An Anthropological Study of the Met Fan, Assuming There Are Any

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Oh wow, a full parking lot? Two hours before the game? Man these fans must be dedica…oh wait, that’s probably just people parking for the US Open across the street.

Final Score: Nationals 5, Mets 1.

Dame of the Game:

Gio Gonzalez: Win, 6 IP, 3 H, 5 BB, 1 ER, 6 K. Tonight can be best described as “Gio Gone Wild.” Gio was not in a proper mindset, doing crazy things that didn’t reflect well on him. But he still gave pleasure to millions of people watching. If only he had flashed his breasts too.

Shame of the Game:

Kelly Shoppach: 0-3, 1 E. Shoppach dropped an easy foul ball by Kurt Suzuki. And you know what they say. You never give Kurt Suzuki a second chance. Unless you’re the Nationals, who gave Kurt Suzuki a second chance after Oakland. Kurt homered, and Zim did as well shortly after, as Kelly looked on regretting the biggest mistake he’s ever made.

———-

About two weeks ago, my writing partner took a trip to Philadelphia during which he filed this report. It was an insightful look into an unfamiliar territory, although I wouldn’t recommend looking again because some of those fans are just so grotesque. I thought it would be a fantastic idea to continue to expose our readers to fanbases they may not have seen in their own element before.

On Monday night, I went to Citi Field to see the Nationals play the Mets. I expected to see multiple signs that said “garage sale,” looking to raise funds for their losses to Bernie Madoff, but was surprisingly met by people carrying on as normal. I entered the stadium and began to take note of what I saw. My report is detailed below.

To be honest I was a little unnerved. I didn’t quite know what to expect. Thankfully, I was met by a familiar site almost immediately that eased my nerves; Tom Gorzelanny being gross:

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When it comes to doing his business, Tom doesn’t care about privacy.

And then just moments after watching Steve McCatty clean up Tom’s mess, something else familiar struck my eye:

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An obese man running across the field in a Nationals jersey? Livan Hernandez has returned!

It turned out to not be Livan Hernandez. I should’ve known, given that this man was successfully running. Oh well.

After just a little bit of time in the stadium, I realized that my report might be all for naught. I was met by a sight that I should have expected, considering the troubled state of the team. A sight that would very much get in the way of doing a report on fans. No fans:

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The Mets must be trying an approach where they feel that if nobody sees them fail, then it didn’t happen at all.

It became clear. Mets fans are long gone. Once a proud people, Mets supporters have more or less vanished. Sorry, twice a proud people, in that Mets fans were happy only two times in their existence. But those days were long ago, and with things the way they are in Queens, it is clear they have either moved on or have all died off. Perhaps they assimilated themselves into another fanbase, going just a few miles over to the Bronx to find prosperity and happiness. Wherever they went, it is clear that Citi Field was not fertile enough to sustain a happy and healthy group of fans anymore.

It’s ok. Even without the actual people present, there are other ways to determine things about the fanbase. I began to search around the park looking for relics of this team’s past. And just like that, I saw a man standing behind third base. A man that could tell me something about how the team and the people who have supported it have evolved in recent years.

It is clear that the shuffle left Tim Teufel a long time ago.

Tim Teufel, once a proud member of a championship team, has fallen. Now a pot-bellied, athletically impaired individual, Teufel suggests a simple decline in the health and ability of all who supported the Mets. This furthers the belief that they had all died off, succumbing to more powerful groups of people who could capitalize on opportunities, like securing food, and getting hits with RISP.

The Mets now try to draw interest in their club by showing softcore porn on the scoreboard.

All of a sudden I was witness to something on the jumbotron called the “Kiss Cam.” Something very quickly became clear to me. Those operating the team wanted the few remaining Mets fans who might be scattered around the ballpark, barely managing to survive, to reproduce. To reinvigorate a dying people with a new generation of fans who wouldn’t be spoiled by past success, and would grow up knowing only sadness and struggle. The team knew that if they could produce fans who were only familiar with a feeling of severe depression that they would sellout every game, for those fans would not know any better.

They had the cast of a popular Broadway show perform the 7th Inning Stretch. It sounded good, although one of the cast member’s voice sounded a bit horse.

The Mets seemed to focus a great deal of time on some strange big-headed thing called Mr. Met. This creature seemed like some sort of desperate cult leader, throwing t-shirts into the stands and also creepily smiling in order to maybe lure undecided peoples to follow his cause. This suggests to me a whole new explanation for the disappearance of many fans. They simply sought to escape persecution, a near dictatorship led by this monstrous icon. Mr. Met always told them when to cheer, what to sing; he dictated their entire life as a fan. It’s logical to assume that many sought to escape and think for themselves. I fear that those who weren’t able to successfully escape the grasp of Mr. Met were brainwashed, forced to stand alongside the mascot helping to throw out t-shirts. They smile, but I know that they’re dead inside.

The only man to ever buy a Zach Day shirt–I’m assuming Zach Day himself.

From what I could tell, the language of the Mets and their fans had been relatively normal in the past. Much of the writing on concession stands was very familiar, and the PA announcer spoke in a tongue that I could understand. But those few people who remain seem not to be as eloquent as their predecessors. The language has nearly disappeared for the few surviving fans, who now rely on some sort of “ooo” sound to react to everything the team does. I believe it could have been the word “boo,” over and over. What could “boo” mean? It was hard to tell for an outsider like myself. But I believe “boo,” given how often it was done, is used in a similar way to a dog’s bark. It all sounds the same to us, but to Mets “fans” that sound speaks volumes.

A random cupcake. Perfectly explicable.

For the majority of the game, I was surrounded by silence. The stadium was empty, and to make matters better the Nationals were winning. The Nats came out on top at the end, but that is not the story here. The story is that the once great culture that existed in Flushing, NY, is no longer anywhere to be found. Those who have stuck around, likely because they cannot afford to move (cause the Yankees are fucking expensive), are content with silence and misery. Can we ever expect to see this people back with the same strength they used to have? Certainly not with the sad state the team is currently in. People are afraid to teach their children about this culture, for fear that they will never smile. All children deserve to smile. And if they were to be Mets fans, that would impossible.

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