Ever happen to hear an old song that not only evokes a frozen moment in time, but also perfectly expresses your current feelings about a person, place or thing? No? Well, I have.
It just happened this past Saturday as I was working out in the gym at our corporate apartment. Having forgotten my trusty iPod, I was forced to listen to the gym's music, which was blasting out a VH1 'Remembering the '80s' mix. That's when I heard Patty Smyth and Scandal belt out their memorable “Good-bye To You”.
Note: In addition to being head-over-heels in love with the then 25-year-old Smyth (not to be confused with the cadaverous Patti Smith), I always loved her independent, free-wheeling interpretation of the lyrics (and thought it perfectly captured my own wayward bachelor's POV on life and love at the time).
As I listened to it again for the first time in a quarter century, though, I realized the song also nailed my current feelings for the New York Mets. (I'm neither pleased nor embarrassed to say I've yet to watch a single half-inning of Mets baseball this entire season. They bore me.) And, that's what the song's lyrics capture:
These last few weeks (years)of holding on, the days are dull, the nights are long, guess it's better to say, good-bye to you
I've said good-bye to the Mets once before— right after they traded away Tom Seaver and before they began building the great '86 championship team.
I think it's ok to walk away from a person, place or thing if, like the Mets, they're causing too much psychic or physical damage. I've abandoned other 'things', including:
– All American-made cars
– Devil Dogs (after 30 years, I still consider myself a recovering Devil Dogaholic)
– The Roman Catholic faith
– TV sitcoms (minus 'Curb', 'Seinfeld' and 'The Office')
– TV reality shows (minus 'Mob Wives' 'I Shouldn't Be Alive' and 'Intervention')
– Attending any event in the Meadowlands (traffic, noise and hooliganism trump any upsides)
– Working for a holding company PR firm (life's far too short to have to deal with the internal politics, bureaucracy and shark-infested waters).
I may say hello to the Mets sometime in the future. I have before.
In fact, I imagine they'll one day reach out to me with an unexpected e-mail entitled, “Hi, do you remember me?” And, like a jilted lover, I'll respond tentatively with a, “Um, yes, I remember. You broke my heart.” And, the Mets will suggest getting together again over a drink. And, sucker that I am, I'll agree. And, then I'll be hooked.
But until then, I'll heed Patty Smyth's final lyrics and tell the Mets, “Good-bye baby. So long darling. Good-bye to you!”