Being a Met fan means summer is the most painful time of the year.
Warning: This is a TMI post.
Anyone familiar with the Mets, is familiar with this phrase. I often think it was cruel to raise me a Met fan when New York has a winning team but I am convinced the designated hitter rule is a crime against everything I hold holy.
Digression: Baseball is special for a number of reasons. There is no clock. The season is like a pressure cooker — starts slow and leisurely and ends in a race that can be a nail biter. One of my favorite things about the sport is that every player plays both offense and defense. When you allow such a pivotal player — as the pitcher is — to not hit you change the batter/pitcher dynamic. This produces pricks like Roger Clemens, whom I will love to hate until I die. It’s just not how the game should be played and once again, love you Crash Davis, I believe there ought to be a Constitutional amendment outlawing astroturf and the designated hitter.
Anyway, back to my point. Every year I practically live and die by the Mets. I even believed after what is regarded as one of the most historic collapses in sports. You can read about that here. I feel the need to elaborate on how seriously I take this. I only wear Met blue nail polish. When I watch a game I alternate between really watching and only having it on in the background. Depending on how they are doing when I do either. My Met clothing — Jose Reyes jersey, 1986 t-shirt, old school, blue satin jacket, hat, necklace — gets switched up — are they doing better when I have the hat on? Should I take the jacket off? Now, I know I sound crazy — and I am — but any Met fan will tell you, we are a superstitious lot. I know intellectually that nothing I do will impact the game — and I also know they can’r hear me when I yell at the TV. My sports related Tourettes kicks in big time when I watch the Mets (and 4ers, tennis, etc.).
But despite all the loss and all the heartbreak, I believe in the Mets. So why can’t I have the same belief in myself? Because I have way more successes than the Mets (at least since 1986). My successes & failures are not as public as a major baseball franchise will ever be but every day I succeed at my job, my writing and my other endeavors. On occasion I succeed at doing stand-up comedy. That rocks my world.
Yet, I still don’t give myself the faith I give the Mets. Something is wrong with this picture. You might be wondering why I am telling you this. One goal I have for this year is to change that. Because: I’m good enough, I am smart enough and doggone it, people like me. (Thank you Stewart Smalley.) I have read that telling people about a goal makes it easier to achieve — or maybe you are more likely to succeed — and I want to make this happen.
It may be late for New Year’s resolutions but mine now are:
- Focus on doing ONE thing at a time.
- Remember that lesson I learned when trekking to Everest. We would come to a hill that was super steep (going down was harder than up) and I would think there is no way I can make it all the way down that. Then I would tell myself ok, maybe you cannot make it all the way but you can take the next step. I made it base camp.
- Make at least five people I don’t know smile every day. Work up to 10.
- Start to believe that I am more than my weight. And no, I am not the fattest person on earth like I like to think. Plus this body got me up Kilimanjaro (19,341 ft) and made it to Everest Base Camp (18,192 ft) and that’s pretty awesome.
- Celebrate accomplishments and learn from setbacks.
- Be better to myself and the people I care about. (I have been a total asshat lately, to the people who have had to deal with me, and you know who you are, I am sorry.)
So there you have it. My belated resolutions. Back to your regular scheduled programming… political thoughts will be back tomorrow. Or later today.