Like most New Yorkers, over the holiday weekend I opted out of the city headed for elsewhere. In this case, I did a little montage of hometown love (Philly) and a trek down the shore, giving my Irish skin just enough time to burn before back-deck grilling and fireworks. However, it wasn't the actual day of the Fourth that brought out that All-American spirit. Rather, it was the day after in Philadelphia, when the Phillies and the New York Mets would face each other in game two of four of the series.
In a vain attempt to take on Pat's Cheesesteaks before the game, I was met with grave disappoint – the typical 15-20 minute wait in line was doubled due to the hordes of Mets fans who decided that a good ole fashioned Philly meal would do them well before gametime. Faced with the dilemma of hedonistic satisfaction or making it to Citizens Bank Ballpark in time for first pitch, I couldn't put my loyalties aside and sadly left without my beloved cheesesteak of greasy glory.
Knowing now how the game ended, maybe waiting would have been the better option. Facing both a rain delay and just a few too many ill-executed plays by my Phillies, the Mets took us (and the next two games in the series). Besides the red and white mixing with the blue and orange being an overwhelming sight for the senses amidst all the cat-calling and shouting (think just a shade below Yankees/Red Sox intensity), there's just something about a baseball game in your hometown that evokes the ultimate patriotic feeling and I can't think of a better venue for a Fourth of July weekend (unless having a picnic around the Liberty Bell is an option, but it's not. Trust me. I've looked into it).
So even in my attempt to have a mini vacation away from the Big Apple that I now call my home – the city and its elements have the overarching tendency to follow and linger…which is generally okay…