Park Number 19 (of 30), Olympic Stadium
Montreal 19, New York Mets 10
WP: L. Ayala (3-6) LP: S. Erickson (0-1)
July 26, 2004 - Bob
Morrisburg, ONT
Montreal 19, New York Mets 10
WP: L. Ayala (3-6) LP: S. Erickson (0-1)
July 26, 2004 - Bob
Morrisburg, ONT
Only a few minutes to drop the thoughts, and so I proceed:
I had two very potent dreams last night:
1) That I was about to go on stage at a talent show -- I was going to do a song I wrote called, “The work”. Though last night I had dubbed it: “You will not outwork me” -- a much wordier title for no good reason. Note to self: word economy, even in dreams, is good practice.
2) The other was a dream where I was on the golf course with my dad. I hit a bizarre shot that actually went 360 degrees and landed right next to me. There were some jackals (4 of them) waiting up by the tee and they started hooting and laughing hysterically. I went up and told them to keep it down so my dad could get his next shot off. They acted like they were going to be quiet, but they didn’t really do that. I then threatened them and my dad told them to “shut the fuck up”. They started getting aggressive and I took out the golf club and used it like a staff -- whooping all their asses. My dad hit a nice tee shot and off we went.
What’s up with the violence in my dreams?
5 games in 5 days. Minnesota, Chicago, Cleveland, New York, Montreal. Whew. Oh and don’t forget a brief visit to Cooperstown in between. A hell of a lot of smiles and experiences. Dad was referencing our luck w/rain delays -- not having them -- today. No doubt -- but we still have a ways to go! No cursing us, please!
Last night in Montreal was absolutely bizarre. We showed up late and tried to rush through a city with signs we couldn’t read -- French, French everywhere and not an ounce of the ability to read it within us.
We were late pulling in, we couldn’t find our way to the stadium, because (again because everything was written in French) and we were definitely pressing. Then we get there and knock off the sign... because of our soft top carrier...so we wait (late for the game while Charlie Security decides what he’s going to do with us).
We end up getting out and we walk around this empty slab of concrete shaped like a space ship, unable to find anything but a few scalpers. We buy tickets (getting a little bit of a deal -- by the way is there a tougher gig than trying to scalp tickets to an Expos game? What do you think is going to happen when only 6,643 are showing up to a stadium that holds 42,000? Now, I’m no economist, but the law of supply and demand tells me this ain’t an easy gig.)
At any rate, we get in and there’s this odd haze that floats along the almost shiny concrete walls (is concrete supposed to shine?). The smells are reasonably pleasant but, again, everything here is written in French, so what might smell good might be...snails? I did order a piece of cheese pizza (as the Veggie was no more) and they snuck a piece of Canadian Bacon in it under the cheese. Didn’t fool me -- I tossed it and went on my Veggie way. We walk into the game, bottom of the 3rd and it was like somebody hit the switch and transformed us to the inside of a Playstation game.
The Expos dropped seven runs on the Mets that half-inning and made it look easy. Tony Batista, 3rd basemen for the Expos, had the most gaudy numbers for the night: 4-5, 3 runs scored and 6 RBI’s. We had a big time know-it-all behind us to confirm these facts. “I’m not sure,” I told my dad, “But this guy may know about all there is to know -- period.”
Then there were a group of young men (I think) dressed in very colorful outfits for no apparent reason. After one guy (and again, I’m assuming here) in a cat suit got a foul ball, it was apparently time to put the cat and his crew out. I tried to chase them down for an interview but they were gone. Security told me they “chose” to leave. Sure. I know cats. They don’t choose like that. Then again, maybe French-Canadian ones do. I don’t know all cats.
Getting out of the city, we took a while to make sure we knew we knew exactly where we were going -- checking the map and all those French road signs -- again, not easy. In the midst of it all, I almost hit a biker -- near tragedy. We finally got on the highway and rolled. Roll-roll-roll...
Oak 14, Sea 5
