Stream Of Unconsciousness

I'm a fraud.

Yeah sure, it's easy to blog about a baseball team when it's baseball season. Anyone can do that.

It's easy to have snarky comments during the winter meetings, when guys are coming and going like it's rush hour at the Johnny Rockets at Union Station in Washington D.C. (Mmmm...burgers!)

But now is the true test of my blogging ability...and I'm failing miserably.

I sit at my trusty Dell Inspiron notebook staring at my creation hoping for a bolt of lightning in the form of a Metsography, a smart commentary on the state of the bullpen, hell even a Mike DeJean joke...except I used all of them.

So instead, I play "Phrase Frenzy" on the Game Show Network website mindlessly for hours. It's bad when you hope the sports category is "Hockey Teams" so I can kick the collective butts of the two computer generated cyborgs provided as competition. It's worse when the Television category is "Star Trek" for the nintieth time, and for the nintieth time I throw something across the room because I still can't get any of the answers (although "Phrase Frenzy" did teach me that Bone Thugs 'N Harmony is some sort of rap group...who knew?)

Now I know how Carlos Beltran felt this year...I'm in the writing equivalent of his slump (yes Carlos, you're allowed to boo me. It's only fair.)

So it's time to play a little Mets association: take some of my conscious thoughts and relate them to your New York Mets:

I look at Ed Olczyk, member of the 1994 Stanley Cup champion New York Rangers, and recently deposed head coach of the Pittsburgh Penguins. I see a man who was handed a team full of all-stars like Mario Lemieux, John LeClair, Mark Recchi, Ziggy Palffy, and no goaltender to speak of. When I see Eddie O, I see Jeff Torborg in 1993.

I see Javier Vazquez, he of the four franchises in four years, and I start to see Todd Zeile (at least I see next season's Todd Zeile award winner).

I see Grant Hill, who can't seem to stay healthy, making his return tonight against the New York Bricks and I remember a dark time when the return of Pat Zachry was the biggest beacon of hope for the Mets. Bad times.

I see Danni Boatwright, the winner of the latest Survivor (and the woman who will make Kansas City Chiefs cowboy hats all the rage) and I see a young Mets player...any young Mets player, making it to Opening Day without being voted off Flushing Island by Omar Probst in his zeal (not Todd) for a veteran roster.

I see Ron Artest, and I see Vince Coleman.

I see Eli Manning, doomed to be forever the other brother, the Ashlee Simpson of the NFL, and I see Mike Maddux. I see Jesus Alou. I see Mike Glavine. I see Dennis Springer even though there really wasn't a good Springer brother. And I see Victor Zambrano even though he's not related to Carlos.

I see the pig that escaped during the Mexican league baseball game last night and had to be run down by a mascot in a chicken get up, and I see the black cat from 1969.

I see George W. Bush admitting to starting a war on faulty intelligence, which is more than anybody has ever admitted regarding putting Juan Samuel and Keith Miller in center field.

I see King Kong back in theaters, and I remember the second Mets career of Dave Kingman. (The movie got better reviews.)

I see the temperature drop in New York and I remember Opening Day 2003.

I see a potential transit strike and am reminded of the Mets quitting on Art Howe.

All this, and I see that my slump is still not coming to an end. And now I have sympathy for the Jeromy Burnitzes and the Carlos Beltrans of the world.

I see the sympathy ending around spring training. I hope my slump is over by then too.