Reflections From Fenway: Two Brothers Reunited

(Note: A banner day here at Y2K, no matter what the scoreboard read last night. What follows here are Sip's reflections on the game last night, which he took in at Fenway Park with his long, lost sports-loving brother. Below is another piece from Sip about the NBA Draft. Third is a priceless link featuring photos of David Wright, Cliff Floyd, and Paul Lo Duca out on the town. Enjoy.)

I walked around Boston during the last 24 hours with Elliot Smith's "Miss Misery" ringing in my head. Unlike most New Yorkers, I love the city of Boston. Maybe it's because of Good Will Hunting. Well almost definitely.

But that said, a lot of it has to do with Fenway.


Fenway may be my favorite place in the world. The stadium is perfect. There is not a shitty seat in the joint. There is tradition. There are loyal fans.

Then there is the area around Fenway. Bar after bar filled with baseball fans. Batting cages and bars, like Good Will, are at the top of my list. Combine it all with the slightly cooler temperature of the Boston summer, and the stage was perfect.

There are so many reasons why last night, a 9-4 rout was one of the most pleasant games that I have ever been to. I'm going to focus on two.

1. Camaraderie

As I was walking to the T stop at about 5 p.m. last night, I called Old Chipper to talk about plans for the NBA draft. After business was taken care of, he wished me a good night and of course to be careful. He was worried that Sip (little did he know that this was the New Sip - a brick shit house) sporting a New Mets jersey and a few too many ales might get into a scuffle of sorts.

I was ready for it, too, but so be it. This was Mets vs. Red Sox. The New Mets playing in my favorite place. A beautiful night. I needed to enjoy it. Fight or not.

When I got on the T I expected your classic visitor's greeting. I expected the "fuck you's" and the "(New) Mets Suck" and the "Go back to Queens." Instead, I was greeted with warmth.

The bond that united Mets and Red Sox fans for the last 10 or so years was what greeted me.

We both HATE the Yankees.

There were no fights or badwill. Instead, it was lost cousins reunited and about to watch their dad's softball game. There couldn't have been less tension.

I received similar greetings at Game On, a bar at Fenway where a friend of mine works. Once again, a family picnic.

Then there was the 2nd inning. The Tribute.


That is where it all kind of made sense. For about 5 minutes between innings, the entire Fenway crowd, Mets fans, Red Sox fans, god fearers, got out of their seats.

We all united. It was time to salute Boston's Latin son. It was time to pay homage to the most dominant pitcher of our life time, and one of the newer of the New Mets, Pedro Martinez.

As much as we appreciate him now, he is 60% of how dominating he was as a pitcher for the Sox. They loved him and they let him know. We loved him, which he definitely knows.

As "Simply the Best" rang over the loud speaker I got chills. I love the chills. I looked over at my brother, Jawn Momo, and I smiled.

2. This was the first Mets game that I had been to with Jawn Momo in about 15 years.

Unfortunately for us, the kid traded in sports for being a genius back in '94 and hasn't looked back since.

As much as my brother and I have zero in common, we have a pretty cool relationship. We both kind of excel at what the other sucks at, which leads to the solid relationship.

I owe my brother a lot. For the early years of my life, when he wasn't beating the shit out of me or my friends, he was teaching me about sports. He applied his abnormal brain capacity to memorizing everything there was about sports: Stats, players, METS.

This kid was the biggest Met fan in New York city. He was the reason I embraced the team. As kids we watched games and traded baseball cards. We played catch and took BP, a fireballing Chipper on the hill.

Jawn was my mentor, my hero, my sports guy.

Things have clearly changed, as stated above. He dropped sports a long time ago to become a genius. He doesn't know who David Wright or Carlos Beltran are and he couldn't care less.

But when I mentioned going to Fenway for the Mets-Sox game, a part of him lit up.

Twenty years ago, when he was the heart of Mets fans, the Mets beat the Sox in the World Series. He was 8 years old, an innocent kid and probably the happiest person in the world.

This game was special. He understood the significance without knowing 3 players on the field.

He was there with his little brother, Young Sip, for the first time since Paul Wilson's first start as a Met, which was cut short for us because Mama Momo insisted that we come home for a Passover dinner... Jew... Salt.

All these reasons are why yesterday's loss didn't mean much to me.

History, baseball aestheticism, and family -- big bro and little -- dominated this game.

I was at my favorite place to watch a baseball game with the man that taught me how the game -- my favorite thing in the world -- worked. I sat there and gave him a quick refresher course on the '06 Mets and felt that role reversal.


Only he was 7 and I was a gritty and fiery 3-year-old. Instead of D Wright and Glass, Jawn was teaching me about Nails, and Keith and Doctor K.

The Mets got crushed and it didn't matter.

I was reminded of every reason why I love baseball. The game, the beautiful summer day, the fans and most importantly, the people that you share it with.

Tonight is going to be special. I really hope for his sake that Pedro comes out and pitches a gem.

There wouldn't be a person in the stadium that wouldn't glow.

VCD,

SM