A couple weeks back during a trip in Chicago. I had the pleasure of hitting up both A White Sox and a Cubs game in the span of 48 hours
The sentiment reminded me a lot of a little place called home.
At US Cellular Field, located in the South Side of Chicago, one of the worst areas in our country, fans were bitter. They were poorly dressed, sloppy and angry. But they loved their Sox. They truly did. They had an attachment to this team- that played in the absolute ghetto of Chicago- that was very admirable.
And boy did they Hate the Cubs.
I looked at my buddy, a long time Yankee fan but still a good guy, and he laughed:
"You would have been such a White Sox fan, Sip."
...................
Two nights later we went to Wrigley.
The air was similar, 77 degrees of beautiful Chicago Summer.
Me and my buddy JJ were told to make a right out of my buddy's apartment and make the first left on Sheffield Ave. then to walk about 2 miles and we would just hit Wrigley.
Easy enough.
So me and JJ began our adventure. He was decked out in a Ron Artest Kings jersey while Sip donned his usual blue top khacki shorts combo.
JJ, the interesting cat that he is, picked up a toothbrush and some toothpaste along the way to brush his teeth and sure enough, about 20 minutes later we hit Baseball Heaven.
It was ten blocks of bars and restaurants. Everyone with a cubs shirt on their back and an Ice Cold American Pilsner in their hand.
And NONE of these people were going to the game.
We quickly scalped some tickets for the bleachers passing what seemed to be thousands of people just hanging out in Wrigleyville for the game.
Did I mention this was a Tuesday?
After those ten or so blocks, out of no where sprung Wrigley Field. It had the atmosphere of a rock show, an electricity in the air that you feel for maybe a Yankees/Sox game or for Sip, a Coldplay concert.
And in we went.
Roughly 10,000 people line the bleachers of Wrigley Field. 10-15 rows of General Admission stands cover pretty much the entire outfield, save a smidge in Center Field for the Hitter's Eye and scoreboard.
Once I finally grabbed my seat, saved pleasantly for me by my buddy's buddy, I took a moment to breathe in that pleasant Wrigley Air.
I felt like Rudy the first time he stepped foot in Notre Dame Stadium.
This was baseball heaven.
Of the 10,000 in the bleachers, 9,900 were getting hammered. Pretty girls decked in Fukodome t-shirts, dudes with midwestern charm. These people were assholes yet so nice in the same way. They were the type of people that would clock you if you messed with their friend but would otherwise never lay a finger on you. It was a frat party for people a little too old to be in a frat.
The Cubs were playing my beloved Reds, still I didn't have the heart to be that asshole rooting for the road team.
So instead, I just enjoyed the atmosphere.
Maybe it was the perfect Chicago evening. Maybe it was the good people I was with. Maybe it was abundance of beers that I drank. Maybe it was all the pleasant and genuine traditions (read: the farthest thing from the Shea Stadium 8th inning Singalong Du jour)
Whatever it was, I was euphoric.
There was just something about the atmosphere at Wrigley Field that was different that all other sporting venues I had ever been to.
And it all stemmed from being in the heart of the city.
The energy of a major city with a big sports team smack in the middle. It was the garden in the 90's only it was a beautiful day and the skies were shining down on us.
I was supposed to hate this team.
They were the Yankees of their city.
They were the snobby, elite, pretentious Cubs fans.
I was a scrappy, gritty, Upper West Side Mets fan.
But I loved them. I loved everything about them. I had that feeling that we have all shared at one point in our life.
The game was 9-2 in the 8th inning.
But I never wanted that game to end.
......................................
Which leads me to the question that pained me ever since.
What if the Yankees played in Manhattan?
What if Yankee Stadium were a right, a quick left and a 20 minute walk from my apartment?
And what if the Mets still played in the charming pit that is Flushing, Queens?
..........................
Outside of the Mets, I have zero attachment to Queens.
I hate airports/flying/potential terror threats more than the next person.
I'm not the biggest tennis fan, though I will catch the occasional Federer/Nadal final.
I have never in my life been to a bar in Queens.
I'm not particulary fond of the Hamptons, so I don't even really have an excitement when I drive thru Queens.
Essentially, for me, the Mets play in China.
I've spent my whole life as a Manhannite.
I've seen Manhattan resurrect itself from the Gotham City that it was in the late 80's only to die again and become Sex And The City in the new millienium.
Hate it or love it, Manhattan is and always will be home.
So what if the Yankees were Manhattan's team?
To a certain extent, they already are, right.
Glitz, Glamour, Panash, $$$. These are the Yankees.
Celebrities of the game; The greatest players playing in the greatest city in the world.
They blast "New York, New York" at the end of games, sing "God Bless America" at the end of every 7th inning.
Our mayors root for them. Our movie stars root for them.
They are New York.
So what if they actually were my New York?
Its truly a blessing that the Yankees play in the Bronx. The Bronx was far enough away from where I grew up that my dad didn't have to make me a fan of their team.
But god only knows what would happen if they didn't.
Obviously, big doings in the series with the Phillies. Billy Wagner came in for the ninth inning Wednesday night and all the problems of the world melted away. Every fastball 94 mph and above, every look toward the plate a sullen glare, every batter seemingly overmatched. That was much nicer than the events of Tuesday evening. To be sure.
Still, while there's plenty of baseball to be talked, at the end of the day, the Mets are only a game up on the Phils in the NL East race. Had they lost Thursday, they'd be game behind, and a game behind in July is basically the opposite of the end of the world. We could go toe-to-toe or blow-for-blow on the Perez-Moyer matchup (how 'bout that backdoor slider?), or we could address how great it is to see J-Roll in the doghouse, and I could do a 10-minute riff on why Endy Chavez is better suited to being an underwear model than a major league hitter. (Hint: he has nice bone structure.)
But that would leave unaddressed the major, pressing issue of the day. Which is, to wit:
Is Mr. Met gay?
Don't laugh. Well, fine. You can laugh. Maybe even a week ago, I would have punched me in the face for asking the question, and then slugged you across the jaw for giggling at it. Not because there's anything wrong with being gay, mind you -- I just wouldn't have liked your tone. Or mine.
But to paraphrase the Dude, new information has come to light, man, that's making me reconsider my whole stance on Mr. Met's sexuality.
It all started last week, when Cheddar Ben's roommate published a piece in the San Francisco Chronicle about the history of Crazy Crab, the Giants' semi-legendary anti-mascot from the 1984 season. If you don't know the story of the Crab, check out the piece A.S.A.P. The story in a nutshell is that a MLB team essentially put Don Rickles into a lobster suit and let him do an insult comic routine on his own club to stir up hatred and interest. One of the most ridiculous baseball promotions ever.
In any case, the lede to R.O.C.B.'s piece included this line:
After the 1974 Ten Cent Beer Night melee in Cleveland, and the 1979 anarchy of Disco Demolition Night in Chicago, where riot police battled fans with improvised explosives, baseball owners wanted family environments with moon-walking mascots like the San Diego Chicken, even if that meant no-talent mimes like Mr. Met or Mr. Red in New York or Cincinnati.
Kind of a tough shot at Mr. Met, but we're talking about a historical phenomenon here and the thought process that led to the creation of many of today's mascots. Not to concede that Mr. Met was conceived as a "no-talent mime," but even if he were, owners across the land were looking for something essentially that milquetoast in any case.
The point is, some Mets fans took umbrage at this characterization, and they let R.O.C.B. hear about it. This e-mail came in from a Silicon Valley law firm:
Which kind of misses the point, as you could plausibly posit Mr. Met as the progenitor of the "family friendly" trend -- just listen to the Mets song. Not very many baseball teams in the 1960s were singing "Bring the kiddies, bring the wife" as far as I can tell. There should probably be more scholarship on the topic.
Now, though, the plot thickened. This e-mailer had apparently BCCed his brother on the correspondence, resulting in yet another interesting development:
XXXX,
As to the first question, my bro-in-law forwarded me your excellent article (and his response) here in New York.
As to the second, the rumor here is that Ms. Met is...well, how to put this politely, Mr. Met's "beard". Don't know that I really believe that, but I did hear that he and Mike Piazza were once very close--make of that what you will.
Keep up the good work,
XXXXXXX XXXXX Oakland A's of Fremont fan in exile
Which just blew my mind. I mean, I had to sit down afterwards. I'm still kind of shocked by the implications of this. Not to mention the fact that apparently everyone knew about this but me -- that there's been a rumor going around that Y2K hasn't promulgated or knocked down. We've been lax.
But there it is. I started asking myself, "Can Mr. Met have been queer this whole time? What have I missed?" You start trying to think back to what you've seen and what you've read and what you've heard over the years, and reconstruct a scenario you're comfortable with. It's like a jigsaw puzzle. Various pieces fit in various places, and sooner or later, you see an image start to develop. But there's evidence on both sides.
Not Gay -- Mr. Met is a happily married man
We're pretty sure. There's a school of thought that calls his female counterpart "Ms. Met," but I have trouble finding documentation on this. We can be sure, though, that Mr. Met has appeared in public with his family on numerous occasions, appearing to dote on them and his lady as would any loving straight dude.
And when his relationship has been challenged, he's responded as you would expect. Back in the mid-1990s, back when Dan Patrick was spreading rumors about Mrs. Met and Karl Ravech (rumors than have never been truly knocked down, mind you), Mr. Met looked as if someone had shot him in the chest.
If I were Karl Ravech, I wouldn't feel safe. The same deal when Jon Stewart suggested that Willie Randolph's firing might have had something to do with his, ahem, extracurricular interests.
Clearly, Mr. Met has a chip on his shoulder on his wife. But is that just a cover?
Gay -- You NEVER see Mrs. Met around
When was the last time you saw Mr. Met take his own goddamn advice and bring his woman out to the park to show her off? Never. Haven't seen hide nor hair of her in years. She's not listed as part of his life on his official bio page. There's internet petitions out there begging for her return, for the love of Pete.
The wags out there will claim that any guy who wants to spend as little time as possible with his wife must be in a normal, heterosexual marriage. Very clever. Quit stalling.
Not Gay -- Mr. Met will throw down with some hot chicks
Indisputably. The guy has been known to have a few beers and hit on some hot ladies. It's going to happen.
Gay -- Mr. Met loves weddings
Of course, the partying angle cuts two ways.
Not Gay -- Mr. Met has an arm on him
You ever see him throw t-shirts into the crowds alongside the Pepsi Party Patrol in between innings? It's basically like watching Rick Ankiel throw frozen ropes to third base. Mr. Met has a gun, ladies and gentlemen.
Gay -- Mr. Met is basically a mime
The aforementioned official bio has some cockamamie cover story about why Mr. Met doesn't ever talk. "Early in his career, Mr. Met lost his voice root, root, rooting for the home team." Please. Save it for someone who doesn't know how these things work.
What we can say is that, in his style and behavior, Mr. Met resembles nothing so much as a mime in a baseball uniform. And everything that needs to be said about mimes has already been said. Not Gay -- The media would have uncovered his secret by now
This is not an insignificant point. Mr. Met has been playing in this town, the media capital of the world, since 1964. From April to September, every year since Vietnam was in full swing, Mr. Met has been within full view of the most bloodthirsty, remorseless, snooping bunch of tabloid journalists and ink-stained hucksters ever assembled. These people are animals. They smell blood from a country mile off.
Do you know how many games have been played since 1964? (You will if you can find a calculator.) How many lazy summer days of mediocrity, if not pure awfulness, have passed since then, and how many slow work days at the ballpark have drifted by throughout the years? It strains belief to think that the working press wouldn't have, in 44 years on the job, found at least a couple of moments to track down the "Mr. Met is queerer than a $3 bill" story were there any validity to it.
These are the people who camp out in front of A-Rod's apartment, who made Harvey Keitel into a household name in the '80s, who homed in on Rudy and Judy, who run blind items about closeted actors and politicians twice a day, who would accuse Lincoln of being gay if it would sell a few issues. (Bad example.)
Do we really think we wouldn't already know about Mr. Met? How long can this town keep a secret?
In any case, feel free to leave your own take on Mr. Met's sexuality in the Comments. We here at Y2K will be supportive of Mr. Met no matter what decision he makes, whether it's ignoring the issue entirely or making some life changes or recommitting himself to his absent family.
(Note: A.F.O.M.G. responds to last night's devastation below this post from Sip)
I'm sick. It's not cause of last night's 9th inning meltdown. Those things happen. They suck and it seems like they happen to the Mets more than others. But they probably don't. We just get to read about them more.
I'm sick because baseball in New York City is dying and will die in 2009.
* * * * *
Over the last week I received two e-mails that provoked a thought in me about the game that I had never felt before.
The first read:
"Hey guys. I'll pick up tickets for the Mets game on Wednesday night. The seats suck and are like $30 a piece. Who's in?"
The second read:
"We just got the price for out season tickets for next year. Shocking that they sent us these after a nine-game winning streak. Take a guess how much they cost." (Answer to come later in this piece).
Let's start with e-mail #1.
$30 to sit in Section 32 of the Upper Deck. I think this one was a "Gold" game or something of the sort. To give you some context, $30 would have gotten you a seat in the 1st row up the foul line in Arizona and you would still have $10 in your pocket.
Add the following:
$4 for the subway to and from
$14.75 for the B.O.A.F.O.M.G Special - Hot dog, prezel and a coke before the Top of the 4th inning
$8.50 - 1 Beer: 1 Fucking beer.
In short, we are looking at roughly $60 to not get drunk and watch a Mets game from shitty seats.
Combine this with the fact that I would not get to play basketball in the park (my favorite Summer activity) because of time restraints and instead have to go through Times Square in the middle of the disgusting New York summer heat in the middle of rush hour to get out to the stadium and the whole thing turns into a disaster.
Option B would be sitting in my apartment watching the game on my 42 inch flat screen for free.
Option C would be going to a local bar, eating some wings and getting hammered for about a third of the price.
Option D would be 12 minutes of Lap Dances at Scores.
To me, going to that game just wasn't worth it. How was I, a pretty spoiled brat, priced out of the HOLE that is Shea Stadium?
I grew up the son of two professionals in a sweet apartment in a very nice neighborhood in Manhattan. Yet I felt priced out of a Wednesday night ballgame in the middle of July?
And that brings us to the second e-mail.
My buddy Nails has always shared awesome season tickets, a box in the loge right between home and third. Over the years, the price has skyrocketed. I haven't sat in the seats this year, but I'm sure the current price would disgust me.
So next year, his family decided that between the lower tier down the line a bunch of rows back would be worse than sitting in the second tier behind home plate.Nails has the 4th row of what is essentially the "new" Upper Deck. The seat is much better, has a fancy name and enough leg room for both Ron Darling and AFOMG.
The price per ticket: $150 per game.
$150 to watch a stinkin' Mets game from the Upper Deck. I threw up in my mouth.
How was this the same team that ten years back pitched Bobby Jones every opening day?
I think back to 1995, the first year I was allowed to go to games by myself. A gritty 8th grader with a reasonable allowance who once a week would spring to go out to Shea, grab a $6 Outfield seat behind homeplate and share the wonder that was Shea Stadium with the other 18,644 fans.
Six dollars.
* * * * *
The new "modern" stadium is supposed to attract fans to come to the ballpark.Citi Field is going to turn fans away.
Normally, these stadiums are located in the heart of a city's downtown but Citi Field will still be a 45 minute train ride from Manhattan.
In Cleveland, I had tickets 8 rows behind the Indians dugout. The face value was $44. I'm not even sure that gets me into Citi Field.
Every year, even a couple of years back, me and some buddies would "splurge" for some good seats. $30-$40 later and you were sitting on the field close to your heroes. But there will never in my life be a day when I spend $200 or more to go to a baseball game.
That's just not baseball.
Baseball is about a nice summer day, kicking your feet up, havign a few beers and a few laughs. It's not about the action of basketball.
It doesn't happen 8 times a year like football.
Going to a ballgame is as much about the game as it is the people you go to the game with. No longer.
* * * * *
For years we would sit in Nails' seats. Me, AFOMG and Nails.
Behind us were the three prettiest gals in Queens... in 1945.
Three women, all widows, who could not be a day south of 70. Yet they showed up to every game. Over the years they watched us grow and we made small talk. But it was always nice.
These women will be priced out of Citi Field.
Instead, next year, every time I sit with Nails we will look back to the row behind us, see a name plate for a generic financial instituion or law firm and then see a different group of corporate card expensing New York City professionals. They'll talk about the markets, the price of oil, the girl they seduced and they will definitely have a blast.
And the next day it will be a different group. And the same the following day.
The "fan" can no longer go to every baseball game. But the corporation sure can entertain at every single one.
And slowly Shea will no longer be Shea. It will be Citi Field. And then the real problems begin.
* * * * *
The Yankees have already cornered the "professional" market (Insert hateful term here).
The blue button down, black pants crowd that loves their Yankees but leaves in the 8th inning to make sure they get a good night's rest for tomorrow's opening bell.
Shea is where New York's grimey come or at least used to come to root for their charming shitty team.
And the Yankees know this.
My father shared a tale with me the other day about a friend of his at the law firm he works at who is giving up his season tickets to the Yankees because they are simply too expensive.
This man is a partner at a New York City law firm, which makes him probably in the top .1% of wealth in the world, and yet he can't afford baseball tickets?This is baseball. America's past time.
But like everything else in New York, the game has lost. It has lost to the all mighty dollar.
* * * * *
Which leads us to the question that so many of the new, Wall Street Journal-toting Mets fans might find interesting:
Is this all just one giant bubble? Is this the tech boom of the late 90's or hopefully the oil boom of today? And will the bubble one day burst in New York City?
Crowds at both Shea and Yankee Stadium are at all-time highs and the teams remain strong on the field. But with the new stadiums and ticket prices that appear to be at least 100% higher than at their current levels, will fans be priced out?
And what happens if baseball's revenue sharing continues to "even" the playing field?While this is a whole 'nother conversation, the fact remains that teams are locking up their young stars now for their first 8 years instead of 6. And there are now about 10-15 teams that can offer the contracts that five years ago, only the Yankees could offer.
What if the Yankees miss the playoffs in 2008?
What if Jeter, Damon, Matsui, Posada, Giambi, Mussina, Pettitte, Rivera after 2010 and the Yankees can't just buy replacements?
Can you charge $1000 to see a 3rd place team?
Or will today's $20 mil contract turn in next year's $40 million contract, with once again the Yankees and Mets being the only teams able to pony up?
From there other teams try to compete, ticket prices sky rocket every where and all of a sudden NO ONE can afford to go to the games?
* * * * *
It was a sad moment in Major League II when Jake Taylor marched out of Rger Dorn's office and proclaimed "I'm done with baseball." Fortunately for the fans of the Cayahoga, he wasn't?
I hope this is the same for Young Sip. But baseball is in a rough place.
If Sippy Momo won't go to a HUGE series in the Summer time because of the cost of going to the ballpark then what does that say about this game that we all love?Is this the beginning of the end? I hope not, but I just might be forced to become a full time Arizona Diamondback fan yet. I could fly out first class, stay at a 5 star hotel, eat at NOBU, play a championship round of golf, sit on the dugout and then canoodle with some Arizona State undergrads.
Or...
I could get the best seat for one game at the New Yankee Stadium.
I was watching the Mets game tonight on DVR. When the recording ran out, Johan had just been lifted toward the end of the 8th, after Delgado booted that ball in foul ground. If Delgado had caught that ball it would have ended the inning and changed everything after.
It seemed so harmless at the time.
Then the tape ran out and I switched over to SNY. The 5-2 lead was gone, replaced by an 8-5 deficit.
I said it the last time the Mets played the Phillies. Sure we'd beaten them 3 straight, but we'd just allowed the Phillies to turn a 10-1 lead into a 10-9 victory.
I said then that that final victory was disappointing because of what it didn't do. It didn't send a message that we had overcome the psychological hurdle of 2007. Instead, it only seemed to confirm that over a long enough period of time, the Mets would fold, and the Phillies would win.
Tonight's game reinforces that point. Over a long enough period of time, this Phillies team always seems to get the better of the Mets.
I'm not quite sure why that is. I'm not sure why the Mets are incapable of winning at Turner Field either. Some things just are what they are.
A baseball game is 9 innings long. If it were 8 the Mets would have won tonight. A baseball season is 162 games long. If it were 159 games, the Mets would have won last year.
Only they aren't, and they didn't.
* * * * *
It's just sickening.
Normally I try to find the silver lining, but not this time. This loss is exactly as devastating as you think it is.
We've waited 99 games. It's been a while since the Mets had a game with this much riding on it. Sure, the series in Philly a week or two ago was big, but it was big for a different reason. The Mets were playing to give themselves a reason to believe, and to save their season.
They passed that test with flying colors. The test they face tonight is different.
* * * * *
The Mets haven't been a first place team since the Phillies took that from them late last year. The big ticket question coming in to 2008 was how would the Mets respond to the embarrassment of last September? Would there be a hangover?
I don't know the answer to that question exactly. The Mets played poorly in the first half of the season, but was it because of a psychological hangover, or was it because of Carlos Delgado's anemic production, or was it because Willie Randolph lost the clubhouse?
I don't know. What I do know, and what's important, is that the Mets are finally playing ball the way we thought they would coming into the year.
Tonight they have the chance to reward themselves by vaulting into sole possession of first place. They have a chance, with their ace on the hill, to end Joe Blanton's honeymoon before it even starts.
More than anything, they have a chance to send the message to the Phillies that they can take them down in a big game. They have a chance to show that this time they won't wilt when the pressure's on.
* * * * *
The Mets have won 7 of 10 against the Phillies so far this year.
Throw that out the window. The Mets won 6 of the first 10 against Philly last year, and didn't win another game from there.
The fall began with a loss to the Phillies in July, a makeup game following a rain out earlier in the year. It all snowballed from there.
If the Mets are going to be winners in 2008, they have to start now. The 10 game winning streak was nice, saving their season was a necessary first step, but it's first place that counts.
Johan Santana Performance: 3.52 FIP (for those not familiar with FIP, or "Fielding Independent Pitching," it's more or less ERA with other defensive factors taken out. Better or "actual" definition here. 2008 leaders here.) Grade: B. The won-loss record doesn't concern us, and he's been pretty good otherwise. But even before last night's abysmal start in Cincy, there were warning signs on the horizon. His metrics have continued to slip during the first half, and not by just a little; we're talking about going from a 5.21 K/BB ratio in 2006 to 4.52 in 2007 to 3.05 thus far in '08. One might call that precipitous if one weren't scared shitless about the consequences of signing such a player to a 6-year contract. But still. I shouldn't say I'm that worried, because I'm not; as everyone who's attempted to acquire him in my fantasy league has heard, Johan is a second-half pitcher, and I fully expect him to come around and put up some dominating numbers down the stretch.
John Maine Performance: 3.93 FIP Grade: B-. Can't shake this high-pitch-count bullshit, but for all of that, the fielding-independent numbers think he's actually throwing a fair bit better than he did in 2007 (4.18 FIP). Still, has stayed healthy, and is on pace for more than 200 innings of better-than-average performance, so he hasn't exactly been a total bust. Could be doing a lot more.
Oliver Perez Performance: 5.46 FIP Grade: C-. Here's the precipitous drop we were looking for earlier. My God, no. This is a textbook example of how not to pitch in a contract year, which kind of endears me to the guy. He's not even sane enough to lock himself up a Carl Pavano-type of deal. What a dude. As mentioned previously, his control has gone completely in the tank, and the team has resorted to Soviet-style psyops to get him ready for each start. Again, has stayed healthy, but that means a lot less when you're getting bombed two out of three outings.
Mike Pelfrey Performance: 3.69 FIP Grade: A-. Another disappointing showing from Pelfrey, once the Mets' ace of the future, as the kid started the year on an awful 2-6 run and never ... wait, what the hey? Who changed the reel when I wasn't looking? Someone behind the curtain up and went made ol' Mike a Top-30 starter during the first half, a guy who never gives up home runs (second best in MLB at HR/9 with 0.33, behind only Oakland's Dana Eveland at 0.32) and gets groundball outs when he needs them. We'll see if that sinker keeps sinking and his control stays consistent, but if so, the Mets have their revelation of the season.
Pedro Martinez Performance: 5.29 FIP Grade: D-. Hasn't been quite as bad as his raw ERA would suggest since returning from his lengthy DL stint, but 45 innings of truly crappy pitching isn't going to pass in any class this side of Harvard Business School. If you can forgive the armchair psychoanalysis for a second, his opening-day injury might have put the Mets into a mental tailspin from which it took quite a while to recover. Has not been anything like what he needs to be.
Nelson Figueroa Performance: 4.20 FIP Grade: B+. Bless his heart. So much better and easier to root for than the Brian Lawrence/Jorge Sosa debacle of '07 that I can't even begin to discuss it.
Billy Wagner Performance: 2.70 FIP Grade: A-. Unfathomably hot early, cooled down somewhat as of late, All-Star Game anti-hero, if not on the level of Dan Uggla. For all everyone's bitching, exactly what you want from an Ace Closer; no more, no less. We could do a lot, lot, lot, lot worse.
Aaron Heilman Performance: 4.06 FIP Grade: C-. Speak of the Devil. Again, here's a great example of how ERA simply isn't the most useful tool for evaluating performances. Heilman's ERA has ballooned from 3.03 in 2007 to 4.97 thus far in 2008, which looks like the end of the world. But his FIP has stayed much more in the reasonable range, climbing only up from 3.86 last year. After four straight campaigns of sub-.300 BABIPs, that number has climbed to .321 in '08, which isn't out of the realm of the ordinary but still means he's been getting slightly unlucky. He's striking out a ton more batters thus far as well (9.95 K/9 from 6.59), but the 21 BB in 50 IP have been the killer. Then again, six of those walks came in his first five appearances, the ones early in April when we wanted to send him on the first train to Tartarus. He's also had his fair share of simply bad games, outings where walks haven't been the problem; where he's just sucked. The good news is that there seems to be plenty of room for improvement.
Duaner Sanchez Performance: 3.76 FIP Grade: B. Solid, but gets a boost for successfully avoiding the city's buses and elevated trains. Something's going to hit him again eventually; let's hope it's a kid on a skateboard or a bird. Anything with hollow bones would do just fine.
Pedro Feliciano Performance: 4.43 FIP Grade: C. ERA sez he's doing better than last year, but ERA is, of course, wrong. His strikeout and walk rates are steady, but he's allowing more hits than last year, including more home runs (5) already than he allowed in all of 2007 (3). He hasn't been nearly as good as in the past.
Scott Schoeneweis Performance: 4.84 FIP Grade: C-. So very interesting. Has a 2.63 ERA in nearly 40 IP, which sounds like exactly the thing you'd want from a middle reliever. Except not. He's walking fewer guys than last year while also striking out even fewer, which is the sort of thing you can get away with when your BABIP is a notably low .238. An obvious second-half collapse candidate.
Joe Smith Performance: 3.77 FIP Grade: B. Here's a guy actually helping the team. Almost 40 innings thrown and his walk rate is down down down. His BABIP is pretty low too, at .243, but you'd expect that more from a groundball specialist. Indeed, if you check out his GB/FB ratio (which is 4.11), that's the second-best mark among all MLB relievers, and easily the best among the crop of guys who have thrown as many innings as he has. (Guys like Sean Green, Chad Bradford, Jamey Wright and Cla Meredith are in the tier below him.) Having a guy who can come in and get the GIDP is huge, and Joe's a big asset moving forward.
Claudio Vargas Performance: 4.39 FIP Grade: C. Another of Omar's former Montreal cronies. Nothing to worry about here.
Jerry Manual Performance: 18-9 Grade: A. Gangster.
Omar Minaya Performance: Has to make the tough decisions. Grade: D. Left the Mets old and injury-prone, with no in-house solutions short of rushing Fernando Martinez to the show, which would not be advisable. Nick Evans? Chris Aguila? Tatis? We'll also pretend that Andy Phillips didn't get a start not too long ago. I'm rooting hard for Argenis Reyes, but if he's anything other than an Anderson Hernandez clone, he has yet to show it. Same thing with Figueroa; great guy, great story, I yell my head off whenever I see him on the screen, but plopping a Mexican league vet into the starting rotation doesn't exactly smack of good planning. Meanwhile, Val Pascucci is hitting .295/.418/.563 with 18 HR down in New Orleans, and he hasn't gotten a sniff yet. Go figure.
The Castillo thing has been beaten to death for good reason. Picking up Angel Pagan was a perfectly fine move that might have worked out better, but only as cover against the crappiness of giving Moises Alou $8 million and the keys to the season. Trot Nixon looks done, and meanwhile, Omar feels the need to showboat about how much the Mets don't need Barry Bonds. It's your funeral, fella.
Read 'em and weep, boys and girls. Brian Schneider Performance: .240 EQA Grade: C-. Even after a reasonably hot start to the season, basically what we expected with the bat; nothing that useful, and always needs to be watched carefully against lefties. The defense, though, hasn't been quite as advertised. He's caught 14 of 39 would-be basestealers, which is acceptable but nothing out of the ordinary. All in all, not helping us win.
Carlos Delgado Performance: .272 EQA Grade: C. This grade would have been somewhere in the Zulu range a month ago, but Delgado has rebounded after barely breaking the Mendoza line in April. His power showed up again in reasonable amounts in May and June, with SLGs over the .450 mark, and he was extremely hot coming into the All-Star Break, with rates of .367/.448/.673 thus far in July. Once upon a time, he posted numbers like that for an entire season. Sigh. Certainly has shown enough to make us think he can be something other than a massive anchor heading down the stretch, but if he goes cold again, I'll be the first to fire up the ol' torch.
Luis Castillo Performance: .265 EQA Grade: C. Is a .365 OBP from a second baseman acceptable? Why, of course it is. When that second baseman appears to be hobbling around like Bilbo Baggins at the end of "The Return of the King," one might even tip his cap to the effort required. Force of will and all that. But in the end, employing a punchless slapper with no future and the knees of a dying quail isn't a winning strategy, and in Castillo, the Mets have a player who isn't pulling his weight. The grade reflects the fact that he's done everything he can to help the team, but if I never saw him take the field again, it wouldn't worry me a bit.
Jose Reyes Performance: .298 EQA Grade: A-. An All-Star in every way except officially, Reyes bounced back from a crappy April to hit .302/.367/.487 through the break, which is officially outstanding. Don't believe me? Why the hell not? Reyes has the second highest VORP among all MLB shortstops behind only Hanley Ramirez, and he's in the Top 10 for all position players. (Sitting at 40.2, just ahead of Matt Holliday and Dan Uggla.) Other than a few defensive yips and a nice little scrap with Keith Hernandez, he's been totally reliable and, with his contract, remains one of the best values in the game. That this is lost on morons such as CBS Sportsline's Scott Miller is regrettable, but not really any skin off my nose. (And, sorry, A-Rod and his .320 EQA are not "Anti All-Star" material. Haha, he's getting a divorce! He's a cancer! These guys are a riot!)
David Wright Performance: .305 EQA Grade: B+. Hasn't taken a day off other than when Jerry Manual physically pinned him to the bench, and has been as steady as can be the rest of the time (e.g. all the time.) His overall numbers are down thus far this year, but that's almost entirely attributable to bad luck; his BABIP has fallen from an unsustainable .362 in 2007 to .304 this year, which is lower than you'd expect considering his walk rate is up and his strikeout rate is down. The fundamentals are still golden, and so's Wright.
Carlos Beltran Performance: .297 EQA Grade: B. Jeez. I can't really give him any lower than this, and I don't really want to. Among NL centerfielders, only Pittsburgh's Nate McLouth is really hitting better -- maybe Rick Ankiel by a hair -- and neither puts up anything like the defense Beltran does. BP still has him Top 30 overall in VORP, just behind D-Wright, and I think that's probably correct. The guy's played in as many games as Wright, has stolen 15 bases (and been caught only once, natch) ... it's pretty good. We can hope for more, but you can't ask for tons more from a centerfielder who plays every day. See: Posnanski, Joe.
*The guy today who I sense has the Murcer Syndrome is Carlos Beltran. In Beltran’s career — and he’s only 31 now — he has scored 100 runs and driven in 100 six times. He’s on pace to do it again this year. He’s won two Gold Gloves as a centerfielder. He’s perhaps the greatest percentage base stealer in baseball history — he’s tried to steal a base 300 times and been caught just 35, which is just sick. He has scored more runs than Pete Rose at his age, and he hit 41 homers in that crummy hitting ballpark at Shea in ‘06, and of course he put on one of the greatest postseason performances ever in 2004. And people are disappointed in him. I’m not passing judgment here — hell, I’M DISAPPOINTED in him — because Beltran always gives the impression and sense that he could be better, he should be better, why in the heck isn’t he better? And that’s the thing about the Murcer Syndrome. Along the way, you can miss how good he is.
All the same, B.
Moises Alou Performance: Shattered glass Grade: F-. Go fuck yourself.
Endy Chavez Performance: .231 EQA Grade: D. When you give Endy too much rope, this is what he'll do to you. Not a bad fifth outfielder, not a completely unusable fourth outfielder, but not a starter, no way no how. Also, I still can't get over the fact that he doesn't steal more bases. Only 4 SB? With his speed? That's unbelievable. He must have the instincts of a pigeon-toed sloth. For God's sake, Fernando Tatis has already swiped three bags in wayyyy less playing time. Speaking of which ...
Fernando Tatis Performance: .268 EQA Grade: B. A .323 OBP sucks, no way around that, but anything we get from ol' Fernando is found money as far as I can tell, and he's already won a couple of games for us with timely hits. Defensively, he leaves something to be desired, but I've also seen him make a couple of catches that you wouldn't have thought a dead 3B would be able to make. He doesn't look smooth, and he's the opposite of a long-term solution, but what do you want from a Zephyr? I'll take it.
Ryan Church Performance: .303 EQA Grade: A-. Leading the team in slugging thus far, he busts his ass out in right, and I feel bad knocking him off any points for his injury when it was the Mets' training staff that let him come back too soon. The pinch-hitting nonsense wasn't his fault; he should have been on the DL, and shouldn't have had a chance to get up there or in the games. The coaching staff and front office combined to cock up this one, and I don't think it's fair to debit him on their account. That said, I don't have the sense he'll be around to do much for the second half, which means we'll see even more of the next guy.
Damion Easley Performance: .254 EQA Grade: C-. Ick. Not an everyday player, so what do you expect? He's hitting about what you'd expect a 38-year-old shortstop to hit, I suppose. Not useless, but nothing about him screams "Nicely done!" Nothing about him screams at all, actually. Just a vanilla showing from a nice guy.
Marlon Anderson Performance: .174 EQA Grade: F. Fail.
Angel Pagan Performance: .269 EQA Grade: C. Not bad, but it doesn't help if you don't stay healthy. Ninety good ABs here and there don't win championships, my friends.
Ramon Castro Performance: .288 EQA Grade: C+. Ditto. Love the guy, but if he's not in the lineup, it doesn't matter.
Once before in Y2K history had the Mets turned on a dime immediately after an A.F.O.M.G. hatchet job. That was June 7, 2006, when I ripped the Mets for, among other things, "being unable to put together a decent winning streak". That night they won and they didn't lose again for a total of 8 games straight.
On July 3 I ripped the Mets again, and again they've got me feeling a bit sheepish. The team whose "wins don't prove anything [because they] never string enough of them together to leave any kind of impression" won 9 straight heading into the All Star Break, vaulting themselves into immediate contention for both the NL East and the Wild Card.
If only all it ever took was me ripping the team to provoke a response.
* * * * *
There's an old Bobby V adage that I've always been fond of. Teams, he used to say, are never as good as they look during a winning streak and never as bad as they look during a losing streak.
The Mets aren't going to win out their schedule; eventually this winning streak will come to an end.
Other than that, certainties are hard to come by. What should we expect during the remaining 67 games? It's a really tough question.
The good news is that basically every trend is running in our favor on the pitching front.
You figure Johan's gotta have better luck in the second half; plus, everyone always said he was a better second half pitcher.
You gotta figure Pedro's gonna have a better second half; ditto John Maine, who didn't exactly look like a 20-game winner in the first half.
Then on top of that Ollie already seems to be rounding into form; I think we'll continue riding the tide with Perez up and down all year, but I think he'll be good more often than he's bad.
And then there's Mike Pelfrey, who all of a sudden looks like Cy Young. I used to look at Mike Pelfrey and see a dear in headlights. During interviews he'd sound terrified.
And then he started winning and he starting walking and talking like a man who believed in himself and believed in his abilities. The thing to watch with Pelfrey is that he needs to show he can bounce back from a hard outing. He's had a sustained run of success now, and he's made national headlines because of it. He needs to prove he can remain confident even when the inevitable hiccup comes.
That leaves the hitting, and that's where it gets hard. Count me in the camp that really thinks this team needs a corner outfield with some pop. We can't afford to count on Ryan Church right now, and even if he does, as great as Fernando Tatis and Endy Chavez have been lately, it's a tough duo to hang your hat on.
How do we get that extra bat? I don't know. What's that line you used to hear? In Omar we trust?
* * * * *
The Mets are 51-44. 67 games remain. Winning 90 games means going 39-28 the rest of the way.
It won't be easy; it took a 9-game winning streak to get to 7 games over .500, after all. But there are three more things in their favor.
One is that this Mets team has proven it can dominate. They haven't just won these last 9 games, they've dominated them. They've piled on runs and held offenses down. It's as good a recipe as you could hope for.
The second is that their pitching appears to be very sound, and the Phillies' borders on bad.
Third, and most important, is they look like they believe in themselves again. They don't look like a team playing scared anymore, or a team that expects the other shoe to drop at any moment. It's a different feeling altogether than the first 80 games.
* * * * *
In my apartment there's a bottle of champagne I bought the morning of September 30, 2007. We entered play that day with a chance of emerging as division champions. Instead... well, you know.
I resolved then to keep that bottle of champagne, and only drink it on the next occassion that the Mets were again division champions.
Earlier this year it looked like another year on the shelf for my bottle of champagne.
Today I believe again. I think this team, for all the drama and all the ups and downs, has what it takes to win the NL East.
That process starts tonight. We've got 67 games left to bring it all home. Johan's leading off with a chance to pitch us into a tie with Philly.
(I know we've slipped a bit of late, but no longer. AFOMG will be back tomorrow, Cheddar on Friday and then starting next week we will back to our usual Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule)
I'm just back from another stop on the Sip World Tour: a 3 week cross country chop from Los Angeles to New York via Phoenix, Odessa, Dallas, Norman, Kansas City, St. Louis, Chicago, Milwaukee, Detroit, Cleveland and Pittsburgh.
It was a heck of a run, with stops at eight different ballparks, highlighted by my always favorite Wrigley Field and new favorite (of the modern parks) - PNC Park in Pittsburgh.
I returned to the city a week after A-Rod decided to "Strike a Pose" feeling different. I think spending time in so many different places just does that to you.
People buy homes for what we pay to rent a toilet seat.
There are roads where you can't see civilization for what seems like an eternity. There was a time in West Texas where I saw this beautiful mountain ahead of me. I laughed four hours later when I finally passed it.
I realized that so much of what makes up a New Yorker is dictated by what New Yorkers are "supposed" to be. We grow so convinced that we are the way we are portrayed in movies and news that we convince ourselves that we are something we most likely are not.
I arrived at the corner of 80th and Broadway yesterday and the light was red.
Yet people were crossing the street, j-walking. When a car came, people didn't spot. It was a short cross walk, no more than 20 feet and people just scampered along.
Naturally, I did the same thing.
I knew it was wrong. My light was red. There was a car waiting to go through and the driver was rightfully upset.
But I did it anyway.
I did it because I'm a New Yorker and in New York in this case doing "wrong" is "right."
I wouldn't do what I did elsewhere. But I did it here.
New York dictated my actions. It was the New York Way.
* * * * *
Over the last 15 years, there is another group of New Yorkers that have been told that they are something that they are not.
15 years ago these people were non-exsistent, a pariah in the fancy world that is New York City society.
Today, they "are" the cream of the crop. Nothing has changed except their surroundings.
Yet they have emerged as the best of the best.
I truly enjoyed the All-Star festivities.
Josh Hamilton at the home run derby almost had me in tears. That's right, all you ladies looking for a sensitive blogger, I'm talking tears.
I cry at weddings, at the end of Rudy and I guess when a recovering drug addict makes the game's greats look like children.
I thought the All-Star game itself was awesome as well. I stayed up into the early hours of the morning to watch my main man Nate McClouth emerge as a potential hero only to see the American League take yet another All-Star game.
So many studs from my bottom half payroll league emerging on America's stage.
Seeing Cliff Lee throw against Ben Sheets, I got excited.
I saw a lot.
But you know who didn't:
THE GREATEST FANS IN BASEBALL.
I got a text from my buddy, a diehard O's fan in the 13th inning saying:
"Where did all the diehard Yankee fans go?"
I laughed.
The crowd was about 30% full.
People had spent hundreds of dollars for seats for a once and a lifetime opportunity only to leave when the game was... getting exciting.
Ladies and Gentlemen, "the greatest baseball fans in the world."
* * * * *
I don't mind all the press Yankee stadium has received. In the history of the game, no place has housed more legends, champions or Hall of Famers.
What I do mind is that lumped into the Babe Ruth's and the rings and the history are the Yankee fans.
In 1995, the Yankees averaged 23,521 fans per game.
In 2007, they averaged 52,510 fans per game.
What happened between then and now that made Yankee fans so much more "passionate?"
Why between then and now did Yankee Stadium go from being a more than half empty shithole to the home of baseball's biggest diehards?
The answer is pretty simple.
The Yankees became the Yankees.
With success on the field and the emergence of Derek Jeter off it, the Yankee name grew. Everything about the organization got bigger and the Yankees began to transcend baseball into the world of popular culture.
From there, Yankee fans jumped on board what we in sports call a "bandwagon."
And over the last 10 years Yankee fans have emerged as the game'"greatest."
And it all comes down to one simple thing:
Money.
Make the fans happy and its more money in everyone's pockets.
Tell them they are the game's "classiest" even when they threaten Jonathan Papelbon's wife at a celebratory parade.
Tell them that they are the game's most "passionate" and watch 70% of them leave a once and a life time game early.
Tell them that they are the most "knowledgable" and watch them boo their own team in crucial spots of a game whose outcome could eventually effect their playoff fate.
* * * * *
Yankee fans are the "best" because baseball wants them to be the best. The happier the fans, the more money in the owners' pockets.
Players talk about how great the fans are because otherwise the media and thus the people will hate them.
And like other things in New York, Yankee fans have actually grown to believe all of this.
When I crossed the street at that red light I was wrong. Yet as a New Yorker, I was very much right.
And just because Yankee fans are told they are the greatest fans in the game, does not mean it is true.
Cerrone unhelpfully peddles the conventional hogwash:
The buzz from Cincinnati indicates that the market for Dunn is surprisingly quiet. ... What’s more, the word around baseball paints Dunn as an apathetic strike-out machine, who, while he occasionally walks, is more or less useless in the field, and so he will bring more in name recognition than actual results.
First of all, excellent writing as always. Those pesky rumors always with the paintbrushes in their non-existent hands. And I do love it when guys bring in name recognition. One of the great guilty pleasures out there.
Oh, and Dunn "occasionally" walks.
NL rank in walks 2008: 69, 1st (tied with Pat Burrell) 2007: 101, 5th 2006: 112, 2nd 2005: 114, 3rd 2004: 108, 6th
The last Met to draw 100 walks in a season? John Olerud back during his magical 1999 campaign (125 walks, .427 OBP). Meanwhile, Dunn is working on his fifth straight 40-HR season, and his career OBP of .381 is no more than a tick below that of David Wright and Carlos Delgado. (Note: may not count as "actual results" if you're retarded.)
Gorgeous day game out at Shea yesterday, with the Mets winning their sixth in a row in only slightly irritating fashion. Went with a solid six-deep crew, got some sun, and watched the Giants offense put up a miraculous three runs on three hits. Thoughts? Thoughts.
John Maine looked like crap for most of his truncated outing. Whenever I hear Gary Cohen go on about how Maine hates his high pitch counts, and wants to become more efficient ... it's not that I don't believe that Maine wants such a thing. It's just that he never seems to be able to keep up any kind of rhythm for more than a game at a time. Now, he was coming off a wrist twinge from his previous start, and it made sense that his location wasn't going to be spot-on. It didn't actually matter here, as the Giants are hacktastic enough for Maine's imperfect command and control not to matter, and he'll go down as having been effectively wild for striking out seven guys in less than five innings. But he wasn't 'better' yet, as far as I could tell. (Although I will say that Randy Winn's game-tying two-run double in the fifth was as big of a bullshit Luis Castillo swing as I've seen in a while. From the upper deck directly behind home plate it looked like he put a nice level swing on the ball. Yeah, right. The replay showed his hands choked up roughly to Greenwich, and an ugly little slice turned into a bloop down the line. Not really Maine's fault.
Barry Zito ... there's no bullet-dodging like crunch-time bullet dodging. There but for the grace of God go the Mets and $126 million. I wonder where Rick Peterson was in the Zito Free Agent Sweepstakes. Do we think that he was lobbying the front office to sign him, on the grounds that he knew him and had had plenty of success with the guy in Oakland? The contemporaneous record doesn't show any revealing Peterson quotes, and I don't recall the Mets ever really being in the hunt once it became clear the Rangers were going to go above five years. But it still makes you wonder, especially now that the recently-deposed Peterson is again being linked with his former protege. Maybe we were closer to the abyss than we expected, I don't know. All I know is that Zito, his ability to strike out Brian Schneider on an 82-mph fastball notwithstanding, is the biggest loser in the game. Nothing gets a section going like a "Zito Sucks!" cheer. Totally.
Mmm ... soft-serve in a baseball helmet.
At one point, two members of our sextet (Kid Flash and Fabio) broke off from the group to take in the game from another angle, and settled in a fairly empty section off to the third base side of the upper deck. The only other proximate fans turned out to be a young group of Hasidic Yankee fans, who immediately started pissing the shit out of our heroes. The kids were apparently all wearing Bombers gear, yelling "Mets suck!" at regular intervals and trying to get "Let's go Giants!" cheers started. Ghastly. Naturally, this prompted the Kid, rather impetuous for a long-term professional educator, to start lobbing Starburst fruit chews in their direction. The Hasids noticed, and a bit of a stalemate ensued, resulting in a useless word of admonishment from the Hasids' 20-year-old chaperone, and the Kid eventually flipping the whole group the bird. Apparently, a nearby older couple had watched the whole exchange with horrified mien, requiring the Kid to turn to them and deadpan his usual get-out-of-jail excuse. "It's okay, ma'am. I'm a teacher."
In any case, a couple innings later on their way back to our seats, Fabio "accidentally" brushed against the aisle Jew's Yankee cap and "knocked it off." Of course, inside the kid's cap was his yarmulke, which likewise fell off and tumbled a couple of rows into some mustard-covered Nathan's wrappers. Needless to say, everyone got out of dodge before the words "hate crime" could be uttered. Just better for business that way.
After the game, with the news of Moises Alou's severed spinal cord being announced, all anyone wanted to talk about on ESPN-1050 was the possibility of the Mets signing Barry Bonds. We've covered this here at Y2K for more than a month now, but it's good to see the mainstream media finally getting its head out of its ass. Shockingly, the consensus among the callers and hosts was that it would be crazy for the Mets not to take a shot at him for the minimum, which of course I agree with. ESPN's resident Albanian, Tim Kurkjian, then came on the air and hedged a little bit only to conclude that if any team could absorb the PR blow, it would be the Mets. Which I also agree with.
We've got a need, we've got the money (everyone does, but ...), and we've got a black manager. Bing bang boom.
Then again, watch out. Straight-talking Billy Wagner, who usually calls out everyone from Cal Ripken to the Pope during his live-wire interviews, was asked about the possibility of Bonds coming to the Mets during his postgame call-in. And I'll be durned if the hard-talkin' Virginian didn't suddenly go all wobbly, McCain-style, on his hosts. Lots of hemming and hawing, lots of "Barry's got a great track record" dodges, lots of pregnant pauses on a segment where the moderators usually can't get a word in edgewise. The basic conclusion was the Wagner hopes that the clubhouse wouldn't respond poorly to Bonds' arrival. Well, that was the question, asshole. You're in there. Would it?
Caught a ride home from the game, which was the first time I've come or gone from Shea that wasn't on the No. 7 train. And I will say this -- nothing makes you appreciate public transportation more than having to drive around this city's hellish roads at rush hour. What a joke. In a not really related story, all of our California readers should vote "Yes!" on Prop 1.
Good to see the Pirates pull one out against the Yankees last night to stem that tide. Even after losing four in a row, the Rays still have the best record in baseball. Also, as long as Joe Girardi wants to keep starting Jose Molina and his .263 OBP, that's just dandy with me. Knock yourself out. If I were Georgie, I'd be pissed too.
Very winnable series against the New Rocks this weekend, while the Phillies get to host the D-Backs and Florida out on Los Angeles. We get the following starters:
Aaron Cook (11-6, 3.66 ERA, 1.26 WHIP, sinkerballer who doesn't strike out anyone vs. Perez;
Ubaldo Jimenez (4-8, 4.21 ERA, 1.52 WHIP, has no clue where the ball's going) vs. Petey;
Mark Redman (2-4, 7.07 ERA, 1.60 WHIP, fire at will) vs. the New Mike Pelfrey
Can somebody explain the supposed inherent humor in a mustache, because I just don't get it. Jason Giambi's mustache has become the joke of the year in the New York tabloids and, seemingly, in the studios of SNY.
Would that it started and ended with Giambi, though. It seems there's nothing funnier to the guys over at MetsBlog than a reference to Keith Hernandez's 'stache.
What is it about mustaches that's so funny? I mean, I get it when it's Rollie Fingers' mustache, or, say, Hitler's. But leaving those aside, what is it about mustaches that make grown men giggle? Is it the porn star thing? Is it that it's trashy? Something else?
To be clear, I have never grown a mustache in my entire life. Nobody in my family has a mustache either. This isn't personal; I just don't get it. Somebody help me here.
(While we're on the topic of supposedly funny things I don't understand, another one that falls in that category is midgets. Why are midgets so funny? It's like, they're born with a shitty birth defect -- HA HA HA!)
* * * * *
Anyway, big game today for the Metsies. Would be really, really nice to sweep the Giants out of town (you may remember, they were the ones that started our last tailspin, the one that stuck with us through San Diego and was one of the final straws for Willie Randolph).
Besides revenge though there's beating a team (and pitcher) you should beat, the prospect of winning a 6th straight game, furthering distancing ourselves from the .500 mark, and, potentially, closing still more ground on the Phillies.
The Mets have done a great job of not playing down to the competition the last two nights. Let's hope it continues today and on into the weekend.
All Mets early, all Phillies late. Sound familiar?
* * * * *
This should have been the biggest win of our season. The win that gave us a 3-1 series win over the Phillies (seven wins in 10 games all told). The win that moved us a game above .500 for the first time since June 5. The win that pulled us within 2.5 games of first.
More than anything, it should have been the win that proved 2007 was over, that we were no longer shook of the Phillies, that we could take it to them and embarrass them.
It did the first three things, but the fourth, the one that really mattered, was lost piece by piece with each run the Phillies put on the board to chip away at our massive lead.
A 10-1 win would have been so demoralizing for the Phillies and so affirming for the Mets. But with each run the Phillies scored, a win that was supposed to be so demoralizing for the Phillies and so affirming for the Mets seemed only to reaffirm the central precept of the Mets-Phillies dynamic as it exists in the post-2007 world: the Phillies never say die, and over a long enough time frame, the Mets will fold.
Let me put it like this: If a baseball game were 10 innings long, does anyone doubt that the Phillies would have won?
Bristle at the hypothetical if you want to; the point is, the Phillies can walk away from this game (really, the last two games) knowing they never quit, and the Mets will walk away from it knowing what they already knew: this Phillies team is relentless; no lead is safe.
Nothing that happened this weekend changed any of that.
* * * * *
The disappointment of this game is for bloggers like me and readers like you to consider.
As for the Mets, they need to find a way to not think about it. They won 3 of 4 from the Phillies, 7 out of 10 all told. They're a game over .500. They're 2.5 games out of first.
Jayson Werth just knocked the air out of us. Chase Utley kept it going with a base hit. But Wagner got Jimmy Rollins to roll over one and so we go to the 10th inning.
A punch to the solarplexis, I think that's how Gary Cohen described it.
We've lost this game to the Phillies so many times, been stunned and disappointed so many times.
This game isn't over, and this game isn't lost. The Mets need to remember that.
It's 2-2 and Damion Easley is leading off. Let's see how this team responds.
Losing to Troy Glaus' second home run of the night was annoying enough, but I really hated giving up the game-tying jack to Chris Duncan. Damn, that sucked. A fella struggling to bat .250 and slugging a Jeter-esque .360 or so, not to mention a lefty who usually can't do a damn thing against anyone else of his type. Career line of .196/.256/.348 against southpaws, if that helps clarify things a bit.
Naturally, what does he do against the first pitch he sees from Feliciano? Crush my beating heart, that's what. Cruel world.
But this post isn't about Shelley Duncan's brother. It's also not about the long-awaited smoking gun for Roger Clemens' steroids guilt, coming soon to a courtroom near you. It's also not about, unfortunately, the New Material Girl or his ol' American Woman, if you catch my drift, and I think you do.
(No, seriously, what do you think A-Rod and Madonna talk about? Music? "Oh, I loved you that one time you sang American Pie even though everyone else hated it!" "Um, great." How much they each earn? How much they both hate Toronto? Kaballah? I seriously have no idea.)
(But I have even less of a notion what C-Rod and Lenny Kravitz are talking about during these alleged assignations of theirs. The mind reels. Even the creepy 1010 WINS on-scene guy camped outside the Rodriguezes' Park Avenue apartment this morning at 5 a.m. seemed a little flustered. What could it possibly be? "You looked great that one time in Sports Illustrated. Me and all my skeevy rock friends all totally jerked off to it." "Um, great." My guess is there's very little chit-chat during these meetings, and a whole lot of revenge fucking. On all sides. It's the only eventuality that makes sense.)
As I said, though, this post isn't about that. It's also not about the Sawx-Yanks series this weekend being totally upstaged by the Sawx-Rays midweek tiff. Seriously. Because who cares about a freakish series that the traditional losers swept with panache, which led off SportsCenter and pushed Tampa to the best record in the bigs with more than a game to spare. The Trop is selling out, the young hoodlums in Rays green are buying in, and the universe is set to implode.
In the face of such strangeness, who the hell can get excited about a Justin Masterson-Mike Mussina matchup besides Mr. and Mrs. Masterson? I want to see some Carlos Pena and Edwin Jackson action!
(Another potential problem for the Sawk and Yanks: Tampa's best player might be starting to play like it. Carl Crawford started off 2008 in a horrible slump, but came back to finally start pegging the ball in June, slugging .456 after consecutive disastrous months. That may not sound like much, and his season line still isn't up to snuff for a guy with his track record, but if his BABIP reverts from this year's .303 to his career average of .331, the Rays are going to get another welcome boost.)
This post, however, isn't about the magical Rays, nor is it about the surprising White Sox or the slumping D-Backs or the stunning Cubs or the surprisingly resilient Fish or the annoying-as-shit Phillies. It ain't about the hideous Mariners or the scumbag Braves.
Nor is it about the Boy Wonder's latest escapade. You probably heard about this -- Hank the Tank thinks the Yankees' offense isn't hitting enough, and wanted the world to know. As if a bunch of his best players hadn't spent a bunch of time on the DL, not to mention his $21 million star shortstop hitting like a AAA lifer. The guy can't catch a break when it comes to catching a clue.
(Admittedly, the Yanks aren't hitting quite as well as they have in recent years, as Melky and Cano have been complete sinkholes and the injuries have taken care of the rest, but the team has hardly fallen into Detroit-like disrepair and/or despair. My favorite part of this new Steinbrenner outburst, easily, has to be what he blames for the lack of offensive prowess:
“Maybe a little less outside distractions, and a little more concentrating, and they’ll start hitting better. I thought they would go on a consistent tear, and it hasn’t happened yet.”
Distractions, like, oh, I don't know ... the owner's son mouthing off in the press every time the team has a lousy series? Prompting anew fresh scrutiny and a round of quote-seeking from the media? I think I would find that pretty proper distracting, if my BP sessions kept being interrupted by the pimply-faced kid from Newsdaywho won't leave unless I give an apologetic excuse for our performance. But that's just me. I played soccer.)
But anyways, this post isn't about that, just like it's not about anything going on in the Olympic qualifiers. Not about the disturbing Dara Torres making the swim team again at age 41, or about the gymnasts or the divers or the fleet-footed Homosexual who set a wind-aided mark in the Fastest Man in the World competition.
(Miss this one? You've got to check it out. All I'm saying is that if you're getting your daily information from OneNewsNow.com, you may not be getting the full story. Think about it. Also, the Beijing Games start in just over a month. On August 8, 2008 at 8:08 p.m. And eight seconds. The Chinese are freaky, man.)
Indeed, this post isn't about any of that. Because the Mets ... well ... um ....
So, Luis Castillo's on the 15-day DL, eh? I mean, who saw that coming? Wow. Isn't that great? It's probably one of them cascade injuries, too, and 'cascade' is a pretty vivid term, right?
(The Mets are not fun right now. They're not in the same zip code as fun. Ugh.)
From very early on, it just felt like a game the Mets needed to win. A game they needed to win just to prove to themselves they could win a game like that every once in a while; that every once in a while they could show a little fight and come through with a win.
In the end though they lost, and all they proved is that they're a bunch of pretenders. A team that can make you believe one moment, only to rip your heart out the next.
Let's be honest with each other: this Mets team just isn't good enough. Good teams win games like last night's, and when they lose them, it doesn't even get you that down because you know the next night they'll come out and show you how good they are all over again.
This Mets team isn't going to do that. They'll come out today, and sure, they might win. But their wins don't prove anything. They never string enough of them together to leave any kind of impression.
Even if, as Gary and Keith were wont to point out last night, Delgado's coming around or if Heilman's been throwing the ball better, none of it's made a bit of difference. Wright's killing the ball? Doesn't matter. No one player, not even a collection of them, can play well enough to elevate this team; there simply isn't enough talent to go around.
It sounds like just last night's loss talking. It's not. Last night is a microcosm of the Mets season. Enough positives to fool you; enough negatives to remind you why they're a sub-.500 team (I'm not calling them a .500 team anymore. They haven't been at .500 since June 6; that doesn't count on July 3).
Pelfrey goes tonight. Will he win? Will he lose? It doesn't matter, not in the short run. In the short run none of it matters because this team doesn't have the pieces. It's not bad luck, and it's not injuries. It's just a poorly constructed team.
It's the truth that's been staring us in the face all season. Forget what you thought when the Mets traded for Johan. Forget what the experts said heading into the year. All that matters is the way we've played; and the way we've played, we deserve to be exactly where we are.
