I promised I’d do a follow up after I went to Citi Field and I finally delivered! I wasn’t able to post everything immediately myself, but I guarantee I really turned around two posts in less than 24 hours for the first time in more than a year. Suck it, Randy Galloway!

[Editor's note: Ty really did deliver the goods. The reason these were so heavily delayed was because I'm a failure at website maintenance and couldn't turn the post around quickly enough. Sorry!]

So, as I sit on the flight home from the world’s shortest New York trip (unless you’re Cory Lidle), it’s time to reassess the goals I laid out for myself before visiting Citi Field and see if I was able to finally accomplish something I barely put my mind to:

· Find a Big 12/Texas Douche: SUCCESS! There were only three spotted and no photography was available (three attempts at camera phone shots were each thwarted in their own boring way). The increasingly common Red Raider Douche materialized two rows behind me. He was an old, seemingly native New Yorker, so I am assuming he has a son that hates him, a grandson that hates his son or just has a kinky pirate fetish.

There was a nondescript Missouri douche… But the real Douchespotting prize (and great tragedy) was when I missed the chance to photograph what might be the Douchebag Sasquatch: New York Yankees shoes, Texas Longhorn shorts and a Duke basketball t-shirt. The kid appeared to be college-aged, so I am guessing the free t-shirts handed out at Brooklyn City College orientation just weren’t cutting it for him anymore.

· Find out if Livan Hernandez is a zombie corpse being reanimated by dark spirits to kill us all. UNDETERMINED. Livan pitched well – working in and out of jams while throwing no harder than 90 miles an hour (which only happened once) while scattering three runs. The last two came after his manager refused to take him out of the game as he approached 110 pitches with the bases loaded, one out, and Albert Pujols at the plate (more on that in a second).

The night was almost like Jamie Moyer’s wet dream of utopia as the other pitcher, Joel Piniero only gave up 2 hits in a complete game, two hit shutout. Even odder, Joel Piniero tallied two hits of his own and scored the go-ahead run while batting eighth. The game featured double plays, botched simple plays by both teams – including the Cardinals having two runners picked off the base path (during the same at bat!) with two on and one out. But I guess that is why folks prefer the NL over the AL- They know fundamentals!  Wait… what?

In light of the extreme inability of either team to do any of the little things correctly (bunt, send runners, hit for contact, hit Joel freakin’ Piniero), I cannot figure out if Mr. Hernandez is a zombie corpse or just the latest spare pitcher to flee the AL with his dick tucked between his sack (how does that work?) before finding rejuvenation in the senior circuit.

· See Albert Pujols at the plate four times. MEH. I saw two walks (one intentional), a ground out and the previously mentioned two run single. It was a first pitch single between second and third base, so it lacked the majesty and hype I longed for in my head. Still, in one swing Mr. Pujols managed to match the Rangers run total from most nights in June, so good work on that. I’ll tell you what is freakin’ unbelievable though – the man is batting 1.000 with the bases loaded this year. I’m fairly certain I could only do .900 at best hitting off a tee.

· Not see the wave. FAIL – SORTA. Well, I saw the wave, but…there’s a story. The game had a nice rain delay (giving me time to walk the stadium, visit the various team stores (I bought a Mr. Met Nike Dry-Fit t-shirt and crazy socks for the wife, but passed on the confusing Jose Reyes University t-shirt. Hopefully it involves learning to bang chicks during road trips and admire a really beautiful ballpark.

As the rain thinned and the crowd came back to their seats, an impromptu fan wave broke out around the stadium while the grounds crew finished preparing the field to resume play. The situation at the time the game was called was the Cardinals at bat with a 2-2 count, two outs and the bases loaded, and the fans immediately cut the wave short and locked back in as soon as the pitcher took the mound. There was no mention of the wave again, but just plenty of boos and “Benji’s better” chants at Yadier Molina for the rest of the evening. The fans were quieter than expected, but when Joel Piniero is butt-raping your injury-ravaged line up with a baffling 86 mile an hour heater, it’s hard to bring the noise.

· Eat some crazy ballpark food. SUCCESS. The ballpark dining fare was interesting, but not too crazy. There was chicken mole tacos, flank steak, BBQ sandwiches, hot dogs, hamburgers, sausage and peppers, kettle chips, spicy wings, pizza, salads, and paninis. I decided to embrace the Italian inside me (just like my wife does – hey-oh!), and go with the sausage and peppers. It was a huge portion (and damn well should be for $10), but it was a very tasty meal. Also, I woke up a few hours later to unleash the unholiest of bowel movements, so it made visiting Flushing all the more epic and circular.

· See a fight. FAIL. There were a good number of well-manner Cardinals fans, but I don’t think these people are capable of anything except clapping and saying “get ‘em next time, champ.” It might help that they recently beat this team to advance to and win a World Series, but no one was even close to blows. The nearest thing to tension I saw was when someone ordered a Corona but was brought a Heineken. But they must have realized piss is piss, and let it go.

· Boo K-Rod regardless of the situation. NOPE. No sign of him or J.J. Putz, who I forgot also signed with the Mets until I went to the gift shop and saw no one buying his jersey. Also at the fan shop was a nice selection of Darryl Strawberry and Doc Gooden shirts for the fans who like their Mets nostalgia powdered with cocaine.

Speaking of jersey shirts, the Mets charge $2 more than the Rangers do for these items and it may be worth it – the material is nicer, the numbers are better stitched and the shirt material felt much softer. Maybe their people could call whoever buys the Rangers from Tom Hicks and set some things straight.

· Kiss David Wright. MEH. He was about the only real hitter in a lineup missing Delgado, Beltran and Professor Jose Reyes of Jose Reyes University, but he barely made a mark on the game. I didn’t take notes, but outside of taking a pitch off the shoulder before Fernando Tatis hit into a double play and striking out on three pitches in the middle innings, he was a non—factor.

Also, did you hear me just mention former Ranger prospect Fernando Tatis? In an odd twist of fate, both teams #4 hitters were former Rangers prospects (Ryan Ludwick for the Cards, FYI). In the words of noted child pornographer and jungle gym enthusiast Mr. Rascal Flatts: “God bless the broken road…”

· Find and buy some kind of anti-Yankees shirt, just to say I did. NOPE. I thought I had a chance with the Subway Series coming up this weekend, but the only mention of the Yankees was a conflicted cheer when it was announced the Braves beat them earlier that night. Oh, and a security guard trying to lift everyone’s spirits by saying “at least the Yanks lost by more” on the way out.

· Remember to write the follow-up blog post before August. SUCCESS! See what happens when I ride on planes and am not tired? Magic.

Other notes about the game:

· Really pretty park, but qualified by an amusing story from a fan next to me. Apparently, the pennant flags hanging on the right field foul pole had been removed because Pepsi complained their sign was partially blocked by them. I think they should find a compromise – like just call the 1986 Mets the “Amazin’ Team that accomplished a feat slightly more arduous than the Pepsi Challenge.”

If you don’t think that joke was funny enough, I’m sorry. The whole story may be a myth… It came from an old man who was dumb enough to call his wife mid-game with cheering in the background to tell his wife he was still at work.

· Fernando Tatis is greeted with a cheer of “show me your Tat-is” by four horny fat guys and the one girl who hangs out with them. No actual boos were un-throated, but let that be a lesson to keep your kids out of the Delta 360 club.

Like how I just worked in how good the seats were without bragging openly? Now you know I’m better than you.