From the time the boy could stand his Dad had brought him on the Seven. To see the Mets they both would go, before he'd even learned to throw.
All through his childhood and past his teens. They'd entrain to their field of dreams. Their Mets found many ways to lose- most years they had godawful teams.
So soon it was his time to go. Children grow and Time flies they say- His son now has his place downtown A few short miles and a world away.
Opening day is a magical land That once more found them in the stands Cheering loud, their voices hoarse, as their team booked yet another loss.
After the excitement of the game waiting on the platform for their trains The two men hugged with obvious affection, then entrained in opposite directions.
The number 7 train runs from Flushing in Queens past Citifield and the national Tennis center to Times Square in Manhattan.