Stephen Mejias

It started as a joke. I told my uncle, also a huge Mets fan, that if the Mets didn't make it to the playoffs, I'd get rid of my television. What would I need a television for anyway? All I ever watch are Mets games, and I can get my news from the internet or the radio. The idea became more attractive as I thought of how much easier it would be to swap audio components without an enormous, old 27" Sharp television set getting in the way. I might even be able to hock the television for a sweet pair of bongos, or something similarly musical and pretty. They've got some nice rhythm sticks over there at Jemma Loan on Newark Avenue. A trumpet? A few harmonicas? Who knows? Plus, without the easy distraction of television, I'd inevitably read and write more, listen to more music, maybe even exercise a bit. All good things.

Regarding that">http://machinist.salon.com/blog/2007/10/01/radiohead/">that Radiohead thing that everyone's talking about, which strikes me as being a whole lot like that">http://www.stereophile.com/news/1205magnatune/index.html">that Magnatune thing we covered a couple of years back, I refer all dear readers to my brother, Jim">http://themultipurposesolution.blogspot.com/2007/10/they-should-just-ge… Teacher.

I sat, quietly, in the dirty seat, empty bottles of beer and peanut shells at my feet. My throat was sore from shouting chants and pleas, my hands bruised from fruitless rooting. How could this have happened? As the stadium emptied out, leaving behind only rows of orange and blue paint, an painful truth sank in: This is how it ends.