Midnight was approaching Tuesday night and I was getting ready to watch Game One of the World Series and I got to thinking if I had ever missed a Mets World Series game. (It’s an easier exercise with the Mets because it is a relatively rare occurrence.) Definitely not in 2000 or 1986. I was in college in 1973 and I distinctly recall watching the World Series in the Senior Center at Bowdoin, but it is possible that I might have missed some of the Series or at least part of a game when I had to go to class (this was when they still had games in the day time). On the other hand, I could imagine that I skipped class to watch the Mets games. And in 1969, I know I missed the beginning of a couple games, since they started about when school got out, and I am quite sure that I had a play rehearsal or two that caused me to miss all or most of two games. But that was back when I hadn’t even turned 17 and it seemed like there would be lots of time to see the Mets in the World Series of the future.

One of the things about watching baseball in the middle of the night is that all the little things that make the game take too long are more annoying. I had never completely realized how endless the commercial breaks were–at least two minutes every half inning, which means I spent over a half an hour of Game One staring at a screen which said “Commercial Break”–they don’t show the ads on the MLB.TV service, which somehow makes the breaks seem even longer. And then they stopped the game completely when the TV feed broke down, making me hate Fox even more than simply having to listen to the moronic Harold Reynolds as the main color guy had already done. But, despite everything, it looked like the game would end by 3:30 and I could go to sleep, and then Familia gave up the home run in the ninth and the game went on and on. I finally gave up after the Mets batted in the twelfth, at 4:30. I found out the next morning that they lost in the fourteenth, well after 5:00. I staggered around in a bit of a fog the entire next day. It really does feel a lot like being jet lagged. It was an exciting game, which the Mets really should have won, but I don’t know if I can take another one of these. The Mets have lost the first game of every World Series they have played, for whatever that is worth. I still have faith and, in a way, I am just so happy that they finally got here that everything from this point on is gravy.

With that thought in mind, I tuned in to Game Tow of the Series. The Mets played like they had a plane to catch (a performance that recalled the pre-Cespedes offense–just pathetic) and the Royals basically swing at everything, so the game moved along very quickly. When the Mets fell behind 4-1, they looked finished to me, but I had sufficient memories of August and September rallies, that I hung in there, at least until the Royals scored three more in the 8th to make it 7-1. By then it was about 2:30 AM and I felt justified in throwing in the towel and going to bed, especially after the marathon the night before. It is a little bit of the same calculation that you do when you are at a game and you are trying to decide whether to leave early to beat the crowds. You feel like you should stay until the end as a matter of principle and because Yogi says “It ain’t over until its over”, but at a certain point there is no reason to hang around. It’s not looking good for the Metsies (as Keith calls them), but they have three games in NYC and stranger things have happened. I have not bought into the Harold Reynolds/Fox man crush that they seem to have on the Royals offense. Granted, they are good at cutting down on their swings with two strikes and making contact, but, get real, if a few of those grounders don’t find a hole or a few of the liners or bloops carried another 20 feet to an outfielder, they’d have been gushing about the Mets pitching. The Royals do figure to win at this point but there is no point in acting like they are some super team.

I was walking around Covent Garden the other day and walked into a gallery that was selling Bob Dylan prints and original paintings. (I’d actually been into another gallery in Mayfair a few days earlier that had the same stuff. It turns out that even art galleries in London have multiple locations.) The numbered lithographs went from £1,500 to 3,500 and the only original painting they had went for £25,000. (Doesn’t Bob have enough money?) I spoke to the people in the gallery, who seemed to think that the artwork was OK, but that the real attraction was Bob’s signature. Apparently, he rarely gives autographs and his signature is rated among the ten most valuable in the world. They were selling them like crazy.

Construction of towers in London has already begun to destroy the charm of the city. But, at least the powers that be had apparently decided to confine it to the areas south of the Thames and in the East End (where poor people lived) and in the City (where rich people work). It is mostly ugly, but at least concentrated in a few areas. But it is creeping into other areas. There is a proposal to build an extremely tall glass tube tower over Paddington Station, which would really change the entire ballgame, if it goes through. I guess you can take the attitude that cities are constantly evolving and that London has had layers and layers of renovations, destructions and new buildings over millennia and had its Great Fire and the Blitz, etc. But a big part of the fun of London is the old buildings and little lanes and alleys and finding out that something happened in that exact building four hundred years ago. If you take that away, what do you have? Hong Kong?

One of the things that you notice walking around London is how much activity takes place outdoors. It’s not just the drinkers and smokers outside the pubs. There is al fresco dining everywhere and outdoor markets wherever you turn. I suppose in the middle of a chilly, bleak winter, there will be much less of this outdoor shopping and eating and general living. But it is hard to see how that will work since the whole economy and lifestyle seems to depend on that sort of outdoor living. It doesn’t get all that cold here anyway, so maybe everyone just adopts a “Dress Warm and Carry On” attitude to match their stiff upper lips. I will say that it certainly does get dark early here. It is so far North (compared to NYC for example) that the days are really getting quite short already. Now that daylight savings is over, it is dusk by 5:00 and dark by 5:30. (I read about two weeks ago that the Lord Mayor’s Day–which I have written about–was to end in fireworks at 5:30 and I thought it had to be a typo. Nope.) In two months, I may not see the sun at all….