One evening in June

Striding out of the hotel elevator, kitted out in a Mets cap, white t-shirts, jeans and a Mets hoodie round my waist, I felt every bit the tourist that I am. For my first game I'd decided to kit myself out to the tune of 50 bucks in the clubhouse store across from Bryant Park earlier in the day. It would have been 70 bucks, but I was slightly more awake than the clerk behind the counter who didn't see the half price tag on my hoodie. As i step into the foyer, the concierges have clocked my get up, and start getting jealous in a kind, jokey way. They tell me and my dad to enjoy the game, giving the impression that they genuinely mean it and that they''re not just saying it.

Leaving the hotel, there's a gentle summer breeze that counters the humidity well. The walk to the subway stop on Rector Street was short and already well practiced in the 3 days we'd been in the city. A quick glimpse up to the heavens to see mainly blue skies over my head gave me reassurances that today's game would go ahead, after the postponement and re-arrangement of yesterdays' game, turning the game I was going to into the second of a double-header. Reaching the stairs to the subway, I reach into my pocket and pull out my unlimited ride Metrocard. For the amount of times I would have had to have paid $2.25 single fare, this $27 piece is genius will have paid for itself by the end of the trip. The subway platform is hot and humid just like every other one in the city. Glancing up and down the platform we appear to be the only people at this station attending the game, but that isn't bothering us.

A few minutes pass by, and then, the light of the 1 train comes into view. Positioned as we are, as the train comes to a halt, the nearest set of doors are quite close by. As the doors, a new sense of New York politeness is apparent as people getting off are shown right of way by people getting on. As I take my seat, I astounded by how quiet the carriage is. Considering it was rush hour there weren't many people in the carriage that we were in. I glanced up at the route on the wall of the carriage. 12 stiops until we had to change to the 7 train to go to the game. Chambers Street and Franklin Street passed without too many boarders or departers. Canal Street Station was a different matter. New York bohemians of a variety of ages, shapes and sizes boarded into numerous carriages. I love the way the city has so many cultures and styles that embrace and work with and around each other. As we pass through the remaining stops before 42nd Street, I notice all the styles and artwork that decree that particular stop including the chequered tiling that provides the background for the Christopher Street Station.

After 25 minutes of travelling, the train pulls into 42nd Street station. The smooth voice coming out of the PA system informs us that we can transfer to the A, C, E, N, Q, R, S, 2, 3, 7 trains. The only digit or letter that I'm interested in is the 7. That's the line that takes us to the stadium. After numerous encounters with turnstiles and escalators, we arrive at the relevant platform. The air is still heavy with humidity. The 7 train arrives quite quickly and once again we board for more subway adventures. The first thing I notice on this train, is that we're not the only people on our way to the game. Mets merchandise is visible up and down the carriage. I love the game, but am not knowledgeable enough to have a conversation about it, so I keep my head bowed for fear of someone asking me a question about the game. Call it natural shyness. After a couple of stops, it's becoming clear to me that we've got on the Local train, which will stop at every stop between where we got on and the stop we need for the stadium. At that moment, time becomes a slight issue. A glance at my dads' watch makes me worry even more. It's 5.45pm. First pitch is at 7.10pm, and we've still got 17 stops to get through. Irrespective of the short distances between each stop, this was going to be tight. I began to brace myself for might be a dash to our seats. Every other stop brought a glance at the watch. I feel like we're winning the battle with time. However as one battle appears to be won, another rears it's ugly head. The weather. Since leaving Manhattan and travelling into Queens, the train is travelling in the open air, and there are rain spots appearing on the windows. I can't face another rain postponement, as the Mets are travelling to Baltimore the next day, and so this game wouldn't be replayed until after we'd come home. The more frequent the drops appear, the more agitated I get.

At Woodside-61st Station, a man of about 50 boards the train. Seconds pass after he takes his seat, and then he pulls out his cellphone. There are no formal rules about using a hone on the train, and he has no understanding of public politeness. The particular carriage that we are in is then subjected to his phonecall, which from what we could hear, regarded something he'd done with some committee of some sort, and how he was trying to avoid being sued. Finally we reach Mets-Willets Point Station. A quick glance at the watch allays some fear. It's 6.35. Now all we feared was the rain. Departing the train, we follow the signs for the stadium and come out at the top of a two flight staircase, with a roof over it. On either side of the stairs the rain is coming down in stair rods. A guy at the bottom of the stairs is selling ponchos. I approach him, and am staggered when he tells me they are 10$ each. 10 BUCKS FOR A GLORIFIED PLASTIC BAG!! However, as we want to keep dry. I relent and hand over 20 dollars. Then, just to prove life isn't always fair, the rain begins to stop. We make our way to the turnstiles and unsurprised to see a high security presence. We're checked and hand over our tickets to be scanned. Once admitted we're showed into the stadium foyer. There's food stalls from just about every country, Mets merchandise stalls at every turn. It's hard to know where to look first. I purchase a programme and a scorecard from a vendor,and then we set off to find our seats. Following the signs, we arrived at our section to be greeted by two ushers who check our tickets and point us to our seats. The seats are undercover, with a great of the field and the rest of the stadium. Now we've located our seats, I set off in search of food, and return brandishing Cokes and popcorn. After few photos overlooking the field, it's time for the National Anthem. Caps are removed, hands placed on hearts as the anthem is belted out. Upon completion, the singer is greeted by acknowledging cheers and a round of applause.

The game gets underway, with the away team San Diego Padres batting first. The Mets pitcher, Jon Niese is in dominant form from the get-go. At every break in play, there's a fan contest taking place or video played on the big screen. The stadium is by no means full, so opportunities to win things are increased. During a break in the 6th inning. The Mets fan girls take to to the warning track next to the stands, armed with what appear to be bazooka guns filled with promotional t-shirts. One t-shirt blast hits the empty seat next to my dad. He's not as quick to react as the guy sat in front of us who now has a t shirt to match his buddy, who'd won one in an earlier contest. Throughout the game, a guy sat behind two rows behind us plays up to the crowd, with shouting and singing, and even states he'd hate him, if he was one of us. It's all in good fun, and doesn't spoil a good night.


9th Inning. Mets are winning 3-0. The crowd are on tenterhooks, waiting to see if Niese, whose only allowed one hit in one of the best pitching performances of the season, will pitch the last inning. When he emerges from the home team dugout, the crowd goes nuts. Every man, woman and child stands up and starts clapping and cheering. Every strike is greeted with a louder cheer, every ball with a muted grumble. On the last out, the batter skies the ball, and it's caught nears the home plate seats to end the game. The crowd has saved their loudest cheer of the night for that moment.

Contented, we leave our seats, and begin to make our way to the exits. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, we leave the stadium and make our way back to the station to get the train. Guaging the number of fans going for the train, we decide to get the second train that comes. There are still plenty of fans on board the train, as it pulls away. Two 20-something couples, are sat opposite us. They're quite lively up to the point when one of the girls slips of here boyfriends knee and lands on the floor. This brings more laughter. Further up the carriage, I spot two Padres fans, both wearing team merchandise, who've obviously travelled coast-to-coast to see their team. They have every reason to feel safe. No-one in this carriage has no intention of harming anyone. They're in too good of a mood.

As we come over the Queensboro Bridge we notice the skyline all lit up against the night sky. It's a beautiful sight. Once again pulling into 42nd Street Station, we play the find-the-platform game. The time is approaching 10.10. Locating the place to wait for the 1 train, we don't have to wait too long for it too arrive. To come full circle, we appear to be the only people on this train who've been to the game. Reaching Rector Street, we leave the train, and walk up the staircase to the street The humidity has died right down. It's a pleasant night-time temperature. Reaching the hotel, I've clocked the concierges and filled them in on the score, and how good the game was. Two beers in the hotel bar, then off to bed. After all, I'm doing the same with the Yankees the next night