Problem was ... the BBQ was delivered to the wrong clubhouse. And Carlos Silva ate it all. To make matters worse, barbecue for Silva is like spinach for Popeye. How else could Silva give up only two hits and two walks in six innings? That's right ... lots of meat. And chicken.
And macaroni and cheese.
What? It can't be because the Mets' lineup has the consistency of runny eggs. Nah, I refuse to believe that.
Worst part is, now Snoop's postgame newsers are like watching an ant drown in honey thrashing his arms around begging for a life raft (enjoying the food references?) hoping the right answer will turn on a faucet full of runs. Last night, he talked about breaking up Frenchy (now 0-for-22) and Jason Bay like they were troublemakers throwing firecrackers at a fourth grade ballet recital. You know what that means ... that's right. First lefty stick with a high strikeout rate gets a job in the middle of the order. Line forms to the left. Woo hoo!
Can't we blame Oliver Perez for this? It's so much more fun when it's Ollie's fault. I mean, he wasn't that great, but he wasn't that much worse than what Jon Niese was the other night. He didn't completely implode, and he didn't hang himself with his own intestines on the mound. So that in itself is a moral victory.
No, I can't in good conscience lay false blame. The Mets lineup would do better to stride to the plate and try to hit Silva with a side of beef.