Ejovi Nuwere

I arrive in Japan Tuesday, September 26th for the final judgement in my case agaisn’t Soumushou. I’ll be in Tokyo, Osaka and Seoul, Korea where I’ll give a speech on VoIP security.

Mets are in the playoffs. I’ve always been a Mets fan. I grew up in Brooklyn. So I had no real allegiance to either the Mets or the Yankee’s. When I was playing little league the stars of my day were Mookie Wilson and Darryl Strawberry. I was a big fan of Jose Conseco too, but Jose played for Oakland. So as far as local talent went I wanted to be a Met.

I played baseball on the street where I lived. The church wall had a box spray painted on it. We used the box as our official strike zone and umpire. Bases were placed strategically in a diamond, first and third were in the middle of the street and second was on the opposite sidewalk. Pitcher stood in the middle of the street.

Whenever ever someone came up to bat we would scream out our names, “I’m Darryl Strawberry!” I would say, “I’m David Cone” the pitcher would shout back. No matter that we were actually on the same team. Despite the bases we only had one goal, home run. A home run meant hitting it over the parking garage. That meant not hitting it too far to the left or too far to the right, where we might break a window. Straight up and over. If we made it, the person who hit the ball, in his glory would have to claim the garage and retrieve it. Well worth it for the bragging rights.

I barely know the Mets lineup now, but when you grow up dreaming of becoming a Met it stays on your mind forever.

A year ago I was in Models, a sporting good store in NYC. They had an “authentic” remake of Darryl Strawberry’s jersey. Suddenly all my childhood memories came rushing back. I could be Darryl Strawberry. The home runs, the calm under fire…the price. Turns out they wanted $300 for the jersey. I’ve waited this long, I can wait a few more years I thought to myself.

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