One writer’s young son loves the Mets from afar, but does he really understand baseball heartbreak?
Shortly after I first moved to Rome, more than twenty years ago, the Mets made the World Series. I wanted to watch the games because I was a Mets fan, born and bred near Shea Stadium, in Flushing, Queens. They were playing the hated Yankees in the first subway series in nearly fifty years, which made watching the series imperative. But the games continued after the bars closed, I had no satellite television in my small apartment, and the era of live streaming and Wi-Fi had not yet dawned.
Luca is instead watching games from more than four thousand miles away, in Rome. When day games start, it’s nearly dark and past his bedtime. A plane flying over Citi Field might land here almost ten hours later. I subscribed to streaming services to watch the Mets, but mysterious licensing agreements blocked the games in Italy. I can’t figure out how to unsubscribe. My dollars are donations.
“Want to see how the Mets did?” I would now ask Luca when he came home from school or before dinner. Watching YouTube, I invariably sipped ice water from the supersized souvenir plastic cup that I got at the 2015 World Series game that I somehow scored tickets to and attended with my father. It was the only game of the series that the Mets won. In May, we put on the highlights and grew giddy as the Mets scored seven in the ninth to come back and beat the Phillies.
Luca left America before he could start Little League. We practice his fielding on the hard grounds of Villa Sciarra, the park by our house, which is strewn with rocks, twigs, and cones from the umbrella pines above our heads. We avoid the messes left by the dogs running around. Sometimes little kids run up and watch us, wide-eyed. The gladiator lessons that Luca has taken in the park with wooden swords and spears have drawn less attention.
“Take it easy. Jesus,” my father reprimanded me once when I threw the ball too hard to him. We were on the street in front of our house in Queens. Right then, I knew something had changed. I was getting too big. He was getting too old.
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