We were a bit reluctant to knock on the door being that Mr. Met is known to sleep during the day (especially if there is a night game on that day, er).
Overcome with emotion, we banged lightly (is that even possible?) on the Ball-Headed's office door. Nothing. We tried again. Still nothing. We then realized that Mr. Met is a (cute) mute and we wouldn't even hear him if he was calling us in.
Not believing Mr. Met was actually inside, Skeptic Al opened the door slowly. He was, after all, skeptical. As he opened the door, we spotted a desk with an array of items upon it. Ball-care products, shoe-trees for what looked like a size 20 shoe and a tissue box as big as Mo Vaughn's belly. The latter probably being for after those hard-to-get-over games. Poor Mr. Met.
But the pity didn't last long. Once the door was fully open, we got a nice view of how Mr. Met lives. Quite lavishly, if I was to say the least.
Mr. Met was currently not in his digs so we felt free to poke around. A picture of Mrs. Met was on the nightstand, as well as a toothbrush (I did not know his mouth even opened), a Brooklyn Cyclones schedule and a book titled, "Life - How To Have A Ball." We were halfway through his closet (which featured all of the same outfits that we all have come to know and love)when we heard the sound of footsteps behind us. Ah, it was too late. We were caught red-handed, by our beloved team's mascot.
We turn around, only to see Oliver Perez standing behind us. He muttered something about, "trying to locate his fastball" and he ran off glancing in all directions.
"Phew," we sighed. Close call. We finish checking out the closet and make our way to the bathroom. It looks small from the outside but we knew Mr. Met lives large. Matter of fact, we didn't realize how large.
We walk in and are greeted by Mr. Met's Indoor Pool Home Theatre Room. A toilet the size of Texas is on our far right but we are in awe of our friend's pool/movie/whatever-the-heck-he-calls-it contraption.
Seconds later, Skeptic Al is on the phone with MTV's "Cribs - The Mascot's Digs" telling them how they must bring a camera to Flushing. I nod in agreement; anything to make the Fanatic jealous.
Ignoring Oliver as he runs by the door again, we decide it is time to leave. Mr. Met could be back at any moment and God knows what that man would do to someone in the privacy of his own (LAAARGE) home. We step over a T-Shirt Launcher that was wildly thrown in the middle of the room and make our way to the 10 foot tall door. I would say we were about 3 foot from the door when the shadow was cast; a shadow, unmistakably, belonging to Mister Bartholomeus Alexander Quincy Met. A.K.A. - Mr. Met.
"Uh oh, we are done for," I twittered to my followers. As this was taking place, Skeptic Al wet his pants and began to shiver. We had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide and if we had, Al would certainly have left a trail.
Trembling in our shoes, we look up to see Mr. Met smiling the way he usually does. His eyes, hands, and facial expressions all say "happy, happy, happy." He gives us a 3 minute bear hug as we try to gasp for breath - he apparently has no beef with us. Even more than that, he allows us to conduct an interview with him (although he remains silent through-out) and he gave us a thorough tour of the place (with us making it seem as if it was our first time seeing it).
What a relief!
All in all, we had a great day. We met our mascot, we shook Johan's LEFT hand, we even signed the wall in the Ebbets Club! We just couldn't be happier!
Although...we can't figure out why Jay Horowitz and Omar Minaya were violently waving to us from the rear view mirror as we pulled out of the parking lot...
Oh, well. Let's Go Mets!