Animals Sprouting Wings

The Mets won a series! I must go to a bar and celebrate. Perhaps I can get there on the back of one of those flying pigs I've been seeing the last couple of hours

Well good thing the Mets won the series in Houston on Sunday. You never know what could happen with Mike Scott looming for the next game.

Oh, no no. Thankfully the only Houston the Mets will be facing on Monday will be Huston Street, who hasn't walked anybody in about the same period of time that David Wright went without hitting a home run.

The Mets didn't need a home run today as they strung some hits together, including a shocking triple by Luis Castillo. It was shocking in its pure distance to the power alley from the lefthanded bat of Castillo ... clearly trying to overcompensate for the lack of dingers on this club.

What the Mets did need was for Livan Hernandez to not be the first human to be involved in a "Cars for Clunkers" transaction. He looked like he was going to the scrap heap after the first inning, when the Astros had a golden opportunity to get five or six instead of the three that they did get (while others were probably thinking the Mets were lucky to get out of that alive, I was thinking that Livan Hernandez still only got one man out with the two runners being thrown out and that his ERA should have been about 127.) But after the first inning, the Livanmobile still has a working engine. It might need a bobbie pin stuck in it to run (or a side of beef), but it's running, and it's safe for another day.

If nothing else, the series win might make us forget about the latest Tony Bernazard story. It shouldn't, but it might.

The Greatest Game Ever Played (On A Friday Night In The State Of Florida)

Did Friday's incredible win remind you of something?

Did you see a little Lenny Dykstra in Luis Castillo as he started the rally with two outs and nobody on?

Did David Wright remind you a bit of Mookie Wilson when he continued the rally?

Was Carlos Beltran's grand slam part Keith, part Darryl, and part Ray Knight all rolled up into one?

You can be forgiven if you saw Jeremy Hermida and Hanley Ramirez reach base and all of a sudden see Davey Lopes and Bill Doran roaming the bases ... or if Mike Jacobs looked an awful lot like Glenn Davis ... or if Jorge Cantu's long fly ball down the left field line which would have won the game all of a sudden made you see Billy Hatcher jog backwards down to first base before Cantu's ball went foul and you were allowed to breathe again.

You can be forgiven because we've pretty much waited for this kind of thing from the Mets all season long ... October magic in August was that lacking ingredient last season, and Friday it returned in all its spectacular fashion. Of course, it wasn't without its corresponding headaches as Luis Ayala threatened to go Jesse Orosco all over Miami.

I might be reaching with this comparison, but you have to realize one thing from my perspective ... that there was another parallel between October 15th, 1986 and August 29th, 2008: I fell asleep during both games.

Only in '86 I had it timed a little better: I had come home from school dead tired for that 3PM start and tried like hell to stay awake, but after the Astros had taken a 3-0 lead I must have thought that Game 7 was inevitable, and unconsciously became, well ... unconscious. By the time I woke up, I kid you not, Lenny Dykstra was leading off the ninth inning. So you can say I really didn't miss a whole lot.

Friday night, same deal. Wright strikes out with the bases loaded in the seventh and I'm done. I sleep with the TV on so that if something big happens, most likely I'll wake up to it. I must have been extremely dead because from the time Cantu misplayed an easy ground ball in the eighth until Jacobs was up in the ninth, I was dead to the world. Not even a grand slam was enough to shake me out (and Gary Cohen gave it the double "outta here" ... and I still didn't wake up. Whoa.)

In fact, for some reason I had it in my mind that 2-1 became 5-2 because of two runs in the eighth and two runs in the ninth. (Obviously, I had created my own ball game while I was asleep.) But truth, as always, is stranger (and more dramatic) than fiction.

(Editors note: You know what else contributed to that '86 feeling? It was the football markings on the field. They were all over the Astrodome ... and it was those football markings which forced that NLCS to start and end in Houston when the Mets rightfully should have had home field advantage. It's just too bad that more of the home fans didn't show up Friday ... I mean, Maroone Honda sales draw more customers. But hey, more seats for Met fans. Oh well ... maybe they'll show up Saturday. I hear Mike Scott's supposed to pitch.)

Small Miracles

I gotta be honest with all of you: I fully expected the Mets to lose this game tonight ... the pitching matchup didn't seem to be in the Mets favor, and it's just like the Mets to follow up a stirring win with a heartbreaking loss. But these two games against the Yankees ... especially an 11-2 win in the second and final game of this series, goes to prove how maddening this team could be.

That not only a team, but a pitcher like Ollie Perez can be capable of what he did tonight, could be the same team and pitcher capable of a whole bunch of stinkers like the ones they put forth this season is positively looney. I look for things in this team ... patterns ... they like this, they don't like that ... it's mid-May and I can't figure them out to save my life.

I certainly didn't think they would win after the fourth inning when the three blind mice (meaning the three umps not named Reilly) reversed Carlos Delgado's home run call into a foul ball ... the three umps that were in worse position than the one that actually made the right call.

I've seen games like this before: Mets have a chance to win/sweep series, Mets go on a roll in final game, Mets get screwed by a bad call, Mets use that as an excuse go in the tank, Team B wins. Inevitable. And when Hideki Matsui (I don't ever want to see him get an official at bat in a big spot ever again) hit that fourth inning home run to close the gap to 4-2, my doom fearing mind saw that "Yankees 5 Mets 4" final that of course was going to turn that Delgado home run ball with the black scuff mark on it into the most famous scuffed baseball since Mike Scott roamed these parts.

(Side note: For those who think that instant replay would slow the game down: In the time it took for the umpires to huddle and screw the call up, for Willie Randolph to argue the call, for Jerry Manuel to argue the call some more and get kicked out, somebody down the third base line with a video monitor could have watched the damn play, signaled home run, and we all would have been on our merry way at 6-0. Besides, if baseball was truly worried about slowing the game down, there would be pictures of Steve Trachsel at every ballpark with a red line through his face reading "Do Not Admit" underneath.)

But a remarkable thing happened: The Mets hit. And hit some more. And hit even more. Ryan Church went to the right of the black seats. They batted around in the eighth. Jose Reyes went yard again. And for a brief time, the Mets we all knew and loved ... and so desperately want to love again ... came back to us. They knocked at our door, flowers in hand (or was that the head of Ross Ohlendorf) and implored upon us not to give up on them.

And since we're suckers for gifts (like when your cat gives you a dead bird), we invite them in for coffee. Heck, what else are we going to do?

Speaking of cats and dead birds, there are certain times when I wish for a cat to take it's claws and puncture my eardrums out. Watching Sunday Night Baseball is one of those times. For fear of going all Fire Joe Morgan on you, this is for those of you who attended the game: I swear our friend Joe Morgan uttered this exact phrase during an iso replay of Jose Reyes' home run:

"You know what I like about that? He ran around the bases. He hit it, and he proceeded to go around the bases."

Yeah, I hate when batters decide to stop at first base after a home run and wave the hot dog vendor over. Bud Selig oughta invent a rule against that when he's not so busy not implementing instant replay.

(Editor's note: This was followed by some nonsense about how Derek Jeter is like a fullback and Jose Reyes is a halfback and they both must know how to dance because they're shortstops ... and Morgan remembering a Shea Stadium/Yankee Stadium doubleheader last year where the second game was rained out ... except it was two years ago and it was the playoffs so the Mets and Yankees weren't even playing each other.)

I really have to turn the sound down on these Sunday Night games and blast my iPod. The song lyrics have a better chance of matching up with the play on the field.

Hands Across Houston

So many words...so little sleep.

There was no way the Mets could lose after a catch like Carlos Beltran's catch on Saturday, could they?

Well, yeah...see: Chavez, Endy for reference.)

Yes, they have become proficient for losing games which contain a "catch of the year" candidate. And with the Houston Astros putting two, three, heck seemingly five runners on base per inning, there was ample opportunity to lose this game...especially when entrusted into such normally undependable hands such as Guillermo Motas hands, Scott Schoeneweis' hands, and Aaron Sele's hands.

Of course, it would have never gotten that far if the same Carlos Beltran as seen in the fourteenth inning would have done a little better than 0 for 6 prior.

It may not have gotten that far if Paul Lo Duca didn't try to take third base with two outs in the ninth, proving that one only needs the brain of an ostrich to feel he has the speed of a gazelle.

It may not have gotten that far if Tony Randazzo had given Tom Glavine a third strike against Morgan Ensberg.

It may not have gotten that far if the Mets hadn't made Woody Williams look like Walter Johnson, or the rest of the Astros bullpen look like the Four Horsemen of Notre Dame.

But you're glad it went that far, aren't you? You're glad you witnessed that incredible in the fourteenth, where Carlos Beltran ran up Tal's Hill and cradled the Luke Scott certain game winning blast into his glove as if he was John Stallworth gathering in a touchdown with his fingertips in the enemy end zone of the old Municipal Stadium, and subsequently getting pelted with dog biscuits by the Browns faithful. What could they have thrown at Beltran in Houston? Pulled pork? Nachos? Aggie fans?

(Editor's note: Football reference works here, since Tom Glavine's revelation on Saturday that wearing the Earl Campbell helmet in the clubhouse was the lucky helmet that gave the Mets their winning runs in the seventeenth. See that, Astros fans? You can't even depend on your native son to bring you luck. What's next, Jose Valentin breaks out of his slump while wearing Clyde Drexler's wristbands?)

And how many times do you see it: A guy makes a great catch to end an extra inning, and who comes up...three innings later to win the game in the seventeenth, but that same guy? Uncanny, isn't it? Well actually you never see it...so if you stayed up for it, you're glad you did.

You're glad you saw that catch, and the subsequent RBI to turn a horrific 0-for-6 into the best 1-for-7 you've ever seen. You're glad you saw David Wright's four hits in eight at-bats, including his big tying HR in the seventh. You're glad you got through all those tense moments of Mota, Schoeneweis, and Sele...because baserunners or not, all moments involving those three seem to be tense. You're glad you saw a game that really should have been a playoff game, especially set against the backdrop of Houston, and 1986, and Mike Scott (who may or may not have had his "box of tricks" found by Woody Williams which would explain how a guy who had one swing and miss all of his last game struck out six Mets on Saturday), and the sixteen inning game against which all sixteen inning games are judged.

Saturday night may have set a standard for which all future seventeen inning games must match.

People may say that this is the potential turning point of the season, the point that brings this club closer together. More likely, this is the game that enabled the Mets to get their first good night's sleep in a while...however short it may be considering they have a game in less than eleven hours from now. But no matter what this game does for the team besides gain a game on our closest competitors, it certainly makes this blogger feel a whole lot better about things. Now, just maybe, I can get a good night's sleep.

Hopefully, you will too.

At Least Pete Goes To Barbados

This was not the way that my first game at Shea was supposed to go.

But at least the seats were good.

Actually, that's a severe understatement, the seats were unbelievable! To give you an idea of how good these seats were that were basically field level right behind the plate, the seat number started with an "X" to give you the feel that you were going to a trendy club.

(Actually, those blue seats that were added in front of those original orange seats behind the plate are like going to the club since they were actually chained off. All that was missing were the bouncers that kept you away from the models...just ushers that popped up out of nowhere like they were in a jack in the box to keep people out of those seats in the eighth inning after the cat was already let on to the porch at 9-3. Aah, ushers.)

The seats came courtesy of a commenter we know as "Kingman Fan", who I had the pleasure of meeting through the poetically indestructible Greg Prince, who I had finally had the pleasure of meeting in person (for those wondering if two bloggers getting together would create a more powerful and ground-breaking perspective the likes of which have never been seen before, all we really decided was that maybe Mike Pelfrey needs another trip to New Orleans...and he really didn't need me for that.) Now when I say "Kingman Fan", I really mean it. He had the authentic "KINGMAN 26" authentic jersey to prove it. He'll be happy (or disturbed) to know that he was not the last Met fan I saw today with a Kingman model, as another authentic Kingman authentic popped up at the Roosevelt Ave. train stop while transferring after the game.

(But the winner of today's "jersey you don't see every day" contest goes to the guy with the powder blue Milwaukee Brewer "VUKOVICH 50" jersey. Dude, you win. And did you know he played Clue Haywood in "Major League"?)

Unfortunately, the 1982 references weren't done there, as the Brewers and Mets both played like their 1982 counterparts, which is to say that they played like the American League Champs that they were and we...well we had Dave Kingman. Pelfrey was the Mike Scott of the group, and not the Mike Scott that had learned his "split fingered fastball" (which was a middle fingered fastball in the '86 NLCS), but the Mike Scott that was nicknamed "the human white flag" back in '82. Pelfrey didn't get a whole lot of help from his defense, which somehow turned a fourth inning Prince Fielder pop-up with the bases loaded into a double play, but not before Craig Counsell and Tony Gwynn Jr. tagged up and scored while the Mets were infatuated with getting J.J. Hardy out on the basepaths.

And really, even though the Brewers opened the spigots with eight more runs including Hardy's grand slam against Joe Smith, the game was over after the Mets "Hardy Boy Mystery" in the fourth (first and last time for that reference...promise). Not even David Newhan's pinch home run brought the crowd fully back into the game, as the prevailing thought was that the game should have at least been tied after the botched rundown. But Newhan's home run did send a guy named Pete to Barbados as it was the hometown home run inning, so somebody besides the Brewers fans in the stands went home completely happy.

***

Here are some things I learned for being at Shea for the first time this season. Some things most of you know (since I hope you've all taken at least one trek out to Shea before me in '07), others you may not:

• The bleachers are roped off into sections now. 50, 52, 54, 56, and I think 58 (kind of like jersey sizes, but they're actually a continuation of the upper deck sections). The bleachers is one spot that I have yet to sit in, because it's exclusively either group sales (I don't have that many friends), or Pepsi can night (I'm a Coca-Cola guy). So that's my mission before Citi Field takes its initial bow.
• Speaking of the new park, it has now become officially bizarre to see scaffolding directly behind the outfield. I thought it was weird when it happened in Cincinnati, especially since they tore down the outfield stands of Riverfront Stadium while construction for the Great American Ballpark was happening while the Reds still played in the old cookie cutter. But to see it behind Shea is just totally mind boggling and surreal.
• What is with the spinning Dunkin Donuts coffee cup in the left field bullpen which spins after a home run? It's gotta be the most out of place product placement gimmick ever. But knowing the way our franchise works sometimes, I could totally see that thing following us to the new park, while the Home Run Apple gets left behind or put on eBay because some think it's cheesy. This possibility scares me to death.
• This next thing was also noted here, but I can say it too because I came up with it all on my own, I promise. But do you find it weird that after a fan was banned from Shea Stadium for shining a light into Edgar Renteria's eyes, the Mets have Flashlight day? (I heard that the Mets are going to have reflective mirror night in June, sponsored by Dunkin Donuts of course.)
• During the fateful eighth inning, I ran to the food line behind the plate. I thought there was a really long stoppage of play because there were loud commercials hawking concerts and what not on the television screen. But while I was listening to that thinking I wasn't missing anything, Joe Smith hit Gabe Gross. And I had no idea the game was even going on. Can we turn down the commercials on the concourses while the game is going on, please? Dopey people like me get confused.

***

Sunday is Chris Capuano vs. Oliver Perez, and the Mets had better find a way to bounce back and take two of three from Milwaukee. Because, to paraphrase our ticket benefactor Kingman Fan, they're running out of body parts to shave.