Petey, Victor, And Dying A Little Inside: A World Baseball Tour Of The Tortured Mind

Sometimes when I'm "away", it's because I've got nothing of value to say. But sometimes when I'm away, I'm actually away, which is why I have some random thoughts from the past few days, centering around this World Baseball Extravaganza.

First off, let me say that it can be really confusing not only for people who watch these games, but for the people who watch the people who watch these games. I, for example, was on an airplane on Wednesday watching the Netherlands (no, their baseball spikes aren't wooden) play the Dominican Republic. And at the same time that I'm rooting to see the upset, I'm also watching Pedro Martinez pitch and pumping my fist with every 91 mph tailing fastball he was throwing. This prompted my wife to ask me "who exactly are you rooting for?"

And that's the problem with this tournament. There are Mets and their enemies playing for every team (think how weird you felt when J.J. Putz chest bumped Brian McCann after the USA defeated Canada), and teammates facing off against each other. It's like an intense LSD trip where Davey Johnson is managing again, and Bert Blyleven is teaching A ball pitchers his big curveball while Sidney Ponson is offering me peyote.

(But what made me the most unhappy about that first Netherlands/D.R. game was Steve Phillips laughing and joking about how he traded Nelson Cruz away from the Mets and now he's a good hitter. Meanwhile, Metstradamus dies a little inside ... That, and the fact that we had to deplane during the bottom of the ninth, so I had to wait to check into the hotel to find out that the Dutch pulled off Upset Part One.)

First, you have David Wright playing with Jimmy Rollins. And I love how Derek Jeter sits between them in the lockerroom and he's being painted as Kissinger to Wright and Rollins. This is the same Derek Jeter who has had chance after chance after chance to make sure that Alex Rodriguez was accepted in that Yankee lockerroom, but instead let A-Rod twist in the wind because of an Esquire article. But he sits in between Wright and Rollins and he's Alfred Nobel. Okay. Jeter is the greatest captain in the world. Much better than Cats. I am a sheep. I will believe everything I read. Baaaah. Baaaah.

And not only did you have Jose Reyes playing with Hanley Ramirez, but you had Jose Reyes playing with Miguel Olivo, who you remember from their brawl in 2007, started in part because of excessive celebrations by the Mets. So it was funny when Olivo hit his second home run of the game against Panama, and he came to the dugout with a ... wait for it ... choreographed home run handshake!

Gasp!

But now Jose Reyes is back in Mets camp, thanks in part to an error by Hanley Ramirez during Upset: Part One. Way to go, Hanley.

***

Oh, and speaking of dying a little inside:

First, I gotta watch Victor Zambrano throw a pitch so bad that I'm convinced that Kevin Youkilis swung at it on purpose because he knew he'd reach first base on the strikeout (Youkilis acted like he was upset with himself but I'm convinced that was part of the rouse.) Then in his second appearance, he almost hits David Wright while instrumental in beating the States. (Can you imagine Wright being out for ten weeks with a broken bone off a pitch thrown by the hand of Victor Zambrano? I'd start chugging Drano Bombs on the spot.) And you know that this potentially could mean that Omar Minaya is taking a look at him as long as Tim Redding can't get out college players. Resist, Omar. Resist!!!

(At least Freddy Garcia improved against those same Michigan Wolverines. Out-freakin-standing!)

***

Then there's Frankie Rodriguez, who had this to say about the Venezuelan media after saving Venezuela's victory over the States last night:

"They're trying to stick it to us. You ask anybody in that clubhouse and they'll tell you the same thing."

I didn't know Wallace Matthews was Venezuelan.

Pacifiers For Everyone

All right, our bullpen is awful. Yada, yada, yada. We know this. We know that the force of Mike Jacobs' home run was enough to knock Gustav down to a Category 2. We know this. I for one am not going to let Saturday's loss distract me from my focus right now ... and that's this:

Cody Ross needs to shut the f**k up.

Sorry to be so blunt, but I'm in the midst of working five straight holiday shifts and I'm kinda in a mood. So I'm taking my anger out on Cody Ross. Displaced anger? Probably. Sound familiar? Yeah, kind of like Cody Ross got unnecessarily uppity at Mike Pelfrey for hitting him with a fastball that ran inside while Ross was on top of the plate?

Oh, and then to top it off, wait to yell at Pelfrey until there were people in between Ross and the much bigger Pelfrey (they do call him "Big Pelf" for a reason)? Oh, what bravery. I mean, look at the picture above ... Cody's gotta get on his tippy toes to yell at Pelfrey. Dude, trust me ... if Pelfrey wanted to hit him, he'd know it.

I don't know what made Cody Ross upset, and frankly ... I could care less. He's just another one of the many whiny hypocrites we have here in the NL East. This division is flippin' loaded with them. Let's start with Jimmy Rollins and his constant yammering about how the Mets celebrate. Does it get play? Of course it did. It's fun to pick on the Mets for celebrating. But let me ask you this, is there anybody out there who noticed J.C. Romero stepping off the mound pounding his chest like King Kong ain't got nothin' on him after striking out Geovany Soto Saturday in the eighth inning? I sure as hell did. But you're not going to hear anybody complain about that, are you? So I'm the one that's going to have to do it. So settle down, Denzel. And the next time Rollins complains about the Mets celebrating, I'd be glad to show him the tape of his friend and teammate.

And much the same, nobody is going to take Cody Ross to task for his little fake temper tantrum on Saturday, so again ... I gotta be the one to do it. Obviously, Ross was waiting for Miguel Olivo to race out of the dugout and come to his defense ... not realizing that Olivo is in Kansas City with his own anger management issues. But to no avail. Then he goes and gets picked off (no truth to the rumor that Carlos Delgado was heard asking "Hey, Cody, tell me how my glove tastes" after that pick-off) and he wasn't a factor after that during the game.

Trust me, I know we lost. My anger towards Ross is magnified by my resentment of the Mets bullpen right now for making everything I wrote above basically toothless because they went and blew the game. But to me, hypocrisy is a bigger issue than one game. So thank you for letting me vent (because nobody else will). Now I can sleep easy.

Dreamin'

It was fun watching a game where somebody else made all the errors, wasn't it?

Well, maybe it wasn't so much fun, but Pedro Martinez got it done, especially in the third inning when he had the bases loaded and one out and somehow escaped. It really was an important game in that respect. If the Marlins had beaten the Mets with their spiritual leader on the mound, then who do you turn to? No wonder they conjured up 5 runs in the two innings after that.

Amazingly, none of the Mets runs were earned as Miguel Cabrera refuses to dive, and Mike Jacobs...in his quest for a gold glove...played with a glove made of solid gold. The Mets rode Pedro's gutty performance and Moises Alou's club record 25 game hit streak to a rain shortened 8-4 five inning win over the Marlins, as the skies opened up and poured down on Miami, thankfully ending the game before the Marlins got to the Mets depleted bullpen. Thanks to that rainstorm, the Mets stayed 1 1/2 games ahead of Philadelphia. The only hope now for the Mets is that Carlos Beltran's foray into the wall which forced him out of action isn't going to keep him out that long.

Ironically, after the rain shortened game, a had an unusually vivid dream after I fell asleep about an hour after the game ended with no hope of resuming...it involved Guillermo Mota. I dreamt that the game actually did resume and Willie Randolph had Mota in for two innings. I tried to escape, but that stadium is so big...and every time I found an exit and walked through it, I ended up on the mozzarepa line. But Mota was getting outs! And then Willie actually put Mota in for a second inning, and he got everybody out. It was at that point, I knew I was dreaming because Mota never lasts two innings...and Randolph wouldn't be stupid enough to do that again, right?

But then, in the dream, Fredi Gonzalez was stupid enough to double switch Cabrera out of the game. And Carlos Delgado hit a home run to center field which conked me in the head and then I woke up...or so I thought. I dreamt then that I woke up on the couch in a cold sweat, and it was already the next morning so I flipped open the paper to see the boxscore of the Mets win...and the boxscore said "Schoeneweis (SV, 1)". Panicking, I flipped on the television for highlights, and I saw Willie...and he was mad! He was mad apparently because Carlos Gomez, get this, tried to steal third base with two outs! I mean, now I really knew I was dreaming because he sure as hell wouldn't have done that after Jose Reyes made the same mistake two weeks ago.

And I also know it was a dream because Willie never gets mad, right? So I tried to run out of my apartment, and kept running...and running...and running...until I saw third base in the distance so I rounded it even though Sandy Alomar was giving me the stop sign...and here I come home to try to bowl over Miguel Olivo. Only it wasn't Miguel Olivo...it was Britney Spears! So I ran faster and tried to put her in the third row but she gave me the sweep tag and I flew all the way into the upper deck.

When I landed there...Timo Perez was wearing a World Series ring yelling at me for not running hard all the way from my apartment. And on my other side I saw Shakira dancing with Jimmy Rollins in the aisle. I was briefly distracted by the merry go round they brought on the field where Moises Alou was riding it with Hubie Brooks and Mike Piazza. Mota was then brushed back by a pitch, and then he chased Piazza around the field. And then all of a sudden, I noticed I was wearing a cast on my leg from landing so hard in the upper deck...and Carlos Beltran was wearing a matching cast because he was out for the season!!!

Then I really did wake up. And I wrote this post. Damn, I gotta stop eating jalapenos before going to bed.

Fan Mail

Dear Hanley,

I know you wanted to show us how good a shortstop you are, and prove that you are deserving of the press that Jose Reyes gets.

Mission accomplished. Whoever didn't know how good you are in New York, now know.

So stop it. Please.

Yours in baseball,

Metstradamus

P.S. Please tell Larry Beinfest that if he dares trade Miguel Olivo to the Braves just to screw with Billy Wagner, I swear I'm going to fly to Miami and kick him in the crotch so hard he'll be spitting urine on Moises Alou's hands. Thank you kindly.

(Damn!)