end awards…much like when you’re a senior in high school and you’re nominated for some stupid yearbook award like, “Best Eyes.” Okay…these awards are a little more meaningful than that, but you get the gist. Up first is the AL Cy Young Award, which unanimously went to the obvious candidate, Justin Verlander. Serena knows from personal experience how valuable Verlander is because thanks to him, Tigers Love Pepper was able to maintain pace in the strikeouts category with her cousin’s fantasy team who was lucky enough to have drafted Tim Lincecum. Every morning after checking the previous evening’s results, Serena pulled a Melissa Gorga and shouted, “Thank you, Jesus” for granting her Justin Verlander. The National League Cy Young Award went to the Dodgers’ Clayton Kershaw who was among the league’s leaders in opponents’ batting average, innings pitched, complete games, shutouts, and WHIP.

Tampa Bay’s Joe Maddon and Arizona’s Kirk Gibson earned Manager of the Year honors, both managers having successfully pulled playoff spots out of their asses this year. J

Atlanta Braves closer, Craig Kimbrel earned the NL Rookie of the Year Award in a unanimous vote and Tampa Bay pitcher, James Hellickson catapulted to the head of the class in the AL Rookie of the Year category. Kimbrel set a major league record for saves by a rookie with a total of 46. Hellickson went 13-10 this season with a 2.95 ERA and helped solidify the Rays’ Wild Card spot in the playoffs.

The Golden Glove, Silver Slugger, and MVP awards have yet to be issued.

The Marlins have reportedly offered super douche Jose Reyes a deal worth $90 million and 6-years. No word yet as to whether or not the short stop has chosen to accept the offer. Sources claim that the Mets are not down and out yet, provided they’re willing to offer Reyes at least 4-5 years and $20 million a season. If the Mets pay this jack-a-loon that kind of money, they’re a-holes and deserve every piece of bad karma they get. Lisa might actually go postal.

Speaking of the Mets, the Mets are apparently celebrating their 50^th birthday with a commemorative logo and several promotional events during the upcoming season. Seriously? There are people who turn 50 each year and don’t even want to tell people that they’re reaching that milestone. Mamadukes disappeared to Greece for several weeks when she turned 50. The least the Mets could’ve done was wait til’ they turned 65 so that we could celebrate the fact that the team was now eligible for senior citizen discounts. They need the money.

Well…it’s official. The MLB is adding a second Wild Card to each league, a decision that could be implemented as soon as this upcoming season. Puke. Puke. Puke. We suppose this means that 80% of the AL East will be heading to the playoffs each year then, yes? While the format of this extra Wild Card round hasn’t yet been finalized, there are talks that the added round would include a one-game playoff to take place right before the Division Series and feature the “runner up” teams from each league…which means this one-game playoff is an interleague game. What the hell? This is stupid. The playoffs are about eliminating the best of each league before the leagues finally face off in the World Series. Who is the brainiac behind this asstastic idea?

The Houston Astros are going to be sold to a group headed by businessman Jim Crane for $610 million. The deal means that the Astros will be kissing the National League good-bye and heading over to the American League at the start of the 2013 season, giving each league 15 teams.

In terrible news, the Twins are currently examining their options at first base just in case Justin Morneau is not completely healthy at the start of the season. In addition to the incessant concussion symptoms that have been plaguing him these last few seasons, Morneau has undergone multiple surgeries related to injuries to his neck, left wrist, left knee, and right foot. He is a hot mess. Morneau’s ailments may be related to Puppy Cradle Death Syndrome…meaning that Serena’s appreciation of (we’re not going to lower ourselves to suggest that it’s an obsession because it’s clearly not) his combined defensive and offensive talent (which is so rare these days! So few men can do both well!) has caused Morneau to feel suffocated, which has naturally led to a deterioration of his physical and mental health.

Citizen’s Bank Park

Citizen’s Bank Park

1 Citizen’s Bank Park Way

Philadelphia, Pa 19148

April 18, 2008

Our roadtrip to Philly and Baltimore started off promising. The sun was shining, we were running on time (for once), we had enough money set aside to cover us for the weekend (including a hotel room in Baltimore), and thanks to our disastrous DC trip, we made sure to borrow a friend’s GPS. We even had Yankees Bear and Mr. Met joining us on this trip because Lisa decided that she’d buy a mascot from each stadium we visited going forward. Serena decided that she’d buy a hat from each stadium. A tradition would be born on this weekend. Before hitting the road, Lisa removed her New York Mets license plate frame from the back of her car…something that would prove to be invaluable to the safety of the Corolla.

And that’s where the good vibrations came to an end. For some reason, that a-hole GPS with a British accent decided to take us through Manhattan in order to get through New Jersey, which makes absolutely no sense. However, we didn’t question its motives since we knew nothing about reaching our destination. Once we reached the Midtown Tunnel, our ever faithful British sidekick chose to lose connection with the satellite. Now in panic mode (because we clearly do not maintain level heads in certain situations), we drove in whatever direction our car was pointing in aka: straight, which of course was the wrong direction. Common sense should’ve told us this considering Philly is south of us and heading straight would just take us to the opposite of Manhattan island, but like we said earlier, not thinking with level heads. The British bitch woke up just in time to inform us (in a pissed off tone of voice mind you) that she was “re-calculating.” Eventually, we found the necessary parkway and while sitting at a red light waiting to make a right turn, she said, “Make right on ramp.” Lisa responded by putting on her right blinker. “Make right on ramp.” Ok…. “Make right on ramp.” Right. We got it. “Make right on ramp.” Clearly, being that she’s British, she doesn’t understand that there are no right turns on red unless otherwise noted in NYC. Finally, she yelled (yes, yelled. This is not an exaggeration), “MAKE RIGHT ON RAMP!” Frightened, Lisa screamed, “OKAY” and made an illegal right turn on red without even checking for oncoming traffic. Serena hit her head on the passenger window while cars flying around us honked angrily and drivers flipped us the bird. Obviously, our GPS was a psychopath.

Aside from the random traffic jam we hit in Elizabeth, New Jersey (which despite the pretty name, is not pretty at all and in fact, smells like sewage) and the slight confusion entering the city of Philadelphia, the rest of our trip driving–wise (and we stress, driving-wise) went smoothly (partly because she stopped snapping at us for being incompetent drivers). We had a pleasant time in the City of Brotherly Love and ate a fantastic Philly cheesesteak at Jim’s (don’t ask us to verify the location because we barely found it ourselves).

With our bellies full, we hopped into the Corolla and headed to the Phillies/Mets game. By the way, if you’re ever heading to Citizen’s Bank Park to watch a Mets games (or Yankees for that matter), never, ever, EVER wear your Mets gear.  In fact, just don’t travel to Philly to watch your team play. It will be a mistake and you’ll regret it. And you may die. When we think back to this game, we wonder how we managed to get out of that place completely clothed, without black eyes, and without being peed on (will explain later). This is the game where we chose to never follow our teams on the road ever again. Thank you, Philadelphia for teaching us the error of our ways.

We parked the car in the lot across the street from the stadium. Side note: this is something that Philly has done well. They’ve assembled a complex where the Eagles, Flyers, and Phillies all play and therefore, the teams share parking lots and it helps to prevent the backup of traffic created by sporting events from clogging up the city itself. Cities with multiple teams should consider doing this…ahem, New York. As we got out of the car, we nonchalantly donned our Mets hats and were greeted by a DELIGHTFUL Phillies fan shouting at us, “Those are the ugliest hats I’ve ever seen.” Lisa replied, “So is your face, but you don’t see us complaining.” This may be the one instance of Lisa beating Serena in the angry bitch department. As we walked to the stadium, some guy threw a bean bag at us and a few other dudes shouted derogatory things at us. These are men that probably have a future in wife beating. However, one nice Phillies fan said to us, “Don’t worry girls, you go on and wear those hats with pride.” Actually, maybe she wasn’t being nice. Maybe she wanted us to be murdered and she knew that if we left the hats on, the likelihood of us being shanked in broad daylight increased immensely. Outside the stadium, one nice vendor (and they have to be nice because they’re in sales), took our picture.

We were successful with one extremely drunk Phillies fan. Unfortunately, there’s a very good chance that he was so drunk that he was about to die from alcohol poisoning because he slurred at us, “You guys are my favorite Phillies fans.” Please take note of the hats we are wearing in this photo:

They’re Mets hats, right? We’re not high, are we? Is it possible for an “NY” to ever be mistaken for a “P?”  Putting aside the violent gestures and greetings we received from Phillies fans so far, we approached the stadium with an open mind. Upon entering the building, we were impressed with the “shiny, new” feel of the place. It’s like climbing into the backseat of a brand new car. The concourse is wide and you can see the field from any of the concession stands. We meandered, bought our merchandise, and headed down to the third base side to watch the Mets take batting practice.

As usual, despite Lisa’s best attempts, David Wright ignored us. We’re not sure what it is exactly because we’ve heard dozens of stories about random a-holes getting their picture taken with him. We don’t smell bad. Both of us shower regularly and wear deodorant.

After the Mets jogged off the field, we decided to check out the rest of what the stadium had to offer. We found a Build-a-Phanatic and Kids Zone. It was the first time Serena found something she was too tall for.

We really wanted to get our picture taken with the Phillie Phanatic (who is apparently as famous as Madonna) as soon as possible, so we walked around the concourse a few times in hopes that we’d get the chance prior to the game. During our multiple trips around the entire field, we were cursed at and a pair of brats threw ice cubes at us. We hadn’t even reached our seats yet and it was already starting to feel like we were in our very own Indiana Jones flick. It would probably be entitled Indiana Jones and the Curse of the New York Mets Hats. Finally the moment arrived. An enormous, green, fuzzy creature with a trumpet-shaped nose emerged from the crowd like Jesus. It was truly a glorious site to behold. He was followed by his own version of the paparazzi (basically insane and mostly drunk fans…including us, only we were unfortunately sober and not Phillies fans) and secret service (an extremely sour lady without an ounce of personality). Somehow, we managed to get a young couple with a kid to take our picture with the town hero. We should’ve known it was too easy since the guy barely understood what Lisa asked him. Excited, we took the camera back to check the world’s greatest photo in history. The actual photo, however, was NOT great. Not even close. It was as Erin says, “angerfying.” The photo was of Lisa clapping and laughing beside a furry, green ass. Serena’s belly button didn’t even make it into the shot. Perplexed and angry, we stared at each other. The vein in Lisa’s forehead throbbed and that means that Lisa is very, very angry. Just so you know. If you ever meet Lisa at a bar and while you’re talking to her, her vein starts throbbing, you should abort whatever mission you have with her immediately. While she may not stab you (that’s Serena’s MO), she’ll definitely do something to you that is not nice.

This was as close as we got to the Phanatic:

Pathetic, isn’t it. We attempted to find the Phanatic again (all while the game continued on the field), but it was no use. Of course, as we searched for him (you’d think finding a giant green creature would be easy in a sea of red and blue), our self-esteem continued to take a beating from the locals. “You’re guys are ugly!” “Die!” “Mets suck!” “We hate your hats!” “We hate you!” “Your mother smells!” “You smell!” “Kill yourselves!” “Go back to New York, a-holes!” Random screaming in our faces. Someone spitting at us. Things like that. It was all very heart-felt. Tired and dejected, feeling a bit like Charlie Brown, we removed our hats and bought ourselves a sausage sandwich because at the time, we thought we’d rank all of the stadiums’ sausage sandwiches and let’s face it. What makes you feel uplifted more than an Italian sausage? We just don’t know.

This purchase would turn out to be yet another mistake on our part. The sandwich could not compare to the sausages of RFK Stadium or Yankees Stadium in any way, shape, or form. It was awful. To date, it is one of the worst pieces of anything we’ve ever eaten anywhere. Lisa couldn’t even finish hers. Obviously, we should’ve had another Philly cheesesteak.

Our seats were located somewhere in the upper deck. Where, exactly, we don’t know. We never found them. Maybe we were too tired to figure sh*t out. We’re not sure, all we know is that we couldn’t find them. We spent the rest of the time hanging over the railing in the upper deck near right field and watching the game from there. While standing there, a group of drunk Phillies fans approached and started chatting us up (probably because they assumed that we were fellow Phillies fans since our hats were tucked safely away in our purses).  Our new friends decided to inform us that one of them had 20-20 vision, as if that qualified for something with the opposite sex. It was something he was very proud of. We think they would’ve had a better shot if they just told us their penis size.  

Chase Utley hit a home run and the Liberty Bell in center field got all sparkly. It didn’t make us want to root for the Phillies, but it was still a pretty cool thing to watch.

By the end of the 8^th inning, the Mets were decisively pulverizing the Phillies and the Phillies fans had already pulverized us. Plus, since we never found our seats, our feet and shins hurt and we still had to drive to Baltimore to get to our hotel. We decided to pack it up and go home.

We shuffled through the parking lot to the car. Before pulling away and bidding Philly adieu, we witnessed a very drunk young man pissing on an SUV with a Mets license plate. Thank you, Philadelphia, good night!

One day, we’ll return to Philly as fake Phillies fans, eat a Philly cheesesteak, and sit in a pair of seats. It doesn’t even have to be our seats, but they’ll definitely be seats. We’ll be incognito to the point that you won’t even realize that we’re secretly hoping that you lose.

After These Messages

We know that our typical blog day is Sunday (and don’t worry, you’ll still get a blog tomorrow. We know how poorly you all deal with change), but we’re posting our pathetic poll results and baseball notes today so that tomorrow’s post can strictly focus on the rewrite of our trip to Philly in 2008. We’ve posted a new poll that you won’t vote on because that’s been you’re your MO from this blog’s inception. So, good job, guys. Way to not exercise your mouse-clicking finger.

Needless to say our most recent poll failed to live up to its “legen-wait for it-dary” potential. In the two weeks that it graced the blog, the How I Met Your Mother poll managed to earn 8 lousy votes. The only good thing about this is that you guys actually voted on both the Lisa poll and Serena poll, so that’s a vast improvement from the last time we offered you two polls at the same time. We asked which character from How I Met Your Mother was most similar to us (admittedly, this has stemmed from the fact that we’ve caught a lot of HIMYM marathons recently). Truthfully, some of your answers scared us just a tad. 5 of you thought that Lisa was Ted because she is constantly searching for her one true love. Serena felt like this was a given because Lisa is clearly Ted. Period. True, she does have a gambling problem like Barney (1 person voted for this), but aside from the gambling, she literally has nothing in common with that character. No one voted for Lily or Robin, but 2 of you jack-a-loons actually chose Marshall after Serena deliberately added the following statement to that poll choice: “actually she’s nothing like Marshall. If you pick this option, you’re an a-hole.” Don’t get us wrong. Marshall’s hilarious and Lisa might have a touch of a crush on him, but there is nothing remotely similar about Marshall and Lisa. Do you realize that this makes the 2 of you who voted for that option a-holes? Did you understand that when you decided to select that? Now…Serena, on the other hand, received quite the variety in terms of responses. Either she’s got multiple personalities or you people have no idea what you’re talking about. 1 person voted for Barney because she has a drinking problem, likes to suit up, and would kill to find someone to play laser tag with. We suppose that’s all valid statements however she’s not as much of a d*ck as Barney is. At least, that’s what we like to think. You might have a different opinion on the subject. 1 person chose Lily because she is also obsessed with Christmas. She’s like an alcoholic Santa’s Helper. Just so you’re aware, we had to think long and hard to come up with an option for Serena to be compared to Lily. Why? Because she has nothing else that could possibly relate her to Lily. So you, sir or madam, who voted for Lily are wrong. FYI. 2 people chose Ted because she would do something as stupid as stealing a blue horn from the wall of a local restaurant. This is just bizarre. Yes, she’d probably steal something as cool as a blue horn, but do you know why he stole that blue horn? To impress Robin. Serena would steal that horn just because. She’s nowhere near as girly as Ted is. She’d eat a dude like Ted for a mid-morning snack and forget all about him by lunchtime. 1 person voted for Marshall because she would relish the idea of winning a slap bet and having the opportunity to slap Barney 5 times at any time from now until eternity. You’re probably right. In fact, when she read this, she started laughing. 3 of you voted for Robin because she also has a dude’s personality trapped inside a chick’s body. It kind of hurts when YOU tell her this, but yeah. This can’t entirely be denied. Serena is probably most similar to Robin. However, she isn’t exactly a boy trapped in a girl’s body. She DOES have some girly traits. We promise. You should see her shoe closet and she owns dresses. Swear. She even wears them. We did have a Facebook fan mention that he wasn’t too familiar with HIMYM, which gave him difficulty when it came to voting. Was that the problem? You guys never watched the show? What would’ve been better for you? He mentioned NYPD Blue, but we never watched that show.  

Okay, enough of that. The big news of the week has been the kidnapping of Nationals’ catcher Wilson Ramos in Venezuela. 50 hours after of being abducted on the front lawn of his mother’s house in broad daylight, Ramos was rescued by Venezuelan authorities following a 15-minute gunfight. Justice Minister Tareck El Aissami, who announced the news of the rescue last night, said that the police had 3 men in custody, one of them being a Columbian that is “linked to paramilitary groups and to kidnapping groups.” Authorities are still gathering evidence to determine if there was anyone else involved in this senseless crime. There had been a candlelight vigil held at Nationals Ballpark behind the center field gate during the day yesterday. Approximately 100 fans showed up to pay their respects. Apparently Venezuela has been ranked at the top of the list in murder rates and kidnappings in the world. This is some scary sh*t. The Ramos family is extremely lucky as many families never see their loved ones again.

Other tid bits from around the league seem to pale in comparison to Ramos’ story, but we feel obligated to talk about it anyway. First, the fun, uplifting stuff. Robin Ventura is back in Chicago, replacing Ozzie Guillen as manager! We LOVE Ventura. He’s a great guy, was fantastic hitter, and an outstanding third basemen (and we know how critical Serena is of third basemen). Serena still can’t figure out what the purpose was of getting rid of him for Aaron Boone. Not that Boone’s a douchebag, but c’mon. Watching him play third is like watching an apprentice attempt to replicate the Sistine Chapel. Just not the same. If you’re gonna replace someone, don’t downgrade.

Speaking of douchebag, Jonathan Papelbon will be joining a roster of douchebags next season! Papelbon recently signed a 4-year deal with the Phillies for $50 million. Apparently this is the largest contract for a closer in baseball history. Isn’t that sweet? It includes an option for a fifth season that could increase the value to $60 million. According to some sources, Phillies GM Ruben Amaro Jr. is now on the hunt for Michael Cuddyer. Can the Twins really afford to let Cuddy walk? They’ve already allowed Jim Thome to go to the Phillies!!! Why, Thome, WHY? Furthermore, there’s a chance they’ll lose Jason Kubel to free agency this offseason as well. Amaro also has to deal with the fact that Jimmy Rollins and Ryan Madson are up for grabs.

Other names potentially seeking other employment opportunities this offseason? A-hole Beltran, we mean Carlos, Yuniesky Betancourt, Jonathan Broxton, Mark Buerhle, Bartolo Colon, Prince Fielder, Brad Lidge, David Ortiz, Roy Oswalt, Jorge Posada, Lazy Reyes, we mean Jose, CJ Wilson, Tim Wakefield, and some guy named Albert Pujols. You may have heard of him. Serena’ll take Oswalt. She can live with the Yankees signing him. : ) Maybe he’ll balance out the fact that a basket case with terrible, terrible hair is the Yankees’ supposed #2 guy. Lisa’s simply looking forward to unloading yet another arrogant and lazy piece of garbage that cares more for himself than the fans and actually trying to win a game.

RFK Stadium

RFK Stadium

2400 East Capitol Street SE

Washington DC

September 1, 2007

We managed to accomplish this road trip in a matter of 24 hours. As in drove down to DC, watched a game, and drove back to New York all in one day. Why would we make ourselves so miserable? Because we’re poor planners, that’s why. Instead of staying overnight in a hotel, our only alternative would’ve been to nap in the Ford Focus in some creepy ass pit stop parking lot. We literally had barely enough money to get ourselves to the game, let alone pay for a hotel room.  Thankfully, Mamadukes loaned us her EZ Pass. It only took us 5 hours to drive to RFK and we made such surprising good time, that Lisa decided she wanted to see “The Pencil.” For those of you who do not know, Lisa calls the George Washington Monument, “The Pencil.” For a good portion of the trip into DC, we could see the monument in the distance and it didn’t seem that far away. Our friends, looks can be deceiving. We called one of Serena’s friends to get directions off of the Google Machine from the stadium to the monument. We had no GPS or road map. According to Meryl, all we had to do was circle the stadium and make a right. To the best of our knowledge, we did just that, but we apparently made the wrong right turn and ended up in some seriously ghetto sh*t. We were lost for at least an hour. At least. Time stands still when you’re in frightening situations, we hear. 10 minutes can feel like a lifetime. Initially, we got turned around because the streets aren’t labeled well and we ended up heading back to Baltimore. Once we realized this error, we pulled over to get gas and received awful directions from a toothless man who said to us, “Oh, baby girl, no. How did you get here?” Sir, if we f*cking knew that, we wouldn’t be here. He was very sweet, but clearly didn’t know his way around his own city. He sent us passed a dilapidated shanty where a man sold crabs from a rusted tin garbage can on his collapsing front porch. Yup, that happened. After several run-ins with extremely a-hole DC citizens and their asstastic directions (one of these charming individuals actually purposefully gave us incorrect directions), we arrived at RFK Stadium just in time to see Barry Zito signing autographs.

We entered the stadium on the third base side and could see him across the field near the right field wall. We shuffled as quickly as we could in flip flops down the third base line, around home plate, and over to right field. He started in the right field corner and moved down the line of fans toward the third base dugout. We slid into a spot closer to the third base dugout. In a matter of minutes, it was all over. He stopped at the kid 2 people away from us and jogged toward home plate to pose for photos with what we assumed was the inner city youth. Not only were we disappointed, but we couldn’t understand why a member of the San Francisco Giants was posing with DC’s inner city youth. It made no sense. Why wasn’t Ryan Zimmerman doing that? He at least plays for their baseball team!

Filled with an intense feeling of failure and rejection, we did the only thing that we knew of that could possibly alleviate this wretched sensation. And that was eat. For $5.50, we got ourselves the best sausage sandwich we’ve ever had (and trust us, we’ve eaten a lot of sausage sandwiches). The sausage was nice and spicy and covered in fresh, crisp grilled onions, green peppers, red peppers, AND yellow peppers! When we say crisp, we mean grilled vegetables that hadn’t been sitting limp in oil for an extended period of time and then served to the masses. FRESH grilled veggies. Oh, yeah.

This was not only our first traveling experience, but Mr. Met’s as well. The game’s free giveaway was a Teddy Roosevelt bobblehead.

The stadium itself is very nice, but clearly not built for baseball. The stands are situated in a way that probably makes watching soccer games more enjoyable.

The most exciting part of the game was the middle of the 4^th inning. It’s called “The President’s Race.” The Presidents in question are Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, and fan favorite, Teddy Roosevelt. It’s totally possible that Teddy has more of a cult following than The Goonies. People wear t-shirts with his face on it. The sad thing is that Teddy never wins. He’s like the Susan Lucci of The Presidents. Since our game happened to be Teddy Appreciation Day (hence the free bobblehead), he was carried onto the field on a throne.

While being carried to the starting line, George Washington pushed Teddy off of the throne and the remaining Presidents made a beeline for the finish line. Obviously, Teddy lost again.

At the close of the race, The Presidents gathered at a designated place in field level to pose for photos until the bottom of the 4^th.  Naturally, because we’re furries, we took advantage of this opportunity.   

Note the Secret Service men rolling with The Presidents. Priceless. PS- Jefferson grabbed Serena’s ass. Pervert. Then again, what do you expect from our nation’s leaders?

Next order of business? The Nationals’ mascot. Because apparently every team needs 5 f*cking mascots running amuck. Unlike Mr. Met, Screech turned out to be extremely easy to get a hold of. He spent the entire game hanging around field level without any handlers to protect him from psychopaths such as ourselves.

We stopped by the gift shop to see what we could play with (because that’s what we do…we drive 5 hours to play in gift shops like a-holes…notice how we haven’t informed you about one single thing that happened on the field during the game? We assure you that we sat and watched 85% of it). They had a plethora of Ryan Zimmerman t-shirts as well as select t-shirts on sale for 2 for $10 and a complimentary Screech bobblehead. Unfortunately, the shirts were all players who no longer played for the Nationals. Despite the fact that we had almost no cash left, we actually sat there and tried to rationalize why purchasing 2 t-shirts for a Screech bobblehead made perfect sense. Thankfully, we chose to put the shirts back on the sale rack. Probably the only smart decision of our lives.

Since the Nationals were beating the Giants by a safe lead at so late in the game and since we had a long drive back home, we decided to leave. Before doing so, we snapped a photo of the field (not even from our seats because we’re incredibly smart like that).

In the parking lot, two very nice (said in a sarcastic voice) police officers pointed us in the wrong direction to get back to the highway. Regardless, we managed to make it home without losing any parts of the Ford Focus to theft or our pants. Pretty successful night, we say.

Perhaps we should’ve thought about conducting this trip because it was the last season the Nationals would play in this ballpark. Now we have to go back. Like we said earlier, poor planning.

In the genius words of Kansas, “carry on my wayward son, there’ll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest, don’t you cry no more.”