With the implosion of my Mets, as they went from first place in the division to not making the playoffs, to the final game for the Nationals at RFK, I don’t think this shot could have been anything but baseball.

Our final game in our regular seats at RFK was Sept. 19, the concluding game in the last Mets-Nationals series in the stadium. The Mets won handily and all seemed well with the world. Who knew that less than two weeks could make such a terrible difference?

Previous entries in this series include August, July, June, May, April, March, February, and January.

I actually won a week of fantasy baseball last week. I won my first week, tied the second week, and was on a seven-week losing streak prior to last night.

I know, I know. No one cares. But that’s okay. I’m excited and that’s all that matters!

Now I just need to claw back from last place. I’m 50+ points behind the leader, but only three points behind last week’s opponent. It could be doable!

I can’t believe the weekend is only half over. It’s already been so full!

Last night, after fulfilling our two volunteer shifts with Filmfest D.C., Rudi and I headed up to catch a showing of The Hula Girls. Japan’s submission for best foreign picture to the Oscars this past year, the movie focused on a group of (mostly) teenage girls in a coal-mining town in 1965 Japan. Facing trouble making ends meet, the owners of the mine have simultaneously laid workers off and have allowed some of their land to be used to create a mock Hawaiian paradise designed to bring tourism dollars into the region. The Hawaiian center is looking for hula dancers and bring in a former dancer to teach anyone they can convince in this rural, conservative town to shake their hips. The movie does an excellent job of looking at the struggle between honoring tradition and moving forward in a world that’s not going to wait for you or your customs to catch up. It also avoids some of the easy plot devices that I think would have been taken advantage of had the movie been made in Hollywood. It was excellent and I’d be delighted to see it win the festival’s best picture prize. There’s no current timetable for release here in the U.S., but if you see it on a film festival roster or at an art house, I can’t recommend it enough.

After the movie, we headed to Two Amys, a local pizzeria that’s slightly too far to be considered for takeout. In addition to two pies, we also split some bruchetta covered with a delicious (and seasonably green) fava bean spread.

This morning I arose early to take part in Hands on D.C., an annual school clean-up project. The group I went with ended up at a middle school in Shaw, where we painted three floors’ worth of stairwell. It was tiring but at the end of the afternoon, I felt glad we’d done such a thorough job. D.C.’s schools aren’t great — either academically or structurally — and our kids deserve better. There’s not a lot I can do on a day-to-day basis to improve the schools, so I’m happy to help in this (albeit small) way.

Tonight, being too tired to head to the ballpark, I watched the Nationals and the Mets square off. The first six innings featured a pitching duel, followed by outstanding pitching from the bullpens of both clubs. The Mets failed to capitalize on a number of scenarios that would have allowed them to take control of the game early on, but with two outs in the top of the ninth, ancient go-to guy Julio Franco strode to the mound and swatted in the tying run. The game would head into the twelfth inning before the Mets could score again, at which point they sent four runners across home plate to secure a victory.

Tomorrow, I’m again rising early, but this time just to take Rudi out to Virginia, so he can catch a carpool to a bike ride he’s taking out in the mountains. Then I’ll return to the city in time to head to the farmers’ market, which, rumor has it, will feature morels and asparagus! Then I’ll put in some time working on finishing up my Bloomin Feet pal’s second sock before I go to the film festival’s closing gala reception. The final movie is Paris, je t’aime, a series of short films about Paris done by a plethora of international directors and stars including Gus Van Sant, the Coen brothers, Gerard Depardieu, Marianne Faithfull, Steve Buscemi, Elijah Wood, Juliette Binoche, and Wes Craven.

I don’t think I’ll make it into the garden tomorrow, which is a shame, but I’ll head over there on Monday to take some updated photos and to do some more planting. Today, Rudi bought a couple of tomato plants as well as whole bunches of seeds — English and sugar snap peas; zucchini and yellow squash; blue lake, soy, and pole beans; and leeks. I might also pick up a couple of flowers at the market tomorrow just to attract helpful (and pretty) bugs and birds to our plot.

I think I’d better head to bed soon. It’s been an exhausting weekend!

Overheard on the R Street Starbucks patio this afternoon as I knit and Rudi read his Nick Hornby novel:

Girl: I was reading this really interesting piece on Jackie Robinson. I didn’t expect to find it interesting but I did. . . . Which team did he play for?

Guy: I don’t know.

Me (aside, to my knitting): The Brooklyn Dodgers

Girl (pullling out the Time Magazine that included the article and flipping to Jackie’s picture): Can you tell by looking at his uniform?

Guy (seeing the B on Jackie’s hat): Boston.

Me:

Girl: Ah. Thanks!

Well, UConn is out of the NCAA Women’s Basketball Tournament. No Big Dance for us this year.

I’d like to reiterate, as I do every year, how frustrating it is to be a women’s basketball fan in Washington, D.C. In Connecticut, although the men’s state team generally does pretty well for themselves (although not this year), the women’s team is the one that people talk about most. The women are a dynasty.

Here in D.C., I felt bad for the GW women, who lost yesterday in the Elite Eight. Until last night, they went game for game with the Georgetown men. But while the Georgetown games were covered at least briefly in the local section of the news, the coverage of GW’s games was generally left for the last spot in the sports segment — the one you can ditch if you’re running short on time.

Tonight, my UConn women did not show up even with their B game, which was too bad because the LSU team came with an A+ game, as well as their stellar 6’6″ center, Sylvia Fowles.

Oh well. There’s always next year — and the internet, so I can follow the team regardless of D.C.’s lackadaisical attitude toward women’s sports.

Since I couldn’t have my real-world favorite Mets in the World Series, I was rather pleased to have a number of my fantasy team players suit up for the Fall Classic.

From the Detroit Tigers, I managed catcher Ivan “Pudge” Rodriguez (one of the greatest catchers in the game today), closer Trevor Jones, and Placido Polanco (although Placido didn’t remain on my team for the whole season).

From the Cardinals, I managed outfielder Preston Wilson and shortstop David Eckstein.

It’s very rewarding to see your players go on to succeed when your own shortcomings lead them to a last-place showing.

And as David Eckstein’s former manager, I can say that he really was deserving of being named the World Series MVP and that I am so proud of his performance.

The guy isn’t normal MVP material. He lacks flair. He doesn’t hit home runs — just two for the regular season and one in the postseason. (Some pitchers hit more home runs than that!) But what he lacks in headlines, he more than makes up for with heart and work ethic. David may be one of the hardest working players in baseball. When he’s walked, he sprints up the basepath as if it’s possible that the ump could change his mind and that the catcher could throw him out after all. He throws himself at every ball that’s hit near him, as do all great shortstops, but you never doubt that he could have taken a step earlier or reached a bit further. He makes great time between bases because he’s not busy watching the plays (something that drives me batty with players!). David’s checking in with his base coaches to see what he should be doing. And, sure, he only hit .254 during the playoffs and .292 during the regular season. But he’s almost impossible to strike out; he struck out a mere 41 times in 500 plate appearances during the regular season and once in 63 times at the plate in the postseason. Somehow, any way he can, he’s going to put the bat on the ball. Which all just goes to show that heart and hard work really can make you a player for the history books.