We sure know how to stage a circus, don't we?

Everything was right about the inaugural game of Citi Field except whatever it was exactly that happened down there on the field. The Mets have done a bang-up job with the food and get higher-than-expected marks for the architecture, but now they need to do something about the scriptwriter.

It's not just that the bad guys didn't win, though obviously that's the primary objection in these parts. It's the head-scratching way they lost it. The big flag was cool and the return of Piazza and Seaver made for a fairly obvious but nonetheless satisfying bookend to the end of Shea (Tom Terrific threw a strike this time), but once the current players took the field this one was a farce. Sitting next to Joshua on our couch (Emily was representing us at the main event, up below the BOS-OAK section of the out-of-town scoreboard), I told him that Mike Pelfrey should throw a strike for the first pitch because there was no way Jody Gerut would swing at it amid the camera flashes and the sense of the moment. He didn't, and the ball was carted off for posterity -- but Gerut did club the third pitch in the history of Citi Field into the right-field stands. Joshua didn't quite understand my astonishment -- you can't explain to a six-year-old that there's no way the first home run is also the first hit and proceeds the first out, because he has no idea that violates all the generally agreed-upon rules of drama. (Jody Gerut ought to know better, damn him.) But that's what happened nonetheless.

The Mets certainly didn't look comfortable in their new home, not with Carlos Beltran skidding around on the grass and Ryan Church letting a fly ball clank off his normally sound glove and Mike Pelfrey, well, falling off the mound -- though once he was OK the sight of the infielders sputtering with laughter behind their gloves was pretty funny. (As was the fans' sarcastic applause for Daniel Murphy's first put-out, a good-natured jab Murphy accepted with a grin. He's going to do just fine in New York.)

Walter Silva didn't like the script either -- not after David Wright proved the new apple does indeed also rise, and road-tested how Citi Field does delirium. Sitting at home, I found myself fretting like a worried mother hen, wondering if the VIP crowd and smaller house and new configuration and obstructed views would combine to mute Citi's first big moment. When Wright's drive settled safely into the outstretched arms above Casey's number, the place seemed properly loud and joyous -- but I had to fire off a quick SMS to Emily for reassurance.

J: Seemed loud. Was it loud?

E: O yes

But let's get back to screenwriting and how to properly build drama and weave a plot. How sadistic a writer do you have to be to follow Wright's blast with a leadoff three-base error from the Heroic Right Fielder Who Should Never Be Replaced On Defense by Gary Sheffield? How much of a tease do you have to be to then follow that up with not one but two infield grounders that pin the runner on third and leave the Mets with their collective head all but out of the lion's mouth? And then, after all that, for it all to come to naught on a balk? Where's the drama? Where's the justice? Where's the Valium?

The West Kamchatka roster seems to consist entirely of players you never heard of, guys you thought had maybe retired, and disgruntled ex-Mets. Can we say for certain that Edward Mujica and Edwin Moreno aren't the same person? David Eckstein and Brian Giles are still around? Someone's really named Chase Headley? There's a Nick Hundley? (I know -- they've never heard of me either.) And then Duaner Sanchez, whom Carlos Beltran let off the hook by being too aggressive on 3-1, and Heath Bell, still just as funny-looking but a lot more effective. (By the way, I can't say as I really blame Heath for being bitter, seeing how the Mets' genius doctors once failed to discover that he had a broken bone in his forearm.)

Very well, vengeance is Heath's. The park's open. The mayor got a ball. One poor fan got to wear a Padre catcher for an unwanted hat. The feral cats have decamped from Shea's ruins and snuck Felix Heredia into their new, more spacious catacombs. The Padres are 6-2 and we're 3-4, and with Oliver Perez and Jake Peavy slotted in 8-2 and 3-6 doesn't seem impossible.

It was the first night. We have to get comfortable with the new place. Even more importantly, so do the Mets.

Faith and Fear in Flushing: An Intense Personal History of the New York Mets is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or a bookstore near you. Keep in touch and join the discussion on Facebook.

Jack Fisher throws one to Jesse Gonder
Forty-five seasons commence

Ryan Church hits one to Cameron Maybin
Forty-five seasons conclude

Mike Pelfrey throws one to Brian Schneider
We've only just begun

***
“I obviously have great memories of Shea on the field and in the clubhouse, but this is quite an upgrade," David Wright told reporters before the first exhibition game at Citi Field on April 3. "And I think it’s good for us mentally, too, to get a clean slate. There’s a lot of energy and excitement surrounding the new field and with that comes a new attitude where we can put the last couple of years aside and focus on this year.”

This year is already in focus, but considering the home season is only now at hand, there's one last chance to reflect on there where we used to stand without any other structure obstructing our view. So many images from the final week in the life of Shea Stadium stay with me...

There's too many Cubs fans.
There's the threat of rain.
There's rain.
There's a broken bat that bats a ball after the ball has broken the bat of Johan Santana.
There's Johan Santana coming back three days later and missing bats altogether.
There's invigorating cameos from Robinson Cancel and Ramon Martinez.
There's quiet disappearance for Damion Easley.
There's Pedro Martinez dramatically exiting.
There's Jose Reyes scoring.
There's Daniel Murphy standing on third.
There's David Wright not doing anything about it.
There's an evening in the picnic area that goes from sublime to ant-covered.
There's a Carlos Delgado grand slam going to waste.
There's Marlins crawling under our skin.
There's Carlos Beltran homering.
There's Wes Helms and Dan Uggla doing the same.
There's that damn bullpen gate.
There's booing and shrieking and laughing and crying.

There's Shea Stadium, its final bows. A 3-4 week. A win shy of continuation. A benediction for the ages. A sweet-sorrow parting. Those images will fade but they will never fully dissolve. I'd say the same for the 36 seasons I went to Shea.

But now, the next place.

Bring on Citi Field. Bring on that clean slate David Wright has been talking up. Bring on the now. What's past is past. The past endures, but in a spot set a little further back from where it sat before. It's not first row center anymore. No point pretending that it is.

The single most undeniable fact of Met life in 2009 is, as of this evening, our team plays its home games at Citi Field. I like watching our team play. Hence, I now greet the opening of Citi Field with nothing but enthusiasm. I count the hours until it transforms from the subject of speculation to a matter of record. I can't wait for the list of all-time Mets home parks to total three because it means our team is playing ball and has last licks, just as it did at the Polo Grounds, just as it did at Shea Stadium. I'm psyched to be going to my first Citi Field game that counts this Thursday. I expect I'll be taking plenty of mental notes all season regarding what's great and what's not — but mostly, I'm going to be watching our team play baseball. Ultimately, that's what Citi Field is for.

I can't promise, given my tendencies, that I won't occasionally backslide into Shea nostalgia, but I'm otherwise turning in my well-worn sentimental-indignation card. I spent the past three seasons praising and preserving the memory of Shea Stadium so it wouldn't evaporate into dust without a proper bon voyage. I bemoaned the impending arrival of its successor for reasons both genuinely heartfelt and probably petty. I didn't want Shea to vanish without expressing my appreciation for what it meant to me, what it meant to all of us. Consider it expressed. There is nothing left for this Mets fan and Friday Night Lights viewer to do except embrace Citi Field in the most Metsian way possible — clear eyes, full heart, hope we don't lose.

C'mon Big Pelf. Let's Go Mets.

Faith and Fear in Flushing: An Intense Personal History of the New York Mets is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or a bookstore near you. Keep in touch and join the discussion on Facebook.