Chapter 3 - The Preamble
No, you haven’t missed the first 2 chapters. I’m George Lucas-ing this shit.
I was a Mets season ticket holder for the 2018 season. I had this great season ticket Rep - Dom Neil. I also didn’t have a job for the entire 2018 baseball season. I’d run into Dom at games and he’d ask, “What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?”
And I’d get to say, “Nothing.”
And he’d say things like, “I’ve got two suite tickets for the Phillies day-night doubleheader tomorrow for you if you want them.”
I wanted them.
I had 2 seats in a 20 game package that season. I had to sell the two Opening Day tickets. I’d estimate Dom freebie-d me as many remaining tickets as I had paid for. I got a pretty sweet deal at a pretty opportune time. I also got a free tour of CitiField … got to go on the field. Sit on the bench. Go through the locker room and weight room. Batting cages. The whole deal.
Cliff Lungaretti has a friend; Matt Hevia. Matt’s been a Mets season ticket holder for a whole lot of suffering. So Matt’s season ticket rep gets another job. (I mean what could be better than selling tickets to an always half empty stadium?) Matt is out with Cliff one night complaining that after downgrading his ticket package, he was owed a few hundred dollars by the Mets. And instead of refunding his credit card, his new season ticket rep was offering him a few hundred dollars of Mets food gift cards that were redeemable at the stadium.
“This Dom Neil guy is going to get a piece of my mind,” Matt says one night while drinking with Cliff one night in March.
Cliff says, “WHAT!?! That’s Colby’s season ticket guy, and Colby loves him. He’s always talking about how much free stuff he gets from him.”
Sidebar recap follows:
So … let’s take this opportunity to recap.
Colby Black. Me.
Dom Neil. My Amazing Mets season ticket representative.
Cliff Lungaretti. My friend.
Matt Hevia. Cliff’s friend; also a Mets season ticket holder.
Dom Neil. Matt Hevia’s hated Mets season ticket representative.
Got it?
OK, so there’s one more thing that has to be explained. There’s a feature in iOS. If someone not in your contacts texts your phone and says, “Hey. This is Dom Neil,” your iPhone will say, “Probably Dom Neil” at the top. I am not sure if anyone knew this at the time, but it becomes very important.
Back to the story.
Upon learning this fact, Matt gets my number from Cliff and texts me, “Hey, this is Dom Neil. I’m just sitting here watching March Madness, and I bet you love it, Kobe.”
Back in Brooklyn, I’m thinking, “What the hell? That’s odd.” But I let it go.
Matt Hevia doesn’t let it go. A week or so passes and I’ll get a text on a Sunday afternoon from “Probably Dom Neil” asking what I’m doing.
A couple of mornings later, I’ll wake up to a 2 AM text from “Probably Dom Neil” asking if I want to get a drink.
At some point, I say to Cliff, “Man I am actually starting to get worried about my Mets season ticket rep. Dude’s just texting me all over the place and it’s ridiculous.”
Matt Hevia doesn’t let it go. The texts get ramped up just a little.
So Cliff’s bachelor party is coming up. There’s something like 15 of us going to Cincinnati for Opening Day. We’re sitting there the morning of Opening Day. With hope springing all eternal all over the place. And we’re engaged in early morning Miller Lites and the random bit of giving ourselves mustaches like the Reds’ mascot. OK. That last thing was only me.
Anyway, while we’re standing there, I start getting texts from “Probably Dom Neil.” Texts like, “I bet you’re excited for Opening Day, lol. I know I am.”
And, “when can I see you again?”
And, “Oh wait … wrong number.”
And, “I want to make you my cumslut.”
And, “WRONG NUMBER AGAIN, LOL.”
And … the real coup de grace … a close up picture of a pasty, fluffy, hairy middle-aged dude’s belly.
I check my phone and I actually say out loud, “what the fuck?”
The room is oddly quiet. It’s too quiet. Something is going on. I look around the room. Matt Hevia is no where to be seen. At once, the room realizes that I have realized that Matt Hevia (with a huge assist from my phone’s operating system) has been expertly playing a joke on me for a little over a month.
I salute him.