The weather was perfect, in the mid-70s, no humidity, light breezes and blue-black skies above the lights of Citi Field.
I was where friends tell friends, “I’ll meet you at the Apple,” a plaza centered around the big red structure that once rose slowly beyond the centerfield fence of Shea when a Met hit a home run. Waiting for Dr. Z., who was running late, fighting traffic, I was the smart one, driving to my sister’s place in Queens, parking the car, and taking the 7 train to the ballpark. Getting onboard, I was already at the ballgame, with the train packed with Blue and Orange fanatics. (more…)