Plankton

Everything bothers me. You know that, and I admit it.

But I don't know what bothers me more:

Is it the compliment provided by Tom Verducci that reads so backhanded that if Rafael Nadal hit it, it would have won the French Open?

"So where does that leave us in these uncertain times for the next world champion? Find a team in a deep championship slump; say 23 years. Check for improved run prevention, especially because of an upgraded bullpen that alone might be 40 runs better. Check for athleticism and a core of star players in their youthful prime years. Throw in strong revenues (thanks to a new ballpark) to allow for midseason payroll additions (a decided edge over most clubs in these times). And you get a world championship for the Mets in the debut of CitiField, a ballpark planned as a sweet homage to Brooklyn and Ebbets Field but opening as an unintended monument to a federal bailout of a bank and the world's most notorious Ponzi scheme, a fraud by a Mets season-ticket holder that claimed the club's owner among its victims. Strange times, indeed."

Or does the fact that Mike Francesa called Verducci's pick "way out on the plank" during his interview with Sean Casey on Wednesday bother me more?

I guess to Francesa, anybody who isn't the Yankees or Red Sox would qualify as "way out on the plank". Yeah, two straight collapses. I know. I know. Believe me, I know. But that's no reason to put them on the same outer plank as the Padres, the Pirates, and the Calgary Vipers.

But I guess it doesn't matter, since Verducci's prediction alone has basically freed up my summer. After all, there's no reason to watch any baseball since SI's jinx will no doubt strike again upside our heads. Thanks Tom. With all this free time I can't decide whether I want to find a cure for brain freeze, or invent an automatic Cheez Whiz dispenser and have the Slap Nuts guy sell it on SNY at 3AM for me.