I don't need to enter a contest to enter a desolate region. Definitely not tonight, for at this very moment, I'm in Washington, DC. Where the locals distract themselves from the latest foible from their beloved Redskins in many ways ... beer, politics, talking politics over a beer, stalking Alex Ovechkin, and the like. For a few, brave souls, they forget about a loss to the Lions by turning to baseball in the beltway ... the Washington Nationals ... as they combine with the New York Mets to form a rivalry with a long history, fierce competition, and 193 losses combined. There may or may not be more losses in the building then there are actual fans. But for the Nationals' faithful who've arrived, they do so because they love their baseball, and they know that a bright future is just around the corner.
For the Mets' faithful who've come all the way from New York City, they do so because they need acute mental observation. Nevertheless, I'm here ... nine innings, 193 losses, one deranged blogger.
is Baseball's Antarctica. Only broken hearts and long festering angst can survive there.
Tuesday's game featured all of the broken hearts and long festering angst you're used to seeing live, except with gray uniforms. It really was a microcosm of the season: Mets have a chance to break the game open in the first inning with bases loaded and one out but only score one run instead of the three or four they should have scored. Mike Pelfrey has his bad inning. Mets have a chance to take the lead back with, again, bases loaded and nobody out in the seventh, but score nothing. ("Ooh, we have the bases loaded, who's up? Brian Schneider! Oh, let's get on that Five Guys line.") Stellar defense featuring Anderson Hernandez and Luis Castillo (and by "stellar", I mean "stellar is to abominable as Gold Glove is to Anderson Hernandez and Luis Castillo". And these are the defensive specialists, no?
Then top it off with a heartbreaking ending in which Elijah Dukes (who's defense is also "stellar" at times), makes a spectacular wall crashing catch on a ball which, if it had ten, maybe fifteen more feet on it, would have been in my lap. Seriously ... I'm the guy in the Mets jersey in the front row standing up and stopping my camera because I think this projectile his headed right for me. Seeing that a Metropolitan hit it, I should know better ... I probably would have had the youtube video of the year. Instead, I have a drunk guy in a suit putting his arm around me screaming "Meeeeeeeeets Loooooooose!!!" after saying nothing for nine innings. Awesome.
Oh, and the pointless "Let's put Frankie in down by one" move by our fearless leader which only served to keep the game close so that Dukes can win the game right in front of my nose. Rub it in, why don't ya.
The expedition continues on Wednesday.
Some other oddities: