(162) Days of Summer

As I write this from a freezing cold Amtrak train bound for Boston it's 5:09, and the sun isn't as high as it should be for this time of day. Earlier today, in New York, the weather was crisp and there was an unmistakable hint of fall the air.

If we needed one more reminder that summer is officially over, today is the last day of baseball's regular season. They're in the 14th now at Citi Field, but soon the seats will empty for the last time in 2010.

This is the cruelest time of year for fans of the 22 teams shut out of baseball's postseason. As always, it's going to be really hard for me to see the baseball season go.

* * * * *

Strange as it is to say about such an uneventful season, for me personally, 2010 was perhaps the funnest year I've ever had in terms of going to the ballpark.

Me and Little Miss Citi developed a routine of inviting large groups of people out to Friday night or Saturday afternoon games. Some of these people were Mets fans, but most were not; some of them didn't even particularly care for baseball.

It didn't matter. There's just something great about going to a game at Citi Field (if I'm honest, in a way that's fundamentally superior to Shea). When you're there on a sun-soaked day or warm summer evening and everyone's watching the game, having drinks over some Shake Shack, and just enjoying each other's company, it's pretty hard not to just love life.

The Mets are something that make me incredibly happy, and I loved having the opportunity, on so many occasions this season, to share that with other people.

Like the lead male character in the movie that the title of this post references, it's possible I'm idealizing my memories of 2010, sorting through them and selectively ignoring anything having to do with Oliver Perez or Luis Castillo or that awful stretch after the All-Star Break when our hopes were dashed.

To me though that's not what the Mets are about. To me it's about the good times at the ballpark or watching at a bar or on my couch as butterflies dance in my stomach, hoping D-Wright will get that clutch hit or that Johan will take the ball in the 9th.

It's about being unable to wait for the next day's newspaper to read all about a great win.

And it's about talking or trading emails with friends, family, or just the random person wearing a Mets hat on the street.

And then, in a season like this, after 162 games it's all gone. No more group outings to Citi Field and staying late at McFadden's. No more game recaps to watch late at night on SNY. No more high fives to throw to complete strangers as you watch the game together.

No more summer, no more Mets. As I always seem to say this time of year, it's just hard.

* * * * *

In the movie, a girl named Autumn comes along to pull our hero out of the dumps after he loses his Summer. I guess that's what football is for, and maybe, with Amar'e in the fold, the Knicks will be worth watching again too.

For me though there's no getting over Summer. I just can't care about the Giants or Jets or Knicks the way I care about the Mets.

On the plus side, this figures to be an active offseason full of turnover for the Mets, at least in terms of management, if not the players on the field.

But still, as much as we all love dissecting the machinations of the baseball operations people, speculating about trades, or suggesting player moves, we don't love baseball because of the hot stove season, we love it because of the games.

Autumn has none of that this year. I'm waiting for Spring.

- A.F.O.M.G.