Last night I went to the Mets game.

I had probably the best seats I’ve had in several years only 8 rows off the field right at third base.

You think you’ll be sitting among the ‘swells’ but, you’re really not. You still find the same drunken, loud-mouthed fools who appear to at ballparks more frequently these days.

It was a beautiful night to be at the game, the weather was perfect, even if the Mets lost. Also, it was worth suffering people loudly pleading and cursing players to throw them a ball at the end of each half innings’ toss around.

Sometimes though, even among all the drunken shouting there can be a few funny moments. There were two ‘portly’ fellows behind us who were shouting out Milwaukee’s third base coaches’ last name which became a bit of a betting game among us in the latter stages of the game (well past 20 times in one inning).

Their moment came when the scoreboard urged the fans to cheer, ‘Let’s Go Mets!’ and they shouted ‘Pull Up Your Pants!’ at the guy an aisle over and a few seats down.

Seems he had a real look going - tats, ponytail, some poor man’s excuse for a beard, a wife beater t-shirt with a motto you wouldn’t want to repeat in polite company and a pair of jeans which kept him in an almost permanent half moon state.

I hadn’t realized what the commotion was about until my companion pointed out the wayward man’s condition and then found myself taking up the cheer as well.