Hi everybody, I have went away for a while, I apologize. I have dedicated my entire life these past few months from the beginning to the end of the hiatus to get that job. You know, those many futile attempts I've made with the goal to make something of myself like I've always dreamed of--and have always been "qualified" for--but the almighty powers that be have decided that I would serve this world better by sitting in front of my computer diluting the playing field among the many other hopeful candidates as the hiring managers decide on the boss's daughter's Fave Five.
You can pull a Facebook version of a James Bond/CIA photo-interrogation on me all you want, but it won't compare to that of her "sluts" and her "besties" on a Saturday night (especially around Halloween,) sorry, Your Majesty. But go ahead and do what you usually do, because God forbid! It's your chance to root out the degenerates like myself, because it's such a liability to give the likes of me and the other neglected candidates that elusive chance to prove what we're capable of.
I came across this article and it caught my attention. Great! 10 preventative ways to avoid rubbing the "right" people the "wrong" way. How exactly, can you please the polytheistic interview panel in order to become the professional ass-kisser they've always wanted to hire, simply because all the power is theirs in this down economy???
Disclaimer: This post was written back in September, and is published now.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
Quinnipiac Graduation 2008: Reflections One Year Later
"Congratulations to the Quinnipiac University Class of 2008!"
That's what we heard a year ago today, and that was just about the same thing said to this year's graduating class yesterday (Congrats to the '09-ers that I know - but I can't wish you luck in your job searches until I get one myself being out a full year).
May 18th of xxx8 has traditionally been a good day for me. I hit my first Little League home run over the fence on May 18, 1998 (I still have my home run balls from that season marked up in pen!) and I graduated college 10 years later to the day (I probably beat Super Mario Bros. for the first time on May 18, 1988 and I'm buying a shit-ton of Powerball and Mega Millions tickets on May 18, 2018).
I'm sure most of my fellow classmates from that graduating class find it hard to believe that it has been a whole year since that day. In the 365 days following that fateful day, many of you have embarked on the next stage of your lives, hitting the ground running on your exciting new career paths, settling into your postgraduate apartments without looking back.
Well take a second to look back. Remember that day there were people sprawled out on the quad in front of the library as far as the eye could see? Our families, friends and faculty gathered en masse to witness the commencement of us fine, deserving young men and women, a symbolic coronation of academic achievement transitioning us from campus party-animals to esteemed and eligible candidates of the prospective proletariat.
We had just had the last of "the best times of our lives" while all still together as a class, and it was great a senior week, culminating one hell of a four-year period. I remember just being with everyone was awesome, and when Hodgdon, Oakey and me snuck off campus at 4 or 5 in the morning to climb Sleeping Giant across the street, we all talked about how much we'd miss this place looking with a breathtaking view descending upon the layout of the campus. So many great times were had there on the weekends (and weekdays with couches outside of Village during the spring of junior year with hundreds of solo cups). Never a dull moment.
That's what we heard a year ago today, and that was just about the same thing said to this year's graduating class yesterday (Congrats to the '09-ers that I know - but I can't wish you luck in your job searches until I get one myself being out a full year).
May 18th of xxx8 has traditionally been a good day for me. I hit my first Little League home run over the fence on May 18, 1998 (I still have my home run balls from that season marked up in pen!) and I graduated college 10 years later to the day (I probably beat Super Mario Bros. for the first time on May 18, 1988 and I'm buying a shit-ton of Powerball and Mega Millions tickets on May 18, 2018).
I'm sure most of my fellow classmates from that graduating class find it hard to believe that it has been a whole year since that day. In the 365 days following that fateful day, many of you have embarked on the next stage of your lives, hitting the ground running on your exciting new career paths, settling into your postgraduate apartments without looking back.
Well take a second to look back. Remember that day there were people sprawled out on the quad in front of the library as far as the eye could see? Our families, friends and faculty gathered en masse to witness the commencement of us fine, deserving young men and women, a symbolic coronation of academic achievement transitioning us from campus party-animals to esteemed and eligible candidates of the prospective proletariat.
We had just had the last of "the best times of our lives" while all still together as a class, and it was great a senior week, culminating one hell of a four-year period. I remember just being with everyone was awesome, and when Hodgdon, Oakey and me snuck off campus at 4 or 5 in the morning to climb Sleeping Giant across the street, we all talked about how much we'd miss this place looking with a breathtaking view descending upon the layout of the campus. So many great times were had there on the weekends (and weekdays with couches outside of Village during the spring of junior year with hundreds of solo cups). Never a dull moment.
Life moves pretty fast, if you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. -Matthew Broderick, aka Ferris Bueller
The McGangBang
Ok, this is going to be a short post, but one that I feel is necessary to bring up. My brother is 17 and is a junior in high school. We were talking about a possible trip to McDonalds and he said he wanted a "McGangBang." Out of breath from laughter at what I had just heard, I asked him what it was. He said it was a double cheeseburger and a McChicken Sandwich, with the chicken taken from that and put in the middle of the two all-beef patties.... What will they think of next???
Friday, May 15, 2009
The Two Weeks That Did Not Suck, Part II
So we were up and at 'em early the next morning because it's about 15-16 hours from Virginia Beach, Virginia to Pensacola, Florida, give or take. We had breakfast and were on the road by about 9:30 in the morning for a good planned stretch of driving on the Eisenhower Interstate Highway System (I like Ike!)
We took U.S. Highway 58 west passing by Norfolk and a lot of the other Hampton Roads cities in the area. It's a nice harbor complete with shipyards and a Naval Base... reminds me of old industrial America. A little further down the road is a city called Suffolk. We hit a lot of traffic there (never a good sign in the early-goings of a long haul) but we were stopped long enough to see a police car that had pulled over another car. Moving passed it we saw a cop on the ground struggling with a guy with long hair, trying to cuff him, and another officer running toward the scene. It was a scene straight out of the TV show "COPS" (and this was a Monday morning just after 10 a.m., mind you....drugs???) Moving along we saw two more police cruisers rushing toward the action.
The next few hours were inconsequential. Rural Virginia toward I-95, which turns into one of the most boring drives through the Carolinas. The original plan was to take 95 to 10 in Jacksonville. I kind of wanted to head further west because I've done the 95 drive down there on several occasions and wanted to try something new. After passing South of the Border (fireworks, hotels, amusement park, food...random. They must do well because they were in business back when my family and I drove to Disneyworld back in 1998) we got off the highway and grabbed a bite to eat and decided to head west on I-20 toward Columbia. I-95 in NC/SC is billboards and truck stops, 20 is more scenic with hills.
We bypassed Atlanta at around 7 p.m. that night and the Braves were playing against the Cardinals there at Turner Field. The game was on the radio but you get each station for only around two hours or so as you cover more and more ground. I kind of had rekindled thoughts of my classic fantasy to make a road trip around the country, stopping at every Major League ballpark, and sort of wanted to see the game, but it made absolutely no sense money/timewise.
We ended up that night staying at the Travelodge in Opelika, Alabama, across the Chattahoochie River and into the Central Time Zone (kinda near Auburn University.... Bo Jackson, anyone??) The next morning, both of us wearing Yankees caps, we discovered it was Confederate Memorial Day in Alabama, so people were naturally giving us strange looks, the people in the hotel started talking about Jair Jurrjens and the Braves. We made a stop for breakfast in Montgomery, the capital, before trekking the rest of the way south towards Pensacola... a good 21-22 hours from Clinton, New Jersey. This blog will continue in Part III.
We took U.S. Highway 58 west passing by Norfolk and a lot of the other Hampton Roads cities in the area. It's a nice harbor complete with shipyards and a Naval Base... reminds me of old industrial America. A little further down the road is a city called Suffolk. We hit a lot of traffic there (never a good sign in the early-goings of a long haul) but we were stopped long enough to see a police car that had pulled over another car. Moving passed it we saw a cop on the ground struggling with a guy with long hair, trying to cuff him, and another officer running toward the scene. It was a scene straight out of the TV show "COPS" (and this was a Monday morning just after 10 a.m., mind you....drugs???) Moving along we saw two more police cruisers rushing toward the action.
The next few hours were inconsequential. Rural Virginia toward I-95, which turns into one of the most boring drives through the Carolinas. The original plan was to take 95 to 10 in Jacksonville. I kind of wanted to head further west because I've done the 95 drive down there on several occasions and wanted to try something new. After passing South of the Border (fireworks, hotels, amusement park, food...random. They must do well because they were in business back when my family and I drove to Disneyworld back in 1998) we got off the highway and grabbed a bite to eat and decided to head west on I-20 toward Columbia. I-95 in NC/SC is billboards and truck stops, 20 is more scenic with hills.
We bypassed Atlanta at around 7 p.m. that night and the Braves were playing against the Cardinals there at Turner Field. The game was on the radio but you get each station for only around two hours or so as you cover more and more ground. I kind of had rekindled thoughts of my classic fantasy to make a road trip around the country, stopping at every Major League ballpark, and sort of wanted to see the game, but it made absolutely no sense money/timewise.
We ended up that night staying at the Travelodge in Opelika, Alabama, across the Chattahoochie River and into the Central Time Zone (kinda near Auburn University.... Bo Jackson, anyone??) The next morning, both of us wearing Yankees caps, we discovered it was Confederate Memorial Day in Alabama, so people were naturally giving us strange looks, the people in the hotel started talking about Jair Jurrjens and the Braves. We made a stop for breakfast in Montgomery, the capital, before trekking the rest of the way south towards Pensacola... a good 21-22 hours from Clinton, New Jersey. This blog will continue in Part III.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
The Two Weeks That Did Not Suck, Part I
kris oakey: Update your blog so i have something to read
I took a two-week sanity break from this job search to go on that road trip down south with my uncle Don... it finally took place! Back by popular demand, I will use this blog post to talk about it.
So I left the Northeast on Sunday, April 26th kind of hungover after a night of drinkin' with my friend Aversa and others. Now I never enjoy driving any considerable amount of distance when I'm hungover because I feel as if I'm autopiloting in an inattentive daze of simply existing.
This drive, however, wasn't that bad because the adrenaline of excitement kept me pumped throughout the entire 325-mile, six-hour trip to my uncle's house in Virginia Beach. I encountered a few hairy parts of the drive in and around Philadelphia. The tire of the minivan in the left lane in front of me blew out on 95 and the driver had to amble over the close left shoulder. I narrowly escaped. Then, by the airport, I passed a cop which I discovered way too late to make a valid attempt at slowing. I was probably going 80, slowed down to about 75 in the 55-MPH zone in which I was cruising. I dodged a major fine when he didn't pull out to pursue me. Gotta love city cops--too busy with homocides, robberies and gangs (real crimes) to dwell on the misdemeanors that small-town cops get off to prosecuting to the fullest extent of the law.
So I went down the Delmarva Peninsula going through Delaware, Maryland, and [that strange eastern part of] Virginia [which probably should still be considered Maryland] (hence the name of the peninsula with the three states). I stopped at a McDonalds in Maryland to get a Big Mac meal with a Coke and resumed the trip after that. Not long after that, Don called and told me he was going to start the grill with burgers and hot dogs (I jumped the damn gun as usual). While on the phone with him, I crossed into Virginia and the sign on the side of the road read, "Welcome to the South" and was decorated with a couple Confederate flags (still had my Yankees cap on!)
I was making pretty good timing but I had another problem. My 2004 Chrysler Sebring's engine shut off at a stop light about halfway between the Virgina border and the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel, and the oil light came on. I had no problem starting the engine again but it shut off again closer to the bridge after that. I was getting worried because this whole structure is over 17 miles long (much longer than the Verrazano, George Washington and Tappan-Zee bridges and both the Holland and Lincoln tunnels combined). I really hoped my car wouldn't die on me on the bridge, or worse, in one of the tunnels.
Fortunately, the next time the engine shut off was at an intersection passed the bridge in Va. Beach, and it started right up again (I should really take this issue up with Chrysler...oh, wait). I got to my uncle's house and relaxed with him and his girlfriend and had some BBQ and unwound with a couple of beers. What a trip getting down there, and it wasn't even halfway over....
Friday, April 24, 2009
There's Hope[lessness] on the Horizon...
The chances for legitimate job prospects are waning in this career quest.
I feel I have tried every viable tactic to make the most out of my resume as humanly possible. These tactics range from tweaking the wording to make it sound more appealing on a professional level, to adjusting the font size and style to make it more aesthetically pleasing, to using various different formats supplied by some of my friends who are lucky enough to have full-time employment.
More than eleven months have come and gone since I graduated from Quinnipiac last May, and if you were to ask me then where I would be now in April 2009, I would have, without a shadow of a doubt told you that I'd have a job by now, somewhere, somehow. At that point, I predicted approximately six months of post-college unemployment. Sadly, it wasn't the case, and the fact remains the same.
The undergraduate commencement ceremony at my alma mater will be held on Sunday, May 17th this year. A new class of seniors will have graduated, basked in the sunshine spotlight or prestige and accomplishment as a new hope dawns upon a fresh generation of aspiring job-seekers, brimming with confidence and ready for companies to snatch them up like hotcakes.
What does this mean for the still unemployed members of the previous class?
This means that we are now longer in vogue on the job market. We are as useful as the permanently wounded/disabled Civil War veterans returning home after Robert E. Lee signed the document of concession at Appomattox. We are as washed up as Kenny Powers from HBO's Eastbound & Down.
This is because the Career Catch-22 once again rears its ugly head. How can you gain the experience without being able to get the job, and how can you get the job without the experience? It's a double-edged sword.
What makes matters worse is the fact that companies are going to hire the young blood of this class because, despite the thousands of jobs I estimate that I applied to over the course of this past year (and that's a fairly accurate estimation). Companies are going to look at people like me and see somebody whose lazy and unmotivated, a complacent slacker who had a year to get his act together, but just coasted. However far from the truth that is, the jobs will go to this younger group of applicants.
So what's next? I honestly don't know. I've thought about grad school, I've thought about the military. The military has officer-training programs for college grads that offer graduate school programs, so that is definitely a possibility. I will talk to my uncle Don, the recently-retired Lt. Colonel from the USMC during our road trip to his house in Pensacola, Florida (we're actually going this time!). I will also take this opportunity to get away from all these useless job search engines and to clear my head in hopes to return fresh and rejuvenated. In the words of Kenny Powers, "Northeast, You're Fuckin' Out!!!"
I feel I have tried every viable tactic to make the most out of my resume as humanly possible. These tactics range from tweaking the wording to make it sound more appealing on a professional level, to adjusting the font size and style to make it more aesthetically pleasing, to using various different formats supplied by some of my friends who are lucky enough to have full-time employment.
More than eleven months have come and gone since I graduated from Quinnipiac last May, and if you were to ask me then where I would be now in April 2009, I would have, without a shadow of a doubt told you that I'd have a job by now, somewhere, somehow. At that point, I predicted approximately six months of post-college unemployment. Sadly, it wasn't the case, and the fact remains the same.
The undergraduate commencement ceremony at my alma mater will be held on Sunday, May 17th this year. A new class of seniors will have graduated, basked in the sunshine spotlight or prestige and accomplishment as a new hope dawns upon a fresh generation of aspiring job-seekers, brimming with confidence and ready for companies to snatch them up like hotcakes.
What does this mean for the still unemployed members of the previous class?
This means that we are now longer in vogue on the job market. We are as useful as the permanently wounded/disabled Civil War veterans returning home after Robert E. Lee signed the document of concession at Appomattox. We are as washed up as Kenny Powers from HBO's Eastbound & Down.
This is because the Career Catch-22 once again rears its ugly head. How can you gain the experience without being able to get the job, and how can you get the job without the experience? It's a double-edged sword.
What makes matters worse is the fact that companies are going to hire the young blood of this class because, despite the thousands of jobs I estimate that I applied to over the course of this past year (and that's a fairly accurate estimation). Companies are going to look at people like me and see somebody whose lazy and unmotivated, a complacent slacker who had a year to get his act together, but just coasted. However far from the truth that is, the jobs will go to this younger group of applicants.
So what's next? I honestly don't know. I've thought about grad school, I've thought about the military. The military has officer-training programs for college grads that offer graduate school programs, so that is definitely a possibility. I will talk to my uncle Don, the recently-retired Lt. Colonel from the USMC during our road trip to his house in Pensacola, Florida (we're actually going this time!). I will also take this opportunity to get away from all these useless job search engines and to clear my head in hopes to return fresh and rejuvenated. In the words of Kenny Powers, "Northeast, You're Fuckin' Out!!!"
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
The New York Mets' Identity Crisis
Hey Mets, 1955 called, it said you're NOT the Brooklyn Dodgers.
Ahhh yes, 1955, the destination year to which Marty McFly traveled back in time in Doc Brown's Delorean time machine. In baseball, New York simply was the town. The Yankees, led by Manager Casey Stengel, won four straight World Championships to start off the decade (five dating back to '49). The New York Giants won it all in '54, and the Dodgers in '55. 1956 belonged to Mickey Mantle and the Yankees again (Mantle won the league's Triple Crown Award, and Don Larsen pitched the only perfect game in World Series history en route to revenge on the Dodgers in seven games the year after Dem Bums' only date with destiny). The Yanks would also win it all in 1958.
Also in 1958, sadness ravaged the baseball community in New York when the hearts of millions of Dodgers and Giants fans crumbled like the concrete of Ebbet's Field and the Polo Grounds when it met the wrecking ball. Gone would be the nightly street arguments of who was the best center fielder: Mickey, Willie (Mays), or The Duke (Snyder). The Dodgers and Giants both packed up and headed west for Los Angeles and San Francisco, respectively.
The National League fans of New York, however, got a bittersweet consolation prize in 1962 when the expansion Mets became a team (and subsequently lost 120 games that season), but many still had feelings of outrage over the departure of Dodgers and Giants four years prior. The Miracle Mets would bounce back by the end of the decade, winning the World Series in 1969, and again in 1986.
Flash forward to 2009. The Mets left Shea Stadium about 45 years after it opened to head to their brand new Citi Field digs nearby. It features relics to the Brooklyn Dodgers, including the Jackie Robinson rotunda, and an exterior modeled after that of the old Ebbet's Field, and a large #42 for Robinson in the stadium as well. Jackie was an all-time great, a hall-of-famer, a pioneer, and he became integral part of the Civil Rights Movement when he broke the color-barrier in 1947 with the Dodgers. A great American in all respects.
Citi Field created an instant memory in its first homestand when new-Met Gary Sheffield hit his 500th home run- a typical Sheffieldian bullet shot hit close to the left field foul pole. New ballpark, state-of-the-art amenities, new memories already, can't go wrong, right??? So far from the truth. There are obstructed seats that the fans complain about, and faulty plumbing that the players complain about.
Aside from that, a new controversy has arisen, concerning Sheffield's uncle, one-time Met great Dwight Gooden. According to Yahoo.com, Gooden was on hand for the Opening Day festivities when a worker asked him to sign a wall outside of a bar (called Ebbet's Club) in the stadium. Happy to be back, Gooden obliged and signed it: "Dwight Gooden 84 R.O.Y. 85 Cy Young, 86 W.S. Champs" in reference to his 1984 Rookie of the Year Award, his '85 Cy Young Award, and the '86 World Series victory over the Red Sox.
Mets' brass reacted to this with outrage. This is what Jay Horowitz, Mets' VP of Media Relations told the New York Post:
Doc Gooden had his fair share of problems in the past. He was too busy sucking up lines of cocaine like a Hoover vacuum to attend the '86 championship parade in New York's "Canyon of Heroes." This hero would go on to fall deep into the grandest of canyons of addiction and run-ins with the law. This incensed Mets fans. A decade later they were further incensed when he returned to the Big Apple after a couple seasons in Cleveland to throw a no-hitter for the cross-town Bronx Bombers in 1996, contributing to the Yankees' return to the promised land that year to start their eventual dynasty.
This made Doc reluctant to return to Shea during its final game last September. He worked up the courage to come back to the inaugural game this year to a good reception from the fans (even Bill Buckner got a nice reception from the Fenway faithful last year for their home opener, after two World Championships, though); who says you can't go home again?
WFAN's Mike Francesa said it right when he suggested that the Mets should protect it by screwing a piece of plexiglass in front of it. Another complaint about the new ballpark is the fact that there are a shortage of Mets' memories throughout.
It's time to wake up and smell the coffee, Mets. Your franchise is NOT the Brooklyn Dodgers, and your new stadium is NOT Ebbet's Field. It's time to embrace your own history, from Casey Stengel to Tom Seaver, to Darryl Strawberry and Gary Carter to Mike Piazza, and onto David Wright. Be proud of your history, don't try to be another team. The Los Angeles Dodgers are going to feel like they are playing a home game when they come to NY, and Joe Torre grew up in Brooklyn in that era. Jackie Robinson deserves every ounce of respect he earned, but he did NOT play for the Mets- EVER!!! And he probably wouldn't even have agreed to play for the Mets anyway because he got traded to the Giants after his last season with Brooklyn and retired without playing a single game for them. And the Mets play in Queens, NOT Brooklyn. The blind front office of the Mets should take one long look in the mirror and realize who they really are.
Ahhh yes, 1955, the destination year to which Marty McFly traveled back in time in Doc Brown's Delorean time machine. In baseball, New York simply was the town. The Yankees, led by Manager Casey Stengel, won four straight World Championships to start off the decade (five dating back to '49). The New York Giants won it all in '54, and the Dodgers in '55. 1956 belonged to Mickey Mantle and the Yankees again (Mantle won the league's Triple Crown Award, and Don Larsen pitched the only perfect game in World Series history en route to revenge on the Dodgers in seven games the year after Dem Bums' only date with destiny). The Yanks would also win it all in 1958.
Also in 1958, sadness ravaged the baseball community in New York when the hearts of millions of Dodgers and Giants fans crumbled like the concrete of Ebbet's Field and the Polo Grounds when it met the wrecking ball. Gone would be the nightly street arguments of who was the best center fielder: Mickey, Willie (Mays), or The Duke (Snyder). The Dodgers and Giants both packed up and headed west for Los Angeles and San Francisco, respectively.
The National League fans of New York, however, got a bittersweet consolation prize in 1962 when the expansion Mets became a team (and subsequently lost 120 games that season), but many still had feelings of outrage over the departure of Dodgers and Giants four years prior. The Miracle Mets would bounce back by the end of the decade, winning the World Series in 1969, and again in 1986.
Flash forward to 2009. The Mets left Shea Stadium about 45 years after it opened to head to their brand new Citi Field digs nearby. It features relics to the Brooklyn Dodgers, including the Jackie Robinson rotunda, and an exterior modeled after that of the old Ebbet's Field, and a large #42 for Robinson in the stadium as well. Jackie was an all-time great, a hall-of-famer, a pioneer, and he became integral part of the Civil Rights Movement when he broke the color-barrier in 1947 with the Dodgers. A great American in all respects.
Citi Field created an instant memory in its first homestand when new-Met Gary Sheffield hit his 500th home run- a typical Sheffieldian bullet shot hit close to the left field foul pole. New ballpark, state-of-the-art amenities, new memories already, can't go wrong, right??? So far from the truth. There are obstructed seats that the fans complain about, and faulty plumbing that the players complain about.
Aside from that, a new controversy has arisen, concerning Sheffield's uncle, one-time Met great Dwight Gooden. According to Yahoo.com, Gooden was on hand for the Opening Day festivities when a worker asked him to sign a wall outside of a bar (called Ebbet's Club) in the stadium. Happy to be back, Gooden obliged and signed it: "Dwight Gooden 84 R.O.Y. 85 Cy Young, 86 W.S. Champs" in reference to his 1984 Rookie of the Year Award, his '85 Cy Young Award, and the '86 World Series victory over the Red Sox.
Mets' brass reacted to this with outrage. This is what Jay Horowitz, Mets' VP of Media Relations told the New York Post:
"It's a brand-new building, no one is supposed to write on the wall. It's going to be erased."
Doc Gooden had his fair share of problems in the past. He was too busy sucking up lines of cocaine like a Hoover vacuum to attend the '86 championship parade in New York's "Canyon of Heroes." This hero would go on to fall deep into the grandest of canyons of addiction and run-ins with the law. This incensed Mets fans. A decade later they were further incensed when he returned to the Big Apple after a couple seasons in Cleveland to throw a no-hitter for the cross-town Bronx Bombers in 1996, contributing to the Yankees' return to the promised land that year to start their eventual dynasty.
This made Doc reluctant to return to Shea during its final game last September. He worked up the courage to come back to the inaugural game this year to a good reception from the fans (even Bill Buckner got a nice reception from the Fenway faithful last year for their home opener, after two World Championships, though); who says you can't go home again?
WFAN's Mike Francesa said it right when he suggested that the Mets should protect it by screwing a piece of plexiglass in front of it. Another complaint about the new ballpark is the fact that there are a shortage of Mets' memories throughout.
It's time to wake up and smell the coffee, Mets. Your franchise is NOT the Brooklyn Dodgers, and your new stadium is NOT Ebbet's Field. It's time to embrace your own history, from Casey Stengel to Tom Seaver, to Darryl Strawberry and Gary Carter to Mike Piazza, and onto David Wright. Be proud of your history, don't try to be another team. The Los Angeles Dodgers are going to feel like they are playing a home game when they come to NY, and Joe Torre grew up in Brooklyn in that era. Jackie Robinson deserves every ounce of respect he earned, but he did NOT play for the Mets- EVER!!! And he probably wouldn't even have agreed to play for the Mets anyway because he got traded to the Giants after his last season with Brooklyn and retired without playing a single game for them. And the Mets play in Queens, NOT Brooklyn. The blind front office of the Mets should take one long look in the mirror and realize who they really are.
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