Who the Hell Are You?

This has been a tough week. Not just for the Mets but for everyone.

The northeast is covered in a smoky orange muck from Canada. It’s like Mother Nature harnessed the country’s dickish passive-aggression into a natural force. Most of us can’t breathe, don’t understand hockey, and want The Weekend to fuck off forever.

What I’m saying is it seems like we’re all on edge. The Mets, losers of 5 in a row, are not helping matters any. They were up 4-1 on the Braves, America’s grossest team, two nights in a row and ended up losing both games. Baseball will make you want to punch the face of God.

But I am just a mortal. And while I’m a handsome, perfectly sculptured one that could totally do 100 pushups in a row, I am unable to touch a deity. Neither are you. We’re all just a bunch of non-God-punching schnooks.

Without supernatural powers of release, many people like to boo at sporting events. Mets fans, and I would argue fans of all teams in the northeast, are fluent in the art of the boo. And that’s lame.

Booing is a bunch of selfish, hateful nonsense with no redemptive qualities. It’s the act of a negative, mean-spirited soul lost in the smell of their own gas. It will not get you laid.

So why do people boo? Because it makes the person booing feel good. It’s an immature release of frustration that doesn’t make you any happier long-term, but makes you happier right now. It’s dopamine for assholes.

Booing is just stating the obvious. You think after Francisco Lindor strikes out and hears boos he thinks, “Gee, you know these people have a point. Maybe I should try to hit the ball next time. My bad.” You’re not telling anyone anything they don’t already know.

Booing just isn’t cool. A good baseball game, while relaxing in its beautifully twisted way, is already tense. Boos just add to the tension. You know who enjoys tension: psychopaths.

Booing creates an unwelcome atmosphere. Potential free agents don’t want to play somewhere they’re gonna get booed. And getting free agents to the Mets is already tough enough.

It takes an awful lot of money to persuade someone to want to commute to Queens every day. Not when they can bake in the sun in San Diego all year with their toes tickling the Pacific. Having to pay tolls and sit in traffic will never be better than that.

Booing is real Philadelphia. They love it over there. They also love eating horse poop, harassing elderly people, and punching police horses. How many horses have to get punched before this madness ends?!

The bottom-line is booing just isn’t cool or supportive. A fan should be a supporter of a club. A fan should also be able to vent their frustration about their team. I’m a fan of free will and all. But ask yourself, what good does it do?

FLASHBACK: December 20, 2019

I’m watching Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker on opening night. It’s full of weak storytelling decisions and thirsty fan service. I hate nearly everything about it.

Inside I’m a raging hurricane. This is a film series I’ve loved my entire life. The film before this one, The Last Jedi, was a bold, vibrant movie that represented the best of the series. There are moments in The Last Jedi where I literally got goosebumps. And now this piece of shit is the follow-up.

There’s a guy behind me who is loving it. He’s cheering, gasping, and clapping his hands. When the end credits rolled and everything inside my cinema-loving heart is saying to boo this turd into the ether, I looked back at the guy and I saw the joy on his face. It was pure, real, human. Experiencing joy is one of the greatest things a body can do. Who was I to take that away?

And who the hell are you?