Face Washed

There are certain things I notice about a baseball game that nobody else does.

It's not something I brag about, because most of these things that only I notice border on the ridiculous ... like in the bottom of the seventh when Fernando Tatis made a bid to give the Mets the lead with a deep drive to left, only to fall harmlessly into the glove of Omar Infante ... the same glove which he then used to give a playful face wash to a fan behind the wall, no doubt getting a little revenge for some good ol' American heckling. Infante got a smile out of that.

So who's glove do you think clanked Carlos Delgado's fifth hit of the evening and lost the game for the Braves (and completed a sweep ... a sweep??!?) Ooooh, it was Omar Infante's glove. The same glove that face washed one of our own in left field.

Dare I say, I got a smile out of that.

***

I also got a smile about the play in the top of the ninth, which Gregor Blanco really should have been called safe on a play at first base with two outs and a runner on second, and prevented the go-ahead run from scoring from Atlanta. Perhaps karma is on our side right now.

But I ask this, and it has to do with replay: If you eventually make replay about more than home runs, and include plays at first base ... and a play like that happens where you look at it, and then reverse the call and put Blanco at first base ... what do you do with the runner? Put him at third? Let him score? Make it a judgement call with the umpires even though the umpires, as soon as the play is called "out", stop paying attention to what Martin Prado is doing at third base?

That is a subtle reason why you'll probably never see replay go past fair/foul, home run/no home run.

***

Luis Ayala for Anderson Hernandez: A trade that works for everybody except the Phillies.

And speaking of the Phillies: In the remaining days of the month, the Mets and Phillies play twice. Otherwise, the Mets have the Astros and Marlins. The Phillies, meanwhile, have the Dodgers and Cubs.

So if there's ever a chance to pad the 2.5 game lead, it's August.

***

And just because I've gone a whole post without mentioning it ... and this is purely obligatory:

Hey Mikey? How those schools in Denver working out for ya?

(Editor's Note: You do realize that in twelve years when the Mets celebrate the 20th anniversary of the N.L. Championship team, that Mike Hampton will be there? You realize that he'll still get booed, right? Maybe instead of money, the fans can throw loose leaf paper and chalk in his general direction ... maybe some erasers too.)

(Editor's Note Part II: I'm not condoning violence.)

All In

So, baseball gods...I see you've called my bluff.

I asked for a reason for belief. You saw that with a one hitter, raised me a benches clearing brawl as an extra sign of life...and a Phillies loss to the Nationals.

Do I call? Do I fold? Do I raise?

I'm all in, baby.

Here I go, baseball gods...all my chips are at the center of the table and I've got acey deucey going up against your jack-six. Let's turn over those cards.

Show me an ace on the flop...an ace as in Tommy Glavine.

Show me a deuce on the turn...as in two wins by the Nationals.

You give me that, there's no need for the river...as in the river crossed by going over the Walt Whitman bridge for a one game playoff with the Phillies.

You're surprised? You're surprised that I'm all in? Why? Do you think I'm scared of you? You think I'm scared because two weeks ago I had a chip pile a mile high, and now I'm down to a handful? Well maybe as the days grew by I was discouraged...but I've pretty much lost everything. There's nothing more to lose at this point. And as you know, it's dangerous to deal cards to someone who's got nothing to lose.

Am I blinking? Not really. In fact I'm staring you baseball gods down without so much as batting an eyelash. Because really, what if I lose? What if you get three sixes and wipe me out? What do I have to be afraid of? Making you guys mad? Feeling your wrath? What more can you do to me that hasn't already been done to me?

Karma? Should I be afraid of baseball karma? Karma's a bitch, you say? Yes, I've said it too. And you know what?

F**k Karma!

What the f**k has Karma gotten me over the last two weeks? I'll tell you what it's gotten me...f***ing grief, that's what! Hell I've practically left the Yankees and Yankee fans alone this season and what has it gotten me? They've made a miraculous comeback from the dead, every rookie they have has a Yankeeography, and they're tearing down the bat at Yankee Stadium to make room for the gold plated statue of Joba Chamberlain for the fans to meet by. Make that the backdrop to my team's collapse, and you want to tell me that Karma plays this game of baseball fair? You want to tell me that Karma doesn't have aces up it's sleeve to use against me, like it did in '87? In '99? In 2000? In 2001? Game seven last year? Where exactly is the reward I get from Karma for not messing with it?

F**k Karma!!! I'm staring Karma down just like I'm staring you down, baseball gods. And if the city of Philadelphia wants to get in on the staredown then bring it on, boys and girls. I know you want nothing better than to knock us down, and I know you're beating down the doors to the castle waiting to come in and bury us once and for all. I know you're there and I'm waiting for you with my chips at the center of the table.

And Mets fans, I'm staring you down too. I'm staring you down because I want you all in with me. I want you in if you've believed all season. I want you in if you gave up somewhere along the way. I want you in if you've said that this is the last straw with this team. I want you in because I've done all three. I've felt it all. I've been to hell and back. I was at the Pendleton game. I was at the Scioscia game. I was at Game Five in 2000. Whatever you've seen, I've seen it.

Whatever you've felt, I've felt it.

Whatever you've done, I've done it.

Whatever you've thrown against the wall in anger, I've broken the wall with it.

Whatever the Mets have done to your heart, I've taken medicine for it.

And even after all that...even after Mike Stanton, Kenny Rogers, Brian Jordan, Art Howe, Terry Pendleton, Bobby Bonilla, Vince Coleman, Armando Benitez, Larry Jones, Willie Harris, Jimmy Rollins, and the rest of the rogues gallery of Mets criminals, I'm still willing to put everything on the line knowing that this team we're banking on could fold their hand and come up with the game that's going to make every bad moment in this franchise history seem like a ticker tape parade in comparison.

I know it. I embrace it. And I refuse to fear it anymore. Because according to the rest of the world, we're mongrels. They want us dead and buried once and for all.

Are you really going to turn in your cards and fold after that?

Not me.

As for you baseball gods, you're trying to get a bad beat on me, and I say bring it. There's two cards to turn over on Sunday. Maybe one card on Monday. I'm ready for whatever happens. They say never bet money that you're afraid to lose, and it's high time to stop being afraid. Here's my ace, here's my deuce. You beat it, you win. Remember that you don't have all my money yet...and a wise man once said that if you don't have my money then you are mine.

So, baseball gods...let's play some cards.