If Looks Could Kill

I woke up on Tuesday, July 31st of 2007, thinking that there was a chance for it to be quite historic in the annals of baseball.

First it was trade deadline that came and went, with nary a whimper from the Mets during the last few hours...and I was flipping out in anger at my television. No, not because the Mets didn't trade anybody else. In fact, I was quite comfortable with the fact that the Mets didn't mortgage their entire future for Eric Gagne (although Gagne would have looked quite nice in a Mets uniform) or Chad Cordero (Jim Bowden probably tried to use his mind control on Omar Minaya thinking that he would fold like one of Jim Duquette's cheap suits, but to no avail...I kind of like Philip Humber anyway).

But because I had to listen to those boobs on Baseball Tonight for two and a half hours during their trade deadline special. (Just for clarification, I do not under any circumstances put Peter Gammons in the "boob" category...I like Peter Gammons and would gladly drink beer with him, so keep your complaints to yourself, please.) How John Kruk can go in front of a camera, brag about how Tad Iguchi is a winning player because he has a World Series ring, and then in the same breath tell us that Luis Castillo is just OK despite hitting 50 points higher than Iguchi and also having a World Series ring (I'm reminded that he was actually on the 1997 team, giving him two...two rings, which thanks to Toasty, strengthens my argument), while presenting himself as a non-biased observer of baseball absolutely escapes me. If the beer swiller would just take the Phillies pom-poms out from behind his desk and run around doing cartwheels chanting "Fricka Fracka Firecracka sis boom bah...Chase Utley Chase Utley RAH RAH RAH", I'd at least be happy that he wasn't putting on a front for the baseball loving American public.

But the moment when I wanted to throw a brick throughout the television was when former Mets GM (and current hall of hate member) Steve Phillips decided to add a little perspective to the trade deadline proceedings by letting loose with a story about how back in 2000 he was presented a ten player trade offer by Mark Shapiro with about 30 minutes left before the trade deadline, and by the way included Manny Ramirez, but he couldn't get ownership on the phone because there was two of them and he had to get approval and...

Excuses! You mean to tell me that Steve Phillips can't reach his ownership at a moments notice in the span of 25 minutes to get a trade approved? FOR MANNY RAMIREZ? Do you realize how different the 2000 World Series would have been with Manny Ramirez in the outfield? I need to be convinced right now that I don't want to punch Steve Phillips in the face...because unless the five names going back to Cleveland were Mike Piazza, Robin Ventura, David Wright, Jose Reyes, and the fetus of the next Hank Aaron, that's a fact I wish I never knew.

But then came tonight's game, and the hate that I feel for Phillips stands in awe to the hate that I feel for Guillermo Mota right now after he blew Tom Glavine's 300th victory (if you had Aaron Heilman in your "Who's Going to Blow Glavine's 300th Victory Pool" as I did, you lost), because Glavine's next shot at 300 comes on Sunday night, where this blogger has a previous engagement with the police...actually let me clarify: a previous engagement with The Police (capitalization is important here) and 76,000 of my closest friends.

Heck, forget me...how about the hate that Christine Glavine feels for Mota? Did you see the look she had on her face when Mota was walking off the mound? My crack staff heard an exclusive report that Christine Glavine was chasing Mota around the parking lot after the game (no word on whether Mike Piazza is laughing his ass off right now).

But give Christine Glavine's husband credit for going on the road, going to a place where he hasn't had a lot of recent success, and pitching his tail off (with help from Shawn Green and his sweet diving catch). It's a shame that the offense couldn't score a couple of more times for him, including on Green's double in the gap where I initially got really excited, and then gave up hope when I realized it was Carlos Delgado rounding third and heading home instead of a slightly faster runner like Luis Castillo...or Rusty Staub...or dirt. (Ask me, that was the turning point of the game right there...but nobody asked me.)

But who knew that it would get exciting after Glavine left. I mean, how about that catch by the man I like to call "Long Lastings Flavor" in the ninth...two men out and three men on...nowhere to look, but inside...where Lastings Milledge responds to pressure (cue the organs).

And how about Prince Fielder's two foul balls leading off the 12th which is straight out of every bad baseball movie you've ever seen (along with some good ones, I guess), before leading off with a single, setting up L.L.F.'s second diving catch to save the game in that inning? (So he misjudged the ball which forced him to dive...that's mere details my friends.)

How about another North American sighting of Moises Alou, as he stole a base in the 13th inning? When you add the stolen bases that Orlando Hernandez and Julio Franco have had this year, that means that the Mets have as many old people stealing as Enron did. Unlike Enron, Alou's thievery meant nothing.

Aaron "Doc Windgate" Sele continued the excitement by dancing in and out of trouble...until that unlucky 13th inning where Geoff Jenkins hit a frozen rope ending a night which not only saw history go down the tubes on all fronts, but a night where the Mets burned through their bullpen to the point where Thursday's starter Jorge Sosa had come in to pitch. What does that mean? Heck, it may mean that it's a good thing that Philip Humber wasn't traded, because we could see that young man on Thursday.

It also means that Christine Glavine is staring down Guillermo Mota all the way to Wrigley Field.