By Mike Steffanos
I promise a recap of last night's game before too much longer. I didn't get home until after 3 AM, and am trying to catch up on some work. For the moment, I'll just share a little of my experience as a life-long Mets fan at his first playoff game last night.
I got to the ballpark insanely early, and walked around outside for an hour before going in to catch the end of the Mets' batting practice and some of the Cardinals'. As the stadium started filling up, the excitement level grew. By the time they introduced all the players and coaches the whole place was rocking.
Even as the Mets lineup was struggling to do anything against Weaver the crowd was alive and supportive. All of the terrific fielding plays fired everyone up. When Beltran cranked that ball of the scoreboard, however, it was as if someone flipped a switch, and all of that built-up nervous energy from 6 innings of waiting for the Mets to break through was released instantaneously.
My voice was almost gone, my hands hurt from clapping so hard and slapping the hands of everyone around me. A small price to pay to be a part of all that. After the final out, when all the fans were filing out of the ballpark, we were chanting, singing and having a great time. You're repeatedly slapping your aching hands with total strangers, and it was still worth it.
I walked over and spent a few minutes watching SNY do their post-game show, and that was fun, then it was onto a subway full of Mets fans and then a Metro-North train back to Connecticut that looked like the Mets express.
I got home about 3:15 AM, watched a little of the post-game show that I recorded, and then got a few hours sleep. I'm still smiling, and still buzzed. My first playoff game ever was worth the 38-year wait.