Letter to Big Ron (a.k.a. Dad)

Hi Big Ron (a.k.a Dad)

How’re you?

Me? I’m good. You know, same old.

So listen, I’ve got something I wanted to tell you.

Here goes: I’ve been to a couple ballgames already this year – you know there’s nothing better than live ball – but there’s a hitch.

They weren’t Yankee games.


They were the Mets.

Now, wait, Dad. I can hear what you’re saying. “Ally, the Mets? They’re an expansion team.” Which, let’s be honest, Dad, we both know isn’t really true anymore. Sheesh, it was 1962!

So why the Mets instead of the Yankees? Well the first game it was your son-in-law’s birthday. You know how he is – loves the Yankees but being a non native he relishes that he doesn’t have to choose. The Mets were the ones in town.

The second game was against the Buccos! We had to go see the Pirates when they’re in town. Look, there’s Cutch at the plate!


And then there’s this – I can ACTUALLY afford to get tickets to the Mets without taking out a loan. Which we both know isn’t true with NEW Yankee Stadium. Man, I miss the old one, don’t you?

Just for the record the Pirates stomped all over the Mets. 11-2. It was brutal. While we were there your son-in-law got into a conversation with the elderly couple that were sitting next to us (you know how he LOVES small talk, even about baseball) but they wouldn’t let up, blah blah blah Mets, Mets, Mets, not even when the dark clouds they had threatened all day rolled in and the rain looked like it was going to drench us.


Before they left they took down his email address and offered to sell us their season tickets, and Dad, I admit it – I was excited. You know I love live baseball and the Mets man, they aren’t so bad. That Wright kid can run circles around A-Rod (provided he ever plays again and yes, I know you don’t like him) but I’m just saying, I was sitting there thinking, hey, why not? It’s still baseball, right? Plus they seemed so nice – they even had a little dance they did together during the Seventh Inning Stretch.

I didn’t even mind when she called us Jake and Callie. But then, later, on the train, giddy about the Buccos win it all changed.

Me: “So that was really nice of them to include us on the email about the tickets.”

Jay: (terse nod)

Me: “What? What’s wrong?”

Jay: “You didn’t hear what she said.”

Me: “After she called us Jake and Callie?” (laughing)

Jay: “Yeah. She said ‘We may have lost but at least we’re not Yankee’s fans.'”


Yeah. That’s what she said. So you know what, Dad, the next game: Bronx or Bust. Even without my Jeter.


your favorite (the little one!)

By Ally Malinenko

I live in Brooklyn which is good except when it’s not which is horrid. I’ve been writing for awhile, and have some stuff published and some stuff not. I don’t like when people refer to pets as their children and I can’t resist a handful of cheez-its when offered. I have a burning desire to go to Antarctica, specifically to the South Pole so I can see where Robert Falcon Scott died. I like to read books. I like to write stories and poems. I even wrote some novels. You can read them.

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