Pain and addiction are two words most commonly associated with a junkie. That junkie is me. But rather than being ravaged by the use of mind-bending narcotics, I am tortured by an entirely different drug…The NY Mets.
While my vice is seemingly harmless, it is undeniably obsessive. And it wreaks havoc on my emotions. I love it, I hate it. I’m up, I’m down. Happy, pissed…on and on. And in my own self-awareness, I realize how silly this all is, how completely insignificant the outcome of a game is with players wearing blue and orange uniforms. Yet, it is the never-ending pursuit of that elusive championship that keeps me coming back year after year, month after month, week after week, and game after game. In spite of it all; Terry Pendleton, Mike Soscia, Kenny Rogers, John Franco, Armando Benitez, Yadier Molina, Tom Glavine; I can’t get enough of it. I am a baseball junkie. I am a MetsLifer.
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