Root, root, rooting for the home team did absolutely no good whatsoever. In my first excursion to a New York City ballgame since moving here (perhaps the second such trip in my life, stirring up pleasant but dim memories of sitting in what was probably Yankee Stadium with my grandfather, a huge baseball fan, when I was but a wee tyke) the Mets got horribly, horribly spanked. It was an 11-1 game, with the Astros out-hitting, out-fielding and generally out-playing them. It was so bad even Braves fans felt sorry for them.

Oh, well: at least there was Cracker Jacks …