Wow—you like the Mets? Okay—congrats. A thousand apologies for my failure to immediately fall to my knees and worship your great moral courage.
Wow—you like the Mets? The slightly less well capitalized of the New York City baseball franchises? Wow. I’m trembling.
I’ve never met a real live hero before.
What’s that—you’ve been a Mets fan for a long time? You were a fan of the Mets even during years that they did not have a winning record? Wow. I hope that it’s not too forward for me to tell you that I regard your fortitude in the face of suffering to be on par with that of the many persecuted minorities around the world that have suffered genocide. Someday, I would like to know how you did it.
Until then, I’d be happy to just to hear you tell loud stories about Mookie Wilson in the gym locker room in your abrasive, nasally Queens accent. Music to my ears.
Whoa—you’ve liked the Mets? Since you were a kid? And not the Yankees? Even though the Yankees are objectively more popular? You still liked the Mets? And wore a Mets hat everywhere? And talked about the Mets? Since you were a kid? Wow. If I found the mythical “magic lamp” I would inform the genie that all three of my magic wishes were to meet your mother and father and sit them down and look deep into their eyes and sincerely congratulate them on raising a child with the principled bravery that you possess. I know that you personally are too humble to ask to be nominated for sainthood, but I would beg you to consider accepting the honor, if only to see the light in your mother’s eyes when you finally receive the recognition you are due.
You say you met Keith Hernandez once? Please, tell me more.
Hey—I was wondering. Did you stick with the Mets through thick and thin? And now they’re finally in the playoffs? And you feel vindicated not just as a common sports fan but as a person with the backbone to root for the city’s second most popular baseball team, which is a reflection, though you are too modest to say it in so many words, of your own honorable character? My only regret is that I do not have more eardrums to sacrifice to the dulcet strains of your boisterous discussions of this very point on sports talk radio stations. If I could somehow hear nothing but MIKEY FROM QUEENS discussing the finer points of Matt Harvey’s pitch count from morning to night, I would die a happy man.
Doc Gooden? No, I’d like to hear what you think about him.
Excuse me—I apologize for my giddy demeanor. It’s hard to contain myself. I’ve had quite a day. I doubt you’d believe me if I told you. But I—just an average joe—had the incredible honor and privilege today of meeting, in the flesh, up close and personal, right here in New York City, a fan of the New York Mets. Getting to hear him describe to me at top volume, while gesturing with a hand holding a half-eaten slice of pizza, how Derek Jeter is far more gay than Mike Piazza was merely the icing on the metaphorical cake. I, for one, can cross something very special off my bucket list. Thank you, Mets fans. Thank you for being you.
Get a life.
[Photo via Getty]