26: Jonesing

(This is the latest installment in an ongoing series at Y2K focusing on topics raised in Matthew Silverman's "100 Things Mets Fans Should Know & Do Before They Die". Today's installment? Number 26: Jonesing.)

Why 26? That many years young.

On a scale of 1-to-10, necessity of knowing or doing before you die? 6.

Memory's a funny thing. At 26 years old, I feel my memory's in pretty good shape, but one glitch in the system is, I find periodically I'll insert myself into memories that I did not actually experience first hand.

Let me slow down; that makes me sound like a lunatic. This affliction is almost exclusively the dominion of sports memories, and it almost always comes back to the question of whether I watched a game on television, or if I was there live and in person at the ballpark.

Game 4 of the 2000 NLDS is one of those memories. I'm like 99% sure I attended that game. I'm nearly positive I was there with the Hound and B.O.A.F.O.M.G., seated in the last of the orange seats where the Field Box meets the Loge between third and home.

I was a senior in high school then, and if I remember it correctly, a faculty member from school was in one of the adjacent seats on a double date, and the two of us pretended not to see one another, because it would have just been too painful.

As you can tell, parts of that game are extremely vivid. The memories are so precise that I feel certain I was there, in the flesh.

That night was perhaps the greatest of Bobby Jones White's Mets career. "He fanned Barry Bonds twice and got him to line out to center to end the game and the series," Silverman writes (70). "Jones allowed base runners in only one inning in one of the most dominant performances in club history. It turned out to be his last win in a Mets uniform... but it couldn't have come at a better time."

The win launched the Mets into their second consecutive NLCS. I remember most of it clear as day.

But still... why isn't the memory of that final out as clear? Why don't I really remember the celebration? Are the fuzzy memories I have of those moments evidence that I wasn't really at Game 4?

Uncomfortable questions, all.

* * * * *

Bobby Jones is a Met many people remember fondly. His whole look fit perfectly with the Mets' blue collar sensibilities, and for years he was the best pitcher on a bad team. So no question, Bobby Jones is worth memorializing.

But come on. How do you justify naming a chapter "Jonesing" without so much as mentioning, one, the existence of another, concurrent Bobby Jones (Bobby Jones Black), or two, the most famous Jones ever to play at Shea, Chipper?

No disrespect to Cleon, Andruw, Bobby Jones White or Bobby Jones Black, but a chapter with the title "Jonesing" needed a shout-out to one of the great Mets nemeses of all time. Think of all the stories Silverman could have shared. His son. The comments about Mets fans putting on Yankee gear. The "Lar-ry" chants. The possibilities are endless.

And he deserves it, too. Say whatever you want about Chipper, but he's been a great villain for the Shea faithful, and villains, as much as heroes, are part of the great fabric of sports lore. Like Sip, I intend to give the man a rousing standing ovation in his final game at Sh... err, Citi Field.

All in all, this is a fine chapter in Silverman's book. It just feels like a missed opportunity. Here's hoping he makes it up in another installment.

- A.F.O.M.G.

Back Seat on the '79

(Note: This piece was written Sunday afternoon.)

It was a weekend of first-times-in-a-long-times for the Glass Man. It all started with a decision to get going on the GMAT already. Inspired by Y2K legends Sippy Momo and Nails, I realized it was time to position myself for business school. That decision having been made, I agreed to a diagnostic test at 8:30am on the Upper East Side.

We spent the weekend at my parents' house on the Upper West Side, the better to maximize sleep and get to the testing site on time. Saturday morning, the alarm set for 7:00am, I woke early and plodded my way across town.

I hadn't been up and 'atem (sp?) that early on a Saturday in a very long time, and from the look of things that morning, I'm not alone on that one. Indeed, if the city ever sleeps, it does so right around 7:30am on Saturday morning.

Winded after sprinting up Broadway to 81st and Amsterdam -- I'd seen the bus pull away from 79th and Broadway -- I caught a seat on the M79 and headed for my diagnostic GMAT. It was the first test I'd taken in almost four years.

When it was over I strolled out of the building, feeling good. My score won't be great, but none of the material intimidates me; I'm confident that with a little studying and some more tests under my belt I'll get the hang of it.

I'd hoped to walk home through the park afterward, but outside, a shock of late January cold was in the air, belying the sunny, clear blue sky above us. I walked up 79th past that massive, anatomically correct cat, past Nails' parents' place, and got back on the M79.

Tonight we cap it all off with a trip to Madison Square Garden for the Killers concert. As I write this, I just got word from Sip that he's going too, so it'll be nice to see him.

It'll be the second time I've seen the Killers live. The first time was late October 2006. It was a Saturday. I remember it because we'd bought the tickets months in advance, before the playoff schedule had been announced, before it appeared possible the Mets might be playing in Game 1 of the World Series that evening.

For a while, gloriously, it looked like we'd have to sell the tickets, but fate intervened and that never happened. Instead, by the time the lights went up on the Killers, they had already gone down on the Mets.

At the time, I was some kind of depressed. But I remember distinctly how, between songs, every now and then I'd hear that old familiar cheer... "Jo-se! Jose-Jose-Jose!" ... and how much that cheered me up. There were other people in the crowd in the same place as I was; still upset by how things had ended, still appreciative of what we'd been given.

But here we are today; another cold, winter's weekend is behind us, and we're all one step closer to baseball. And it occurs to me now that the first-time-in-a-long-time that I'm looking forward to more than any other is collapsing on my couch, turning on the tube and having baseball back on the screen.

- A.F.O.M.G.

Checking In

Hey team, Glass Man here. Sorry for the lack of posts this week. This is perhaps the busiest week of the year for my group, and it's left me with woefully little time to devote to the site.

We'll be back to normal next week, but I'm gonna have to leave you all hanging until Monday. A few quick hits first:

1. World Baseball Classic -- I'm a fan. Gives me the chance to look forward to baseball a month early.

2. Freddy Garcia -- Mets inked him to a one-year deal. Why not?

3. Manny Ramirez -- Is there any good reason we're not pursuing him? Somebody help me out here.

That's all I got. More next week.

- A.F.O.M.G.

99: Giveaway Day at Shea

(This is the latest installment in an ongoing series at Y2K focusing on topics raised in Matthew Silverman's "100 Things Mets Fans Should Know & Do Before They Die". Today's installment? Number 99: Giveaway Day at Shea.)

Why 99? Three reasons: Turk, the little lamb, and the 1999 Mets, perhaps the most beloved Mets team of the past 20 years.

On a scale of 1-to-10, necessity of knowing or doing before you die? 3.

Ahh giveaway days at Shea. Who can forget them? The bobbleheads you coveted. The children you contemplated stealing from as your blood boiled, cursing the fact that you were 25, not 12 or under.

For the Glass Man there's one giveaway day to look forward to, and it comes every home opener. That's the day they dole out the fabled Mets magnetic season schedule.

The Mets' magnetic season schedule has been a staple on family refrigerators as long as I can remember. Unless things have changed since I lived there, it's possible the schedule from the 2002 season -- adorned with memorable Mets like Roberto Alomar and Mo Vaughn -- is still somewhere on my parents' refrigerator, but 2002 is only half of it. We've been plastering those puppies on the family fridge for as long as I can remember.

Other than that, I don't have much memory of Shea giveaways, aside from the aforementioned envy associated with being aged out of receiving one. Maybe once we got some Mets seat cushions, which were probably great for one game and then doomed to a life of dust collection in some forgotten corner of our apartment.

What's great about this installment in Silverman's book (which, if I'm honest, is pretty forgettable), are the more esoteric Shea giveaways that everyone else forgot about. Negro League caps in the 1990s? Pitchers (including 4 tumblers) in 1988? Russian tea dolls in 2003? Jesus, where was I, those all sound awesome!

Seriously though, the only item on his list of selected giveaways that bear any personal resonance with me are those miniature batting helmets. I had at least one of those, and I remember it being a source of fascination when, as a young boy, I played with Legos or what have you. I'm pretty sure they served ice cream in those things, but maybe not.

In any event, the chapter concludes on a high note as Silverman sends a kiss to that beloved 1999 team. I'd be curious actually, do other fans remember 1999 as fondly as me and my friends do? In my group of friends at least, that 1999 team is worshiped.

First there was the greatest infield of all time -- John Olerud and Robin Ventura at the corners, Rey-Rey catching everything at short, The Fonz being a quiet all-star at second.

The outfield was less loveable, though there was the incomparable Rickey Henderson holding it down in left.

The catching corps of Mike Piazza and Todd Pratt was perhaps the greatest backstop tandem in Mets history.

And then there was the pitching staff, packed with Mets legends like Rick Reed, white Bobby Jones, and a pre-hated Al Leiter (I still like him). Masato Yoshii tossed some innings that year, ditto Glendon Rusch, Orel Hershiser, Pat Mahomes (what!), and even a young Octavio Dotel, the savior.

That group won 97 games and sent the Mets to their first postseason in 11 years. Not just that, but they also gave fans what Silverman calls "perhaps the most satisfying giveaway," which "came after the Mets beat the Pirates to assure themselves of a one-game playoff for the wild-card on the final day of the 1999 season," (Silverman, 248).

I remember watching that game at home, and the joy and the anticipation that accompanied that final win. I'm pretty sure it was Rick Reed who tossed a gem that last game. It was the start of an amazing playoff run, one, like all the others since, that ended too soon.

- A.F.O.M.G.

Down Lowe-r Than Eddy Curry

We haven't devoted a ton of blink (blog-ink, go with it!) this offseason to the Mets' now-failed pursuit of Derek Lowe. I can't say I was there a month or two ago screaming out that Omar had to make the move.

Now that the opportunity has come and gone, however, I find myself decidedly disappointed. There's something about Derek Lowe that would have lent a ton of credibility to this team. A groundball pitcher, a veteran guy, a number 2 pitcher, a playoff performer -- all of the pieces fit.

Nothing's given in baseball, but a rotation with Johan and Lowe sure would have felt like it had two really good things going for it.

That dream is dead. Now consider our reality.

The rotation now has one extremely good thing going for it, Johan, and then nothing but uncertainty afterward.

Mets brass is heaping an awful lot of responsibility on the shoulders of Mike Pelfrey, he who got shelled early, looked dominant in the middle, and tired at the end. Even if you give the Pelf Man the benefit of the doubt and pencil him in as guy who can win 15 games in a full season, I think I've read about 20 really persuasive articles about why Pelfrey's arm might fall off next year.

Then there's John "20-Game Winner, Dude, It's Gonna Happen" Maine, who looked bad virtually every time out last year before breaking down at the end. I'm a huge John Maine fan, but we can't go into 2009 with the same inflated expectations we had coming into 2008.

Tim Redding is actually a move I support quite a bit. For years it's baffled me why the Mets have refused to sign credible back of the rotation guys for short years and fewer dollars. But let's not kid ourselves, Redding is a complementary piece, a back of the rotation guy that you hope to get 10 wins out of, 12 tops.

Which brings us to our options for the No. 2 spot in the rotation, and our old friend, Oliver Perez.

When I think about it, All-or-Nothing Ollie has epitomized the Mets of the past two seasons. Equally capable of looking dominant or awful, seemingly insistent upon playing up or down to their competition, basically inconsistent as all hell, that was Oliver Perez the past two years, and so too was it the Mets.

But now Perez is our only option. We've been backed into a corner where we need to sign him. We've been backed into a corner where our best hope for a rotation upgrade is, sigh, Tim Redding.

Kind of leaves a bad taste in your mouth, doesn't it?

* * * * *

Quick side note: An amazing thing about this deal is the Mets went head to head with the Braves for a marquee free agent, the Mets lost, and the fact that the Braves got better hardly registers. Man has that rivalry changed.

- A.F.O.M.G.

Disappointments Past and Present

(Note: This post was written immediately following the New York Giants' loss to the Philadelphia Eagles)

Mets fans know disappointment, particularly of late; indeed, disappointment has been the takeaway from each of the past three seasons.

But no two disappointments are the same. Disappointing as they each were, 2006, 2007, and 2008 are all variations on the theme.

Of them, for me, 2006 remains the greatest disappointment. All along, 2006 just felt like the year. The come from behind victories, the non-stop momentum, the run-away division title. All year it felt like the stars had aligned; then, on October 19, the stars came crashing down.

To be in the stadium that night, you'd have never seen it coming. Between the improbably excellent pitching of Oliver Perez, Endy's magical catch, and the flag-waving fervor of the crowd, you felt sure the Mets would somehow find a way. As I've written, you felt that certainty until the only thing left to believe was that strike 3 had come and the Mets' season had gone.

All that said, 2006 isn't the public face of Mets disappointment; 2007 owns the honor. The end of 2007 was stunning and humiliating, but where the end of 2006 defied all logic, the end of 2007 made perfect sense.

From their public pronouncements to their play on the field, all season long the Mets seemed to be on auto-pilot, asleep at the switch and overconfident. Only at the end did they seem humbled.

Pictures of devastation on the faces of Mets fans are readily available, but what endures for me is that great headline from Faith and Fear: "I'm OK, and That's Not OK". I think there's a lot of us that felt that way.

And then there was 2008. When the end came last year, I found myself oddly at peace with it. A lot of fans (and, my god, an awful lot of sportswriters) lumped 2008 in with 2007, calling them two halves of a whole.

But for me, 2008 was a different story altogether. In 2007, complacency did them in; they sleepwalked through the season and were comatose to the end. In 2008 the Mets had a fatal flaw -- their bullpen just couldn't hack it -- but as soon as Willie Randolph was canned, they seemed determined to make it work.

They scratched and clawed and gave us one of the most stomach-twisting, can't miss, drama-packed seasons of baseball that I can remember. Did they fall short? Yes. Was it disappointing to have come that far only to fall short? Of course. But on some level, too, it was OK; such is the way of the world.

* * * * *

Disappointment wears different masks. It can come from a dream deferred (2006). It can come from shown-up entitlement (2007). And it can come from admirably falling short (2008).

To me, the Giants' loss today feels more like Column A than anything else. The difference, of course, is the Mets didn't win the World Series the year before a charmed season crashed down around them.

But this season always felt special for the Giants. After scratching and clawing for respect, first, and a title, second, in 2007-2008, the Giants finally took the next step in 2008-2009. From the first game of the season they looked like worldbeaters, but come the last, which came too soon, they finally ran out of magic.

It happens. It sucks, but disappointment happens.

But the truth is, for me, as disappointing as this loss today was, writing about baseball makes me feel better already.

- A.F.O.M.G.

31: To Cheer Again

(This is the latest installment in an ongoing series at Y2K focusing on topics raised in Matthew Silverman's "100 Things Mets Fans Should Know & Do Before They Die". Today's installment? Number 31: To Cheer Again.)

Why 31? The Monster.

On a scale of 1-to-10, necessity of knowing or doing before you die? 10.

One of my most regrettable attributes is that I've always been humiliatingly prone to choking up. You show me a sweet moment of redemption or accomplishment, or a sad moment of loss and my throat will start lumping up on swoll. It's been that way as long as I can remember, and I take some measure of solace knowing that's just the way it is.

This past season, the many tributes to Shea and Mets history were filled with mistiness-inducing moments. The vast majority of these moments could only have choked up the Glass Man, but there's one I didn't feel bad about, and it's the one chronicled in Chapter 31 of Matthew Silverman's book.

September 21, 2001 was the day professional sports returned to New York City after 9/11, and the night Mike Piazza added his signature moment as a Met.

Piazza's signature moment as a Met... I've never thought about it that way until now. It's a big statement, but as I sit here I can't think of another moment from Piazza's tenure that is it's equal. Certainly the only moments that are nearly as famous are the ones involving Roger Clemens, but those are no fun.

No, Piazza's signature Mets moment came in the first game back in New York as a Met. By now, Howie Rose's home run call is mostly what I recall of that moment. But where my mind belongs is in that dinky old common room on the third floor of Sage A my freshman year, where I sat, throat belumped, for 9 innings of Mets-Braves September baseball.

Your world changes when you go off to college. You leave the familiar behind, including your routines, your parents and your friends. Ten days after I left for college, everyone's world changed. They said baseball would be a way for some people to feel like a modicum of normalcy had returned, and shallow as it sounds, I was one of those people.

It was a perfect night for baseball, only it was a night that had very little to do with baseball at all. The Mets and Braves, heated rivals, were united in solidarity by something much larger than the sport. It was a night for seeing past all the petty differences that drive people apart.

And then Piazza came to the plate with the Mets down a run in the bottom of the 8th, and he sent a drive to centerfield that "cleared the throats of everyone who had watched the game but hadn't known what to think or do. They cheered. It was all right to cheer. Never forget, but remember how precious each moment is. That moment certainly was," (Silverman, 85).

The Mets won that game 3-2. In the end, Piazza's shining moment wasn't enough to lift the Mets into a heroic playoff berth, but that's no matter: "That night remains one of the most heartfelt in the history of the Mets, the stadium, and fans of both the team and the city" (Silverman, 85).

And when I remember that night, I like to think that as it drew to a close my thoughts were far away from lower Manhattan. I like to think they were in Queens or in dreams, guided by a drive to centerfield that somehow hadn't landed yet.

- A.F.O.M.G.

This Week in Mets-Rays: Burrell, Lowe, and Ollie

Hey, y'all. Nails here with the first installment of a regular feature we're launching here at Y2K, "This Week in Mets-Rays" (TWIMR, for all y'all scoring at home). Forty days until pitchers and catchers report so we'll be a little spotty with this feature in the near-term. We'll launch officially when Johan, Kaz, Dioner, and BriSchni show up for work.

Anyway, coming at y'all with our first installment today because it has been a busy week with the Rays closing the deal with Pat Burrell and the Mets' negotiations with Derek Lowe getting serious.

Big hats off to Rays GM Andrew Friedman for signing Burrell to a 2-year / $16mm deal. Kind of amazing when you consider Burrell made $14mm last year, hit for a .875 OPS and is giving up his fielding glove, and the Rays still got him at a bargain. Well, that's this year's OF market for you, lot of talent out there and not a lot of buyers.

Burrell's gonna have a good season for the Rays this year. Pat the Bat got unlucky with a .275 batting average on balls in play, well below his career mark of .304. His line-drive percent was right around his career mark (20.4% in 2008 compared to 21.1% over his career), so he was still hitting the ball hard, it was just getting caught.

In all, that means the Rays have made three major moves this offseason.

They replaced Edwin Jackson (Marcel's projected Fielding-Independent Pitching line of 4.64) in the rotation with David Price (Marcel's projected at 4.16).

They replaced RF Gabe Gross (Rays' RF OPS in 2008 was .771) with Matt Joyce, one of baseball's top power prospects with a project OPS of .819.

And they replaced Uncle Cliffy (.751 OPS) with Burrell and his projected 2009 OPS of .854, which I think is definitely low for a guy who hasn't been that low since 2004 and was unlucky last year.

In other words, the Rays have quietly improved themselves this offseason, even if we ignore the improvements they will get from their extremely young team maturing. Last year's team won 97 games, which over-acheived based on Pythagorean win expectations of 95 wins. Based on their improvements this offseason, repeating a 97-win season seems imminently possible.

Regardless, the AL East will be a heckuva good time to watch this season.

Meanwhile, the Ray's gain was the Mets' principle rival's loss. Compare the Rays' excellent signing of Burrell to the Phillies' idiotic 3-year/$30mm deal to Raul Ibanez. Ibanez is: 5 years older than Burrell, a worse defender (if possible), and a worse hitter.

Which brings us to the Mets.

The latest news from the hot stove is the Mets will not increase their offer to Derek Lowe because they like their #2 option, Ollie Perez. Before we get into how idiotic this logic is, let's look at the Mets' thinking, as reported by Fox Sports' Ken Rosenthal: "He got married in mid-December, a sign of his growing maturity."

I am going to assume three things:

1. Nobody in the Mets organization actually thinks that is a good reason to sign Oliver Perez. If they do, it's dumber than when Steve Phillips predicted a return to glory for Mo Vaughn because he ate cottage cheese at lunch when they met.

2. The Mets are bluffing about not increasing their offer to Lowe.

3. Nobody in the Mets front office actually thinks Perez is an acceptable substitute for Lowe.

All of us on this blog knows what Ollie brings to the table: He has the potential to be absolutely lights out. Or he can suck. Other than blind hope in potential, there is no reason to think Ollie is going to pull it all together this season.

According to projections, Lowe is worth two more wins per season over Perez. The always excellent fangraphs.com has done an excellent look at the 2009 Phillies vs. Mets matchup, which I highly recommend to all of you.

Assuming Lowe to the Mets, fangraphs predicts the Mets are two games better than the Phillies. In other words, another great race between these two teams which could go either way but slightly favors the Mets. And if we replce Lowe with Perez in those projectionss, our entire edge is completely wiped away.

So, memo to Jeff and Omar: Sign Derek Lowe.

- Nails

Road Trippin'

Hey team, happy new year. Sorry for the lack of posts the past week but the Glass Man's had a hectic go of it since the last post.

First it was Christmas in Ohio; always a great time. Then it was back to New York for the big 2-6. Up next was a drive down to D.C. for New Year's with the big fella. Then it was down to Chattanooga, aka the Dirty Chatty, for the Bugman's wedding, with a stop in Knoxville sandwiched in.

As I type this I've just completed the epic return trip. Ever wonder how many miles there are between Brooklyn Heights and Chattanooga? 822, give or take a few pit stops along the way.

And wouldn't you know it, easily the hardest part of the drive was finding a parking spot when we got in. Turns out there's a parking lot on Henry between Clinton and Clark; who knew?

I want to devote a post to some thoughts that came to me during the drive, but I'm way too beat for that now. In the meantime, just wanted to let everyone know we're back. Next year is now, kids.

- A.F.O.M.G.