PROJECT 364: Mets-Padres journey might have been strike three for me

When you go to a professional baseball game, you expect good hot dogs.

What you don’t expect is a Phish song as walk-up music to be the highlight of the day.

On Thursday afternoon, in my quest to scratch off the bucket-list item of seeing every Major League Baseball team at least once in my lifetime, I made the sojourn to Citi Field in New York to see the Mets host the San Diego Padres.

I had never seen the Padres play in person before, so I was able to the “X” them off the list.

It was the 14^th time I had seen the Mets.

I’m down to six teams left—The Detroit Tigers, Houston Astros and L.A. Angels in the American League; the St. Louis Cardinals, Chicago Cubs and Colorado Rockies in the National League.

I’ll be seeing the Cubs and Mets in late August, which will leave me with just five teams to see before I disappear of this earth.

While New York’s Jacob DeGrom was brilliant in a 4-0 victory over the Padres, there was something else I left Citi Field with on a perfect sun-splashed Thursday.

I don’t want really want to do this anymore.

Everything about Thursday’s trip was pretty much a drag.

On my way to the game, which had a noon-ish start, I had to stop by the office.

I left the building at 10:15 a.m., plugged directions into my Waze app and saw I had a 39-mile drive ahead of me and I’d get to the ballpark at 11:36 a.m., well before the 12:10 p.m. first pitch.

Perfect.

I pulled into the Citi Field parking lot, paying my $25 fee, at 12:12 p.m.

Now, New York traffic is New York traffic. It can flow for a while and then slow down to nothing and become a parking lot.

In New York City, because so much road construction needs to be done, it’s a 24-7 operation.

They don’t care about tying up traffic because it’s tied up most of the time anyway.

So, I was forced to drive through a trio of “construction zones” that slowed things down.

Of course, there is the fact that New York drivers are pretty much the biggest A-holes who have been given licenses.

Connecticut drivers run red lights all the time. Massachusetts drivers are overly aggressive. Canadian drivers? Don’t get me started.

In New York, though, most drivers are just ass-hat jerks. Cars will pull/merge in front of you even when there is no room and make you stop and let them in.

They don’t believe in the alternate car theory of merging, either.

I had one guy with a New York plate (not that I could see it because he was riding my rear end so closely) swerve around me and then cut in front of me in a move that was so ridiculously stupid I literally laughed out loud and laughed in his face as he spent the next 30 minutes right in front of me.

It was a risky move that almost caused a car accident and put him one car in front of where he had been.

It was simply stupid.

But speaking of stupid.

By the time I printed up my tickets and tried to walk into the park, I was pointed into the wrong line by one of the Mets workers.

It was a small minor delay, but it was a microcosm of how this journey was going.

I finally walked to another gate and found the longest line I had ever seen a baseball game—and I had attended a World Series game in this stadium in 2015.

Long story short: By the time I got into the game, it was the bottom of the second inning and the Mets were leading 4-0.

Do you recall the final score?

Yeah, it was Mets 4, Padres 0.

I had missed everything that happened in the game.

I sat for a couple innings (in the shade, thank God) before I decided I was hungry and would go overpay for some ballpark good.

I found my closest vendor and stood in line.

And waited.

And waited.

I browsed the menu and picked out the hot dog and pretzel bite combo for $10.50.

Not bad.

And I waited.

And waited.

I laughed at the sign that said in order to speed up service, I was at a “no cash” vendor.

I laughed harder at the fact that the workers were still taking cash.

You don’t turn away money, no matter how much it slows down service.

Finally, I ordered my food and a beer.

Twenty-two dollars.

Ah, the $10 beer.

I returned to my seat, sat down and did the math. I had missed an inning and a half just getting food.

The hot dog was delicious. I wasn’t surprised by that. Nathan’s hot dogs are simply the best.

The pretzel bites were drier and harder than the tarmac over at LaGuardia Airport, which traditionally was sending its planes directly over Citi Field on departure.

Of course, there is no such thing as a good $10 beer, but I drank it.

The more I thought about it, though, the more I questioned what the hell was I doing there?

The ticket only cost me $11 (Thanks to Pete Alonso for your home-run derby win and the 50-percent off deal). Parking cost me $25. Food and a beer another $22.

I was shelling out $58 dollar (plus gas and bridge tolls) of my hard-earned money to be miserable and grumpy by the experience.

Granted, I wasn’t a family of four paying full price for tickets and having to deal with those headaches.

But I wondered why I was bothering.

I don’t really care about the Mets. But I wanted to see the Padres, to finish my bucket list.

I could have taken the train and the subway, but for afternoon games the return subway schedule is vastly different leaving Citi Field and I didn’t want to be bothered with the trip to Forest Hills and switching trains to get back to Grand Central.

So I drove.

After the seventh inning, knowing I had to get back to Connecticut for softball practices, and knowing traffic heading out of the city was going to be even worse, I left the ballpark.

All told, I had been in my seat for three and a half innings.

The other three and a half were spent getting into the ballpark and getting food.

I love baseball.

Citi Field is a beautiful ballpark.

It was a cheap (self) date.

Outside of the Cubs game, though, I don’t see myself doing it again. Ever.

I have two other tickets (Nationals and Diamondbacks) later this summer, and I’ll probably just sell them or give them away.

And I’ll make at least one more trip to Fenway Park to say good-bye to the old girl before I throw in my towel of not attending any more professional sports events.

The best seat in the house is always at home with the game on television, knowing it won’t take two hours to get there and nor will there be a line for food or the bathroom.

In closing, if you’re wondering about the Phish song during a walk-up, it was the Mets’ Wilson Ramos who got the honor.

Phish has a song where they chant, “Wilson” and that was the song that was played as Ramos strolled to the plate.

It was my only smile of the day.