There really is nothing like seeing old friends. It often doesn’t matter how much time has passed, or how we’ve changed in the time since we’ve last met. It’s falling into your own bed: instantly comfortable. Yesterday, I kind of got to do it twice.
David Wright returned the Mets line up last night for the first time since April of this year. He suffered a hamstring injury which escalated into a back injury which was revealed to be spinal stenosis. The condition rendered Wright’s return impossible to predict in terms of both a timeline and his effectiveness. The initial hope was that he’d be back by the All-Star break. When that didn’t materialize, the outlook changed to “We hope to get David back at some point this season.” As a Mets fan, I expected the worst; I figured that he probably wouldn’t come back ever – if at all this season. But he returned last night and did this in his first at bat. If Rey Ordonez and Edgardo Alfonzo are the Mets of my childhood, then David Wright is the Met of my adulthood. He debuted in 2004 when I was still watching Mets games in just my boxers, but also batting gloves and whichever cap they were wearing that day. I’ve seen him play twice – both in 2006 – and that was the last season Mets made the playoffs. He’s back, and I will gladly take whatever the Captain has left in the tank.
I tried my best to watch Monday Night Raw because Summer Slam took place on Sunday night. Because I am old, I lasted just one hour, but I was able to witness the return of the Dudley Boyz. I tried my best not to spoil the events, and I was tweeting during the New Day match. I was impressed with Xavier Woods’ trombone work. A former student replied “What what happens next.” Right on cue, the fireworks bomb dropped. The Dudleys returned and brought all their tropes with them. Nostalgia is a hell of a thing and yes, I whisper-yelled “Whazzzzaaaupp!” because Lynnette was trying to sleep. I also encouraged Devon to get the tables. I don’t know where this run will take them, but for one night, this was enough.
That’s the thing about seeing old friends. Perhaps selfishly, I long ago realized that they’re time capsules with pieces of the older versions of us hidden inside of them. All it takes is a chance meeting to pull them all out.