I Was Kind Of Afraid Of This

This seemed inevitable ... but apparently while tanning in Dana Point, Omar and the Mets have expressed some interest in Javy Vazquez to help round out their rotation. (Historians will no doubt look upon New York City as the habitat of former Expos ... Seriously, it's a Cities of the Underworld special waiting to happen). Looking at his stats and expecting to find out that after finding the largest prime number, UCLA students would then search for Vazquez's career ERA, his 2008 season wasn't so bad. He had a 4.13 ERA and a 12-13 record in 196 innings in '08.

Those, of course, are his numbers before the magic threshold of September 17th. After that, Vazquez was 0-3 with a 13.50 ERA and an opponents OPS of 1.077. He fits into the program quite well, I'd say.

***

Oh, come on. For old times sake.

Deepness Is Spreading

In a world that seems strange ... a world that seems to conspire against you, what with Paul Lo Duca jumping up about a hundred games in the standings and joining the Marlins for the express purpose of getting a key hit during the last game of the season to knock the Mets out of the playoffs, and Juan Samuel being inducted into the Phillies Wall of Fame during the same week he got a write-in vote for my Hall of Hate, take comfort that Daniel Murphy is on your side.

Murphy, batting .500 entering the game, is already receiving the respect of his peers, with Fredi Gonzalez going lefty-lefty on him in the sixth and bothering to bring in Reynel Pinto to face the rookie. That Gonzalez would be willing to burn a pitching change on a rookie is respect. That Murphy would make that move go up in flames by going deep to provide the margin of victory in an 8-6 win is cause for rejoice.

And that Brian Stokes would be the latest character from the minors to come up with a decent effort after I made fun of him just proves that maybe I should just learn to shut the hell up every once in a while and stop complaining about every low level minor league trade. Heck, he's the only Mets pitcher I've seen this season brush some hitters back, including Hanley "Waaah, I don't get as much coverage as Jose Reyes" Ramirez.

Although that's probably because he was wild and not because he was staking his claim to the inside of the plate. Oh well. I'll take it.

This Is Why I Need A Vacation!

I don't normally blog when I'm at the high seas or the desert or wherever crazy place I'm at, but I felt the need to just say this:

That tying hit on Saturday night against the Astros was the single dumbest play I've ever seen. Dumb. I'm kinda glad that the JetBlue flight I was on wasn't equipped with XM radio, or I probably would have been deemed an unruly passenger on the flight and had gotten arrested. Two runners scoring on top of each other? Really?

I don't know of the other circumstances of that game. I don't want to know. That play is all I need to know. I knew I needed a vacation from everyday life ... now I know I need a vacation from this baseball team. I will say that if that was Paul Lo Duca behind the plate, he would have tagged both runners out, stepped on them on the way back from the dugout, and then gone to a club in Long Island and picked up both their daughters.

Fishy Business

It hasn't been a great night all around for the Mets, who lost to the Fish on Wednesday, dropped to series, and dropped to second place in the division. Tomorrow, an off day, has the potential to be a whole lot worse.

Look, I'm into free thinking, and I'm not into telling you how to think. I'm not Big Brother. But I'm here to give you some friendly, free advice that you would be wise to heed. This Manny to the Marlins rumor that's getting way too close to reality? You do not want that to happen. No, seriously ... you don't want Manny to be a Marlin. Look at the Manny Fish. Look directly at it. You are getting sleepy. Your eyes are getting heavy. When you wake up and I snap my fingers, you will hope and pray that after 4:00 ET on Thursday, Manny Ramirez will still be wearing "Red Sox", and not teal socks.

Go ahead and tell me about "Manny being Manny". Go ahead and bring up the goofy fielding. Talk to me until you're blue in the face about the six seconds it regularly takes for Manny to get down the first base line on a grounder to third. You can tell me all of that. But at the end of the day, if you add a future hall of famer to a lineup that has more home runs than anyone in baseball, that spells disaster for the Mets.

Because that future hall of famer ... for two months ... is going to be the most motivated baseball player on Planet Earth. In his quest to stick it to the Red Sox, he's going to stick it to the Mets ... and they'll be fighting for the wild card. Of course after that, Manny will revert to being Manny once he gets that contract. But for two months, it's on.

I'd suggest that the Mets intervene and get Ramirez for themselves to join forces with Pedro Martinez (another player Manny claims was mistreated by the Red Sox), but that's not happening for a myriad of reasons. This trade being discussed now is way too far along in the process. Mets ownership can't even handle Paul Lo Duca being controversial, there's no way the Wilpons would except Manny urinating in the visitors bullpen during a pitching change. And most importantly, the Mets don't have that right mix of young players and prospects that the Marlins do ... it's an advantage Florida has by being bad all these years, selling off their parts, and then being good all at once. The Mets, meanwhile, will tell us that their trading deadline acquisition came during the winter when all their chips were placed on Johan Santana. It will be the easy and legitimate bouquet of flowers to present to Mets fans when the Marlins are getting Manny Ramirez and the Mets respond by bringing back Jay Payton and adding Arthur Rhodes.

So don't expect the Mets to be anywhere near Manny Ramirez this season. I don't expect it ... and I accept it. But you don't want him anywhere near the Marlins either. It's the difference between the trading deadline passing peacefully, and the trading deadline hitting you upside the head with a frying pan. So light another one of those candles leftover from Billy Wagner's injury, and light it for a reconciliation between Manny and the Sox. And if that doesn't work, then you mind as well light your hair on fire instead.

The Answer To Your Questions

The good thing about old grudges is that they eventually die hard. Even today, where players and public figures take great care to keep the media at arm's length from their dirty laundry ... everything comes out eventually in some form or another.

The Mets feelings towards former golden child Gregg Jefferies came out when one of Jefferies former teammates, Roger McDowell, taunted Jefferies into starting a brawl during the last home game of the '89 season. It was then that we started to get a good idea about the cracks in the clubhouse that Jefferies caused, albeit unknowingly or unwillingly.

Which brings us to tonight ... when the Mets meet up with former teammate Paul Lo Duca. During the two seasons that Lo Duca was here, we heard how Lo Duca had it in for latin players. There were lots of denials, and you couldn't find too many people that put a lot of stock in it, including myself. But if there truly was something to it, if there was some lingering bitterness somewhere towards Lo Duca from the clubhouse, chances are we'll find out on the field at some point over the next three games. And if there wasn't, we'll find that out too.

What we do know is that Lo Duca wants his former team to lose every game. The way the Mets have played so far this season, he's getting more of his wish than any of us have ever expected.

Your 2008 N.L. East Preview: Part One

Today, we begin our preview of the National League East by looking at what should constitute the bottom half of the division.

It's easy to dismiss the Florida Marlins as 2008's permanent resident of the N.L. East cellar. After all, their best two players are in Detroit gearing up for a World Series run, while the average age of the Marlins roster is the lowest in the league at 12 (it would have been 7, except for Luis Gonzalez.) But remember that we all had the Nationals as 120 game losers last year (not me ... I had them at a much more reasonable number, although it was still well off). And on paper, the Marlins have a better starting staff coming into '08 than the Nationals had going into '07, with former New Jersey Net Mark Hendrickson (who was once posterized by Michael Jordan), Scott Olsen (who was once posterized by the Miami Police), and super-phenom Andrew Miller leading the way.

The Marlins strength this season might be in the bullpen, where Kevin Gregg was a pleasant surprise as their closer last season after Jorge Julio took another step towards oblivion. The combination of Gregg, Matt Lindstrom (who will continue his assault of the Mets while Jason Vargas is on the shelf for four months), Taylor Tankerseley and Justin Miller had 272 K's in 260 innings pitched. And don't forget Logan Kensing, who was injured for much of '07.

And the Fish will be able to hit some too. They finished a respectable sixth in the N.L. with 790 runs scored, and making their returns will be guys like Hanley Ramirez (who as far as I can fathom, still hates the Mets and everything about them), Dan Uggla, and Josh Willingham. The problem is who's not returning: Miguel Cabrera and his 119 RBI last season. His replacement will be Jorge Cantu, who's going to have to close his eyes really hard and pretend it's 2005 when he drove in 117 runs for the Devil Rays. And as we all know, it's hard to hit a baseball with your eyes closed.

What's going to sink the Marlins to the bottom of the standings is the fact that the top three in their rotation just isn't going to be able to give the bullpen enough quality starts to try and finish off. And the fourth and fifth starters are going to wind up being Rick VandenHurk and Ricky Nolasco. Uh-oh.

While I'm not ready to peg the Marlins for 120 losses, I am ready to buy a housewarming gift for their permanent '08 residence in the cellar. I hear lava lamps are making a comeback.

Marlins: 64-98

***

The Mets this offseason have become the Ronald Reagan of baseball ... supplying weapons to the enemy. Between Paul Lo Duca and Lastings Milledge, the Washington Nationals scare the ever loving life out of me. (Did you know that Milledge already has a fan club in DC?)

Besides motivation, the Nats have all the ingredients for a surprise season. New ballpark. Solid manager. And most importantly, they have one of the budding young superstars in the game in Ryan Zimmerman. The Washington Nationals could contend into September. But there are some questions for me concerning the Nats:

• There are some divergent personalities in that clubhouse ... and as Bobcat Goldthwait once said: "Either this is really going to work or this is really gonna suck." Will they come together and have slumber parties where they break out their fuzzy pajamas, roast marshmallows and sing campfire songs? Can Elijah Dukes, Paul Lo Duca, Dmitri Young, Lastings Milledge, and Ronnie Belliard et al share a clubhouse without driving each other crazy?


• And speaking of Lo Duca, you had Brian Schneider guiding a very patchwork starting pitching staff towards a respectable season in 2007. So what will a change in catchers do? Is Lo Duca's fiery style what guys like Matt Chico, Jason Bergmann, and Tim Redding need to take the next step towards respectability? Or will this pitching staff prove to have a need for Schneider's easy hand and fall apart under Lo Duca?


• How are the Nationals going to turn their extra first baseman (and as of right now it's Dmitri Young) into some parts that will improve the club like, say, starting pitching? And can they even do it? Young hovered close to 300 pounds this spring, and Nick Johnson outplayed him in the spring by a large margin. Can Dmitri even bring back anything in a trade? Or will he just be put on waivers so that the Braves can pick him up?

Nationals: 80-82

***

Speaking of the Braves picking guys up on waivers, I have to be really careful here to not assume that Atlanta snaring Ruben Gotay is going to shift the balance of power in the National League East, or change what I'm about to write. My pessimistic self is tempted to do it, but I'll refrain. Here's why:

I think the Atlanta Braves are overrated.

(Blesses self and makes sure lightning doesn't strike him)

There's no reason to cry and whine about how everybody and their mother is picking the Braves to win the N.L. East this season. It only seems that way. The fact of the matter is that there are are plenty of people out there picking the Mets. But there are an awful lot of pundits that are picking the Atlanta Braves. I understand why ... it's because there are a lot of people who look at the names on the jerseys and want to believe that it's 1995.

And yes, Mark Teixeira is damn good. Anyone who's in his prime and shows an ability to go .300/.400/.500 more than once is deserving of your praise and your awe. And Tim Hudson is back to being a legitimate number one starter. Players like Chipper Jones and John Smoltz have hit those kinds of numbers often. And that's the problem. The Braves are a team that collectively have hit their ceiling. There aren't a lot of guys that are primed to improve by a significant amount, while with all of the old/injury prone guys that the Braves are counting a large amount on, there's potential for disaster. Let me ask you this: If the Mets were headed into this season with the core of their team all over 35 years old, how many people do you think would be picking the Mets to win?

I'll go one step further: If the Mets were headed into this season with a third baseman who has consistently missed a good amount of games in the last four seasons, a pitcher who has missed the last two seasons in full, a 40-year-old pitcher who has had nagging injuries during the spring, and a 42-year-old pitcher last seen giving up seven runs in a third of an inning, how many people do you think would be picking the Mets to win? Certainly not as many as are picking the Braves right now, I'll tell you that.

I think the Braves are a third place team. But put a gun to my head and ask me to predict whether the Braves will break into the top two or the bottom two, then believe it or not I'm guessing lower. Outside of Hudson and Teixeira, the major components to the Braves are old, brittle, or both. And unlike seasons past, Andruw Jones ain't walkin' through that door. (Some might say that these days, Andruw Jones needs margarine to merely fit through the door.)

Braves: 82-80

Part two comin' soon! (Considering the season starts Monday, it would have to come real soon, wouldn't it?)

I Wonder How Mike Piazza Feels...

No, this isn't going to be a cry of vindication. I'll leave that to Jose Canseco.

And this isn't going to be a campaign to reverse the outcome of the 2000 World Series. Because then people in Houston will want '86 back. And people in Phoenix will want '99 back. And somebody who struck out against Josias Manzanillo and watched him run off the mound jumping and cavorting like a school girl will want that back. Those are memories I refuse to believe are tainted.

And no, I'm not starting the "Ban Roger Clemens From The Hall" movement. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Performance enhancers are not a Barry Bonds problem, and they're not a Roger Clemens problem. They are a baseball problem. Asterisks and banishment from baseball's Hall of Fame shift the blame on to the individual players, and it minimizes baseball's role in the so-called "steroids-era". The sport should be culpable most of all.

But I wonder: At this hour...at this very moment...with all of the history that Piazza has had with Clemens, the beaning in July of 2000, and the infamous bat throwing incident in that season's World Series...I wonder just what Mike Piazza is thinking at this hour. I wonder if he's thinking that he might have gotten out of the way of that pitch if it was just a little bit slower...which it might have been if Clemens was clean. Or is Piazza thinking that Clemens might not have thrown that bat if he wasn't on whatever he was on?

Those are some thoughts I'd pay a penny for.

***

In terms of the Mets that were involved, considering that it was a Mets clubbie that provided a lot of the information, the wreckage really isn't too bad in terms of the star quality of the players tagged in the report. The biggest one was probably Lenny Dykstra. The Mitchell Report talks of Dykstra's involvement in the early nineties. But anybody who was around in 1988 and saw the instant 20 pounds of muscle he had put on that winter because he wanted to be a power hitter had to have been thinking something wasn't quite natural there.

Todd Hundley? Nobody was going to say it and smear his name without any provocation. But the circumstancial evidence was all over the place. Forget the fact that he hit 41 home runs in '96 after hitting 15 the season before. But all of a sudden, he plays 153 games? He was a pinch hitter in 10 of those games, but continued as a catcher in seven of those. So there were 150 games when he put on the catcher's gear in 1996. Who does this?

And about this theory that the Mets stonewalled Lo Duca because of advance knowledge of this report? I don't buy it. There was knowledge of Lo Duca's use for years. Just check the report. The Dodgers knew:

"Steroids aren't being used anymore on him. Big part of this. Might have some value to trade . . . Florida might have interest. Got off the steroids . . . Took away a lot of hard line drives. Can get comparable value back would consider trading. If you do trade him, will get back on the stuff and try to show you he can have a good year. That’s his makeup. Comes to play. Last year of contract, playing for 05."

If the Dodgers knew, I'd bet money that other teams knew ... way back when. And if I were to bet money, I sure as hell wouldn't write a check! So no, I think this was common knowledge among the baseball community years ago, before the Mets even traded for him.

Mo Vaughn? With the injury problems he's had with his knee, we shouldn't be surprised either. I was surprised, because I myself thought the only thing he was injecting was jelly doughnuts, but that's just me.

But honestly, nobody should be surprised. Because as flimsy as you might want to say this Mitchell report is, he got the bottom line absolutely 100% right: Baseball and its union were slow on the upkeep on this. Everybody was. Athletes will always find a way to get a competitive edge, and always will. The governing bodies have to be the ones to restore order ... you can't trust 100% of a group that includes 750 major leaguers and many more minor leaguers to police themselves and be on the up and up. They're everybody's heroes, but they're athletes who not only want to win, but also represent a cross-section of life. Many different personality types will react to life's questions in many different ways. These decisions must be made for them by the high priests of America's pastime. In the past, those decisions were just to let performance enhancing happen, and look where we are.

(Metstradamus packs up his soapbox and walks away. And...scene.)

Vote Lo Duca

Lastings Milledge has chosen his running mate:

Lastings and Paulie, together in Washington as they run under the "ex-Met" party. First campaign promise: 19-0 against the Mets.

Lipstick On A Reliever

I'm going to start to call Omar Minaya the Avon Lady.

Think about it, only the Avon Lady could find enough lipstick in the world to make the proverbial pig known as Guillermo Mota look attractive to somebody. I don't know how Omar did it, but he turned Mota into not only a serviceable ballplayer, but a starting catcher!

Minaya flipped Mota into Johnny Estrada, who's very similar to Paul Lo Duca in that he has the ability to be a .300 hitter from the catching position. Of course, the one National Leaguer who had a lower percentage throwing out runners than Lo Duca and even Yorvit Torrealba: you guessed it, Estrada. But I look at it this way, Estrada's weak arm is going to give away one base at a time, while Mota's weak arm gave away four bases on a single throw, and he can't hit. Besides, you wanted Johnny Bench in return for Mota? Be lucky that Minaya was able to get Johnny Estrada and not Erik Estrada...or Larry Wilcox.

Or a tree limb eaten by termites from the inside out.

And that brings up a question that I hope is answered at some point for my own amusement: Who, in the meeting behind closed doors at Miller Park or whatever Florida or Arizona resort that major league executives meet, stood up and said that Guillermo Mota was adequate compensation for Johnny Estrada? Who looked those numbers over and said "yeah, this is a good idea"?

Bobcat Goldthwait once said that when he got a 5 out of 100 on his aptitude test in school, he found the guys who scored 1-4 so they can hang out...he of course, was the smart one. I don't know where Omar would rank in an aptitude challenge against the other GM's in the league, but he obviously found one that ranks lower than him and fleeced him on this deal. I'm willing to vote Minaya "Exec of the Year" on that feat alone.

(I mean seriously, this deal is tantamount to trading Iron Mike Sharpe for the Bushwhackers...a jobber for a draw? I'm still laughing my butt off over this one.)

It sure as heck allayed the fears I had during the weekend, as we were driving to South Jersey to gamble our lives away. Here I am, in the back seat watching the raindrops race across the back window and meeting up with other raindrops, thinking of some David Eckstein jokes to unleash after the Mets make that inevitable signing, and dreading the announcement of Jimmy Rollins as N.L. MVP.

Bad omens popped up everywhere on that last one...Comcast Philly took extra care to wait until I was in their broadcast area to re-air the 11-10 game which was the Phillies' crown jewel amongst the rubble that was the Mets' '07 season (no, I didn't watch.) Then, as I rifled through a memorabilia store because your blogger, while smart enough to come up with a funny every once in a while was dumb enough not to pack t-shirts, I found the second bad omen: a shirt that read "THE TEAM TO BEAT -January 2007" with a picture of J-Roll on it (no, I didn't buy it.) And sure enough, Rollins wound up winning the award on Tuesday. Could anybody in New York argue with that one? I'm certainly not going to. Rollins should send a fruit basket to the Mets for their collapse which helped create the beasts that are Rollins "team to beat" t-shirts, re-airings of 11-10 games, and an MVP award to boot because the Mets couldn't hold 5-0 leads against the Nationals.

I guess now would be a perfect time to once again thank our Mets for letting Zuul out of the refrigerator.

But at least the Mets didn't compound those mistakes by enlisting a dwarf to take on the ghost like creature from the original Ghostbusters. Say what you want about giving a 32-year-old second baseman with bad knees $25 million to play second base for four years. But it sure as heck is better than giving a 33-year-old shortstop who's injury prone his own self $36 million to play second base for four years. Eckstein comes with those extra special buzz words like "gritty" and "gutty". But guess what: Castillo gave you all of that and more down the stretch in '07 with bad knees and a bad hip, so why the Mets even thought about Eckstein is beyond me. Perhaps it was a ploy to bring Castillo's price down, but with the Astros also hot on Luis' trail, that strategy could have easily backfired. So the Mets actually succeeded despite themselves on that one.

(I guess that's kinda like the Estrada robbery, which would have never happened had it not been for Torrealba's bum shoulder. So Omar should give a kiss to his lucky garden gnome or whatever talisman he uses to align the stars.)

But now comes the hardest trick of all for Minaya. Because while getting a starting catcher for a guy who goes to a place where he can now wash down his HGH with the smooth flavor of Old Milwaukee is nice, the Mets are still in pursuit of that elusive ace, almost a full season after they missed out on Barry Zito. The chips are still there, and if anybody who knows more about Fernando Martinez than I do can convince me that he's worth keeping, I'm all ears. But if Mike Pelfrey and Phil Humber taught me anything, it's that sometimes it's better to turn your chips into major league talent before those chips depreciate in value. The trick is to recognize the very peak in their value and make the move at the right time. The way the Mets need an ace, there may be no better time than right now.

(Especially with two first round draft picks this June...imagine that! And for that I give thanks in recognition of the upcoming holiday to Tom Glavine for doing something right by the Mets for the first time since August, which was exacerbating the inevitable and signing with the Braves so early. Maybe his Met past wasn't so wonderful. Actually, his most recent past kinda stunk. But he might have helped fund the future with that pre-December signing...that is if the Mets don't screw up the 18th pick by selecting Steve Chilcott again.)

***

Whether you're putting lipstick on your pig before you take it out of the oven, or you are celebrating the shipment of a very tall turkey to Wisconsin, here's hoping you enjoy your Thanksgiving tomorrow. May your turkeys have more juice than your relief pitchers.

The Crux Of What Grinds My Gears

Because sometimes it takes days of reflection, lots of miniature hot dogs wrapped in blankets, and an inability to let go of the past that takes me to the very Gamma and Alpha of what really makes me upset about this whole Paul Lo Duca thing.

Dan Marino.

Oh, I guess I have to explain that (I keep forgetting that nobody has brainwaves as warped as mine.)

I'll never forget being speechless that day in 1994 when the New York Jets blew a 24-6 lead in the fourth quarter against the Miami Dolphins...a game that culminated in the two words that still sends shivers down my spine: fake spike.

Two weeks later, the Jets played the Lions in a game that seemed like a funeral procession. It was one of those typical Barry Sanders games where every time he carried the ball the Jets would stop him in the backfield...except of course for those one or two carries Sanders would go for gains of anywhere between 70-90 yards. The Jets couldn't get a damn thing going on offense and lost 18-6. It was the first day that I ever remember hearing the term "back up the truck", as in "BACK UP THE TRUCK, GET RID OF ALL OF 'EM! THIS TEAM IS GARBAGE!!!"

Yes, that team was garbage, as they went from 6-5 to 6-10 before you can say "Pete Carroll".

Back then, 1994 at the Meadowlands counted as a collapse of epic proportions, and "back up the truck" never seemed so apropos of something. The thing that Jets team needed mentally was for the losing attitude to be washed out. The roster was good, but it was old. Some players needed to go if for no other reason than the fact that the last thing the team needed was for too many players hanging around who were still shell shocked from losing the last five games of the season. If that meant that some babies had to go with the bathwater, so be it.

And that's what the Jets tried to do going into 1995, as they got rid of their head coach (Carroll), and solid core players like their leading receiver (Rob Moore), a Hall of Fame safety (Ronnie Lott), a Hall of Fame wideout (or at least Art Monk should be in the Hall, the one bright spot in that Lions game was seeing Monk break the all-time record for consecutive games with a catch), and a Pro-Bowl calibre cornerback (James Hasty, who's in the above photo as a spectator to disaster).

(Of course, they replaced Carroll with Rich Kotite and won four games over the next two seasons, but that's neither here nor there. The idea of roster turnover was a sound one back then, and maybe they didn't get rid of enough players.)

Fast forward to November of 2007, soon after the Mets made five straight losses in 1994 seem less like a collapse and more like a mere life lesson. If there's ever a need for some roster turnover where some babies go out with the bathwater, it's the current New York Mets. Instead it looks more and more like the Mets, whether it be out of the lack of options that are out there, or the thinking that the '07 Mets are less shell shocked and more determined and motivated by their collapse, have decided to go into '08 with basically the same team that fell apart in '07, keeping guys like Moises Alou and Damion Easley...and at least making an effort to re-sign Luis Castillo before their recurring, inexplicable fascination with converting shortstops into second basemen has taken hold yet again.

(Will this franchise ever learn? I mean really, David Eckstein's the best they can do? But that's another entry for another time, my friends.)

Of course the one guy who unequivocally, according to Mets brass at least, cannot come back under any circumstances, is Paul Lo Duca. If you believe what Jon Heyman said on Friday, the Mets blame Lo Duca for calling the wrong pitches in 2006 (I guess that includes the one that Guillermo Mota shook off before Scott Spiezio sent it to the top of the wall in Game 2 of the Cardinals series, right?) And the fact that they ignored Lo Duca this winter as if he had a communicable disease (you can make your own joke about the Long Island bar scene if you wish, I'll refrain) tells me that the Mets blame Lo Duca for Scott Spiezio, for the entire 2006 playoffs, for the collapse this past September, for Jose Reyes' slump, for the Scott Kazmir trade, for Jimmy Rollins' proclamation, for Rickey Henderson, for the lines at Shea Stadium's bathrooms, for traffic on I-80, for Michigan losing to Appalachian State, and for Bobby Thomson's home run in 1951.

I have to say, in all of the dissecting and re-dissecting
I've seen and made on September's collapse, well down on the list...if it's even on the list...is Paul Lo Duca's pitch calling. But that is the scapegoat that the Mets are selling us. I ask you, with all of the other deficiencies facing the Mets, is that fair? Because so far, that's what the Mets are telling us...they're telling us that everyone else on the Mets wants to win next season except Paul Lo Duca.

Perhaps I'm overreacting. I admit I'm not the most level headed guy in the room even when I'm in a room by myself. And I'm fully aware that there could be some major changes for the better between now and the winter caravan, although Omar Minaya is going to have to be a special kind of creative to do it now that Yorvit Torrealba is apparently going to try to bat higher than the Manhattan area code somewhere else. But I can't help thinking that because we're not seeing the wholesale cleansing as we did with the Jets in 1994, one man is taking the blame for three weeks of bad baseball...and worse off, it's the wrong man.

Not A Charge Was True

I gotta hand it to the crack staff here at "Musings", they have their cameras everywhere...even at the final meeting between Paul Lo Duca and Mets brass, where they may have accused him of calling the wrong pitches during the '06 Playoffs:



As the song says: not a charge was true. Guess Paulie will be on his way to Denver to prove he's a man.

Marriage And Divorce

So did you hear that Tori Spelling and Jessica Alba decided to forget men all together and get married to each other? Yes indeed. Tori decided to take Jessica's last name and now she will be known as Tori Alba.

That's not funny.

Here's what else isn't funny: Tori Alba, er...I mean, Yorvit Torrealba could be the Mets next starting catcher. Awesome. A guy who hit .212 away from Coors Field is going to (gasp!) leave Coors Field and come to the Mets?

Meanwhile, Paul Lo Duca is in a room somewhere with Ozzy Osbourne posters on the wall...staring at the telephone waiting for a call from the Mets as if he was waiting for a call from the prom queen. He shouldn't hold his breath, as the Mets have all but served him with divorce papers. Here are the list of Met priorities at catcher that are ahead of him:

• Yorvit Torrealba
• Ramon Hernandez
• Gerald Laird
• Ronny Paulino
• Miguel Montero
• Kelly Shoppach
• Sandy Alomar Jr.
• Benito Santiago
• Jorge Posada (Omar's still at the window waiting for Posada to show up with two duffle bags saying "I changed my mind!")
• Gary Lee Cavagnaro
• A wet sack of flour
• Yogi Berra (It's that Yankee pedigree.)
• Paul Lo Duca

It's just what the Mets do, isn't it? You have Lo Duca, a guy who enjoys being a Met, and has repeatedly said (begged?) that he wants to remain a Met, and that he loves being a Met and he loves the fans. So what do the Mets do? Ignore him as if he was that guy at the party that tells the same joke to everyone in the room, over and over again. It's really no wonder that other franchises regularly have players that come out and say that in their heart they'll always be a member of that team, while the Mets regularly have players like Tony Tarasco, who teach young pitchers how to smuggle hooch in peanut butter jars. (That's right, I brought up Tony Tarasco. What of it?)

But more than that, what exactly does Yorvit Torrealba bring to the table that Paul Lo Duca doesn't? He throws out more runners? That would be wrong, kind sir. Paulie has thrown out .234 while Yorvit has chucked .191. He handles a pitching staff better? Both catchers have an ERA of 4.12...you want to tell me Yorvit's 4.12 is more impressive than Lo Duca's 4.12 because of Coors Field? That's up for debate.

He blocks more balls? Four passed balls for Yorvit, two for Paulie. Zone rating? Well, Yorvit has him at .971 to .889. Even though I'm not smart enough to grasp what in the bloody world a zone rating is, I'm guessing that .971 is better than .889.

But the only formula that the Mets are looking at is TH + E...otherwise known as the Distraction Factor. Yorvit's Distraction Factor is near zero, if not exactly zero. Lo Duca's Distraction Factor? It's about 105. TH + E, if you must know, is Tabloid Headlines + Ejections. Too high a distraction factor does not jive with the Wilpons, who want to have a team of "oh golly gee" guys who aren't going to rock the boat.

Oh yeah, and Torrealba is six years younger too, a small fact that didn't prevent the Mets from re-signing Moises Alou to a "one out of every two games" contract, which tells me that it's the Distraction Factor that is keeping Lo Duca from returning. Because heaven forbid the Mets have any players that show some emotion and actually care about baseball a little bit more than your average run o' the mill robot.

***

Which brings me to Tom Glavine, because as you know, baseball is merely a game which nobody is devastated, only disappointed. He's not coming back. Hooray. But the Mets can at least get more out of Glavine now than they did during Game number 162. All the Wilpons have to do is offer arbitration to the man who so obviously wants to escape a challenging baseball environment like New York to return to the comforts of Alpharetta, GA. If the Mets do that, they will get the Braves 18th pick in next June's draft. Which brings about the question: If the Mets do that, and if a "number one" talent like Rick Porcello drops into their laps as he did all the way to the 27th pick last June, will the Mets draft him? Or will they do what everyone else until the Tigers did and let him go because they'd never want to meet his price?

Then again, looking at past drafts to try to pick out some great players that were drafted at number 18 to support my argument and not coming up with anyone better than Aaron Heilman from 1978 on, is it too harsh to think that if the Mets did get the 18th pick, they'd probably screw it up anyway? Before Heilman, the last two 18's they drafted were 1992's Chris Roberts (when players like Shannon Stewart, Charles Johnson, Johnny Damon, Jason Giambi, and Todd Helton were still on the board), and 1991's immortal Al Shirley (when Aaron Sele was still on the board? The humanity!)

***

But why bother with the silly thing such as the draft when you can go get another player from Japan, a strategy which has worked so well in the past. No, not Kosuke Fukudome, who's been compared to Ichiro, but Hiroki Kuroda ... a pitcher who's been compared to Kei Igawa, only without the upside. That's comforting.

Here's a scouting report:

The Mets are also believed to be interested in Japanese righty Hiroki Kuroda, and one AL team official provided a scouting report to The Post, saying the pitcher's fastball is "average to slightly above average" and that he has a "good forkball." The official also said Kuroda "throws strikes and is a tough competitor."

Translated, that means he has a batting practice fastball, a forkball that hitters will learn to lay off by June, and when one of his strikes is hit over the apple in center field, he'll curse at himself on the mound. I know I'm excited.

Heaven's Waiting Room

(Metstradamus wakes up in a white room...with lots of chairs, and a perfect view of the clouds and sunbursts.)

MD: What the heck am I doing here? (Looks around) Hey, they've got the current issue of Sports Illustrated. That's a plus.

(Someone enters through the door.)

MD: Hello? What is this place?

Second person: Oh, you're in heaven.

MD: Heaven? Wait...I'm dead?

SP: Well, this isn't exactly heaven. You're in heaven's waiting room.

MD: Waiting room? There's a line?

SP: Not really. You're the only one here, right?

MD: Oh boy. I don't want to die. How did this happen?

SP: Hey, I'm not God, I can't answer everything. What was the last thing you remember?

MD: Well, I was in my friend's car coming home from the Jets game, and he put the end of the Mets game on the radio for me even though he's a Yankee fan.

SP: Wow, he may actually make it up here. Go on.

MD: So the Mets were winning 6-3 against the Marlins when I left the game, but by the time we got to the car it was already 6-5. And I started to feel my chest thumping.

SP: Oh, I see where this is going.

MD: And then the bottom of the ninth came, and Billy Wagner came in to save the game...except that his back had been a little creaky, so he gave up a dinger to Dan Uggla. Then I started to feel faint.

SP: Do you remember anything after that?

MD: Yeah...the third out that Paul Lo Duca dropped to put the winning run on base. After that, the next thing I remember is opening my eyes and being in this room.

SP: Did you feel anything right after that dropped third strike?

MD: You know, I felt like I had enough. Yup, I had enough of these late inning disasters. I felt really faint.

SP: Oh Metstradamus...you're not dead.

MD: No? Well why am I in a waiting room with a signed picture of St. Peter on the wall?

SP: Well first off, I got the signed St. Peter picture on eBay. But to answer your question my good man, through the course of a baseball season there always comes a time when a fan decides to, how do you say, "check out". They give up. They can't take the drama anymore and go into a baseball coma.

MD: With all due respect, I think you've lost your mind. I've never heard of a baseball coma. Every time I get frustrated, I never end up in a room like this. I just throw something against the wall. I must have had a heart attack!

SP: No, it's baseball coma. Very rarely does a baseball coma involve someone actually losing consciousness. Usually it just involves wandering around the house for 24 hours without sleeping, eating or talking. It doesn't usually happen in a car. You're obviously a rare case. Let me see here, I'm looking through your file...hmmm. It says here you blog about the Mets, right?

MD: That's right.

SP: And you were just at the Jets game, right?

MD: Yeah. They beat Miami, 31-28.

SP: Yeah, but it says here that the game shouldn't have been that close. It was 31-13 with about ten minutes left, yet you almost lost.

MD: Uh-huh...

SP: Yeah, think about it. You're watching a Miami team come back against your New York team, and you're already worried. And meanwhile, you're other New York team is in Miami trying to give this game away. You go to your car, you turn on the radio, and Aaron Heilman is starting to give that lead away. Then Billy Wagner gives up a home run, and that's it. You are obviously undergoing a severe case of "I can't take this anymore." Heck, I don't know if I could take it either.

MD: So I'm fine?

SP: You're gonna be. I just need to double check your paperwork here...oh yes. Here you go. It says here in your file, and I quote, "He has a lot more torture to go in his life...including a particularly bad stretch between now and the beginning of November."

MD: What does that mean?

SP: It means you ain't getting off that easy.

MD: But the beginning of November is the end of the World Series. Am I going to suffer all the way up until Game 7 of the World Series when the Mets win? Am I going to suffer up until Game 7, and they lose? Are the Mets going to miss the playoffs all together and every Yankee fan in the world laughs at me non-stop until the beginning of November when they have their ticker tape parade? Dammit, what else does that file say?

SP: Dude, I can't tell you everything. They'll put me in purgatory!

MD: Well can you at least tell me what's happening down on earth with today's game?

SP: Go ahead and turn it on.

MD: You get WPIX up here?

SP: Metstradamus, this is Heaven. We get everything up here...even Versus.

MD: Wow, this really is heaven. All right let's see, one, one...Aaron Sele's on the mound in a save situation?

SP: Hey, we're winning.

MD: Yeah, but Sele's in the game with a one run lead. We're finished!

SP: Now 'Damus, you're not getting back to earth with that attitude.

MD: But sir, this bullpen is hilariously bad.

SP: Now I don't want to hear any of this. Heaven is a place of faith and if you can't take even a sliver of faith back down to earth then your life will be filled with misery and pain, even through the good times.

MD: Oh, kinda like Jeff Kent?

SP: Yeah, like that.

MD: I guess I see your point.

SP: There you go. Now look up at the screen...what do you see?

MD: I see Scott Schoeneweis on the mound. I see a grounder to first. And I see the Mets win.

SP: Yes.

MD: Scott Schoeneweis. Aaron Sele. Joe Smith. They were all castoffs, and today, when the big boys imploded, these guys were lights out. Hey, I don't understand...

SP: If you truly understood baseball, could you really enjoy it?

MD: I suppose.

SP: Well, look down there...it's time for you to go back. You've got a lot to do.

MD: Oh yeah. I'm waking up. I guess I'll be okay. Hey, somebody's trying to help revive me by sticking a big needle in my chest. Who is that?

SP: Oh, that's Hugh Laurie.

MD: The guy from that show? He really does that stuff in real life?

SP: Metstradamus, you already know too much.

MD: Yeah, I know I'm not going to get a World Series ticket because he's going to be sitting in the front row. He probably doesn't even care about baseball.

SP: Yeah, but he's saving your life so I wouldn't bitch too much.

MD: Hey, I never got your name.

SP: Just call me Anulfo.

MD: Thanks...hey Anulfo, you said "we're" winning. Were you a Mets fan?

SP: Let's just say I was a friend of the program.

MD: How friendly?

SP: Remember 1977?

MD: Not really.

SP: Nobody does anymore. That's all right, you know too much anyway. You'll have the answers all in due time. I will say this: October 23rd, 2017...

MD: Yeah?

SP: It'll be around 11:37 PM...

MD: Yeah? Yeah???

SP: Just remember to duck. I can't say anymore.

Cheat Codes And Bourbon

It's almost as if whenever the Phillies play the Mets lately, they use some sort of Playstation cheat code to pull ahead at the end. But it's not the usual cheat. Because not even a video game has the kind of cheats that the Phillies have been employing lately. To the best of my knowledge, there's no "interference cheat" in these games. There's no "pitch through a foot injury" cheat.

And there's certainly no "get their catcher thrown out of the game so that his replacement can drop a foul ball to set up a sacrifice bunt which is thrown into center field..." cheat.

Which buttons on the controller do you have to push to activate that cheat? Is it the X, O, X, O, L1, L2, L1, L2, R3, Hokey Pokey buttons?

If anybody out there has an Philadelphia hex breaker that involves a twig, a back order copy of Baseball America, and a pint of bourbon, I suggest you use it before Saturday's game. And don't forget to hit that hokey pokey button and turn yourself around.

Hardcore Insanity

What some people refer to as "hardcore", others refer to as "insane".

When I broached the idea of seeing four major league baseball games in a span of 48 hours, with about 14 hours of driving inter-dispersed among the 48 hours, I sat on the fence...teetering back and forth about whether this was the act of a couple of hardcore baseball fans, or whether it was the final step towards the looney bin.

So was all the effort worth it? Was it hardcore? Was it insane? (Warning: what you are about to read is an epic...split up into digestible parts, but epic nonetheless. Not epic as in good...just long. Be prepared.)

Game One: Quadruple "A"

My brother warned me that the Great American Ballpark was a really nice minor league ballpark, kind of like those players that dominate AAA ball, but can't quite climb the Mendoza line in the majors. I can't go quite that far in assessing the Reds' home, but there is definitely a minor league feel to the park. It's intimate, it has fireworks, and it's very...very...red. It's easy for a camera to spot a Mets fan in the crowd, as black and orange seem to clash with all the red seats, the red shirts, and the blood spilled by Reds fans as...

All right, maybe not quite that red. But as you can tell from the picture above, there were plenty of Mets fans at GAB on Tuesday night. And the boys at Faith and Fear in Flushing would be happy to know that one of those Met fans was sporting the now classic number shirt seen in many cities around the world, and now in Ohio...though I wasn't fast enough to grab a picture of the guy, you guys will just have to trust me that he was there.

We spent the first three innings in the Riverfront Club, which is basically fancy food, real plates, and free beer. What's better than that? (If you go, try the cream of shallot). How about the kid waiter who watched Paul Lo Duca's first home run with us, not batting an eye when we clapped politely?

"I don't care who you root for, as long as I get paid. I'm actually a Mets fan anyways."

This was quickly followed by the poor kid getting admonished by his boss for not keeping the tables clean.

Then there was the bitter Reds fan sitting at the bar who noticed my Pedro jersey and starts in with the bartender...her rant went something like "blah blah blah blah blah all these Mets fans blah blah blah blah blah blah they're just like Cub fans blah blah blah blah blah blah".

OK then.

Then it was off to our big time seats about 22 rows up from the Reds dugout, and sitting next to a Cincinnati celebrity...namely: Rocco Castellano, a fitness instructor and attitude adjustor who has been on local radio, and is not only good people, but he's actually a Mets fan from New Jersey. Wearing a Pedro Martinez jersey in enemy territory, it was good to have a fitness instructor on my side (because I'm too anemic to defend myself, as you know). As for the attitude adjusting, I wonder if Guillermo Mota has been a recent beneficiary of Rocco's expert teachings. If not, he probably should be.

Definitely make a pilgrimage to the place for no other reason than the fact that you can run to the bathroom and get back to your seat without missing a pitch. You couldn't do that at Shea unless you used an empty cup at your seat. And also, try the deep fried twinkies. Just stay away from that chili/spaghetti mess unless you have had tetanus shots.

We were lucky to be present at the game on the all-important 26th anniversary of Woody Woodward almost being hit by a ten pound sack of flour at Dodger Stadium. And it was another not so great day in Reds history 36 years later...as not only did Lo Duca hit his second dinger of the night, but my brother spent the entire night heckling Adam Dunn. Good times had by all (especially the guy in his fifties who was literally dancing in the street after the game because Orlando Hernandez threw him a baseball and he caught it), as the Mets had their first five game winning streak of the season (you know, I heard that no team ever made the playoffs without a five game winning streak), and my road record ran to 5-0. But as you know, all good things...

Game Two: What's Up Old People?

We knew it was going to be one of those special kinda days when we rode the elevator with Thom Brenneman at Wednesday afternoon's Mets/Reds tilt. Say what you want about Brenneman (and I have), but the guy not only called Boise State's Fiesta Bowl masterpiece, he has now also called Appalachian State's massive upset over Michigan. That's cache, my friends.

We traveled up to the upper deck to find my niece, at the game with her schoolmates...and along the way found a Reds usher clapping wildly for Aaron Harang as he was announced as the Reds' Roberto Clemente award candidate (and seeing how empty the upper deck was that day, we have strong suspicions that the usher was, in reality, Aaron Harang's mom.)

So my brother finds his daughter in the upper deck among her schoolmates (great school system in Cincinnati...as soon as the class saw us two mooks in our Mets jerseys, the teachers spurred their kids to chant "Let's Go Reds" at us. That's some mighty hospitality there...must be that "midwest polite") and gives her a Mets hat to wear. She then asks her daddy with a big smile on her face: "Are you going to watch the game with me?" My brother...still stinging over the fact that his daughter had him in the bathroom at GAB while Pedro Martinez was striking out his 3,000th career batter on Monday...said "nope, I just came to give you your hat".

That's good parenting.

What he probably wanted to say was that we had much better seats than the class. For reference, here's approximately what row Q gets you at Shea Stadium:

Meanwhile, here's row Q in Cincinnati:

Not bad, eh?

But before we got back to our row Q, I took this picture in the concourse of a painting featuring the Big Red Machine:


You'll notice the former Met in the lower right corner...that's correct, George Foster. I took this picture thinking "oh, here's an opportunity to rip on Foster in my next blog entry for never, ever diving for a fly ball in a Mets uniform".

Wouldn't you know that a few feet to the left of the picture that I was going to segue into a George Foster joke, was George Foster himself? Yes...George Foster was signing autographs for the throngs of people waiting in line to buy his signature on an 8X10 for $25.

Well, actually, it was more like the throng of person waiting for his autograph...so you know I couldn't let this opportunity go by without getting a picture with the man, and getting a personalized 8X10. George Foster...who once hit a triple in a Mets uniform, but was now wearing a Reds jersey during this session, was taking a picture with little ol' me. That's when this exchange occurred:

GF: Try not to beat up on us too bad today, OK?

MD: You know when the Mets signed you, it was the first step in the Mets
becoming relevant again.

GF: I thought I was the only one who figured that out.

Still confident after all these years.

(Foster would later do an interview on the Diamondvision, and when asked to give a message to the senior citizens on Senior Citizens Day, the 59 year-old Foster's inspirational message was: "What's up old people!")

The game featured temperatures that reached 105, the Mets being shut down by some guy named Tom Shearn, and Joey Votto getting his first major league hit, a bomb off of John Maine (along with the appearance of maybe the greatest name ever for a baseball player: Buck Coats.) And I gotta say: I've never had so much fun at a 7-0 beating in my life. Consider that for the final three innings, we sat here:

This picture was taken right before my conversation with Jose, which was basically me asking Jose if he was enjoying his day off, and Reyes nodding his head and flexing his muscles...telling me he needed to get stronger (probably more mentally than physically, I'd say).

Mets fans had taken over the rows behind the dugout, having a good time talking to their team...but wondering why Moises Alou wouldn't smile at them. Rest assured that Moises isn't a dour guy. He's just afraid that if he smiles, he'll pull a face muscle and be out for three weeks, so he's just thinking of the team in this instance.

A funny thing happened during the ninth inning down 0-7. Mets fans were getting up a "Let's Go Mets" chant. Certainly a far cry from some of the seemingly constant complainin' about the team back here in New York to hear a group of fans blissfully backing the team with the stench of the Phillies series seeming more and more like a distant memory. It was a glorious thing. But it had to be interrupted by a higher calling, which was my brother heckling Mike Stanton:

"Hey Stanton, Prince Fielder called, he wants his pants back!"

No matter that he was closing out a day game doldrum for the Mets, we had to extract our pound of flesh from a Hall of Hate charter member (my only regret was that I couldn't tie a Krispy Kreme to a fishing pole and dangle it in front of Stanton in hopes that he's chase it. Next year.)

Game Three: Free Parking

Here was the challenge of the day...get from Cincinnati to Chicago in four hours, find parking, and get in our seats by 8:05 for our first ever trip to Wrigley Field to see the Cubs and the Dodgers. Who could blame us for thinking we had a chance...as not only did we hear on the radio that batting practice was delayed by a thunderstorm, but that the Braves had come back to defeat the Phillies 9-8 after being down 0-5 when we left GAB, keeping the Mets lead at five games. This prompted my brother to call a Phillies fan to rub it in, with me doing the tomahawk chop in the background.

Yes, things were coming together.

The festive atmosphere we anticipated at Wrigley caused me to start singing the Amy Winehouse song "They tried to make me go to rehab but I said 'no, no, no'" for the better part of three hours (my brother probably needed rehab after acquiring that earworm from me). Unfortunately, we missed most of the festive, rehab-free atmosphere of Wrigley as we didn't get to the park until the bottom of the fourth (while missing some guy from Reno 911 throwing out the first pitch).

Then it took two innings to park the car.

Luckily, we ran into a couple leaving the game who my brother subconsciously willed into giving us their parking sticker so that we wouldn't have to find the missing parking attendant and give up upwards of forty dollars to park and watch three innings of baseball...as we didn't sit down in Wrigley until the bottom of the sixth. (So let this be a lesson to those of you thinking of trying this kind of trip: Cincinnati to Chicago is impossible if you want to see every pitch. Can't be done. Believe me, we tried. Any faster, and we would have had Jackie Gleason and Boss Hog tailing us.)

But three innings in Wrigley was more than enough for one night (and in my mind, it still counts as two games in one day...pretty cool.) Night games in Wrigley, even if consumed in a small dose, are an event. What more could you want from a baseball game than an electric crowd, a beer, and national television?

How about not having a pillar in front of your seat?

No wonder I was able to get these tickets so easily online. No matter, because I scored my Derrek Lee bobblehead doll (which upon entering my apartment, immediately leaped from the box and hit a home run off of my Heath Bell bobblehead doll) thanks to our Chicago mole who was actually there early enough to be one of the first 10,000 fans to enter the park (don't worry, for his efforts I paid for his ticket...I'm a compassionate one).

The Cubs won in a laugher, which meant we were lucky (?) enough to hear the Go Cubs Go song that the team has adopted as a theme song. Here are the lyrics:

They're singing ...Go, Cubs, go
Go, Cubs, go
Hey, Chicago, what do you say
The Cubs are gonna win today.
Go, Cubs, go
Go, Cubs, go
They tried to make me go to rehab, I said: Go Cubs Go

Oh, sorry...I got my earworms mixed up.

After the game featured the only Wrigley reference to my Mets hat (the infamous travel hat, by the way) which came from a vendor who was selling a t-shirt on Waveland which referred to the sexual preference of the St. Louis Cardinals. He spots my Met hat and says:

"You must hate the Cardinals as much as we do."

Which was met by three simple words that came out of my mouth: "Yadier...f***ing...Molina".

In one respect, brothers in arms.

Game Four: One With...

Now Wrigley Field was great. But I did have a couple of complaints. The one Cub souvenir that I really wanted was a Cliff Floyd shirt. I figured that going into a Cubs shop across the street from the Field and seeing t-shirts immortalizing the likes of Matt Murton, Carlos Marmol, and Ronny Cedeno would up my chances of finding a Cubs shirt featuring a Chicago native. But alas, my efforts to find a "Floyd 15" shirt was futile. And as much as I love Cliff, I wasn't dropping a buck-sixty on an official "Floyd 15" jersey.

My other complaint were the bathrooms. Call me crazy, but relieving myself in a community sink isn't my idea of fun. (If you've been there, you know what I mean.)

But no Cliff Floyd tee, hijinks in the bathroom, and the lack of opportunity to boo the resting Jeff Kent for a second straight day were made up for by the hot dogs. Guys and gals, do yourselves a favor. Go to the hot dog stand and order a "one with". Just trust us.

And then, after Andre Ethier broke the Cubs hearts with a three run home run off of Ryan Dempster in the ninth (apparently, the Mets aren't the only team that has Dempster's number), it was time to end our trip, and take the long trip home. So was it worth it? Was driving and riding all these miles to see four ball games in 48 hours worth the effort?

Damn straight.

So I guess my vote is for hardcore.

But you know, we passed by Indianapolis on the way back home from Wrigley on Thursday night. We could have caught a quarter of the NFL opener on our way back to Cincinnati.

Hey, what do you think...we're insane?

A Token Of Thanks

Mr. Maine,

Please accept this thank you for having some guts and not laying an egg as if you were in Philadelphia. Hopefully, whatever you pitched with tonight can be spread out a little though your locker room. Be sure that you share some crackers and salami with your friends Carlos D. and Jose for their efforts. And please make sure that Mike gets some pears and oranges in preparation for his start tomorrow. Fruit, as you know, is loaded with essential vitamins and minerals needed to pitch in Atlanta.

God speed to you and yours,

Metstradamus

P.S. If your catcher had blocked your change-up, then you would have gotten out of the sixth without a scratch. So if you decide not to give him crackers or salami, that's your business.

"One Shot"

The later portion of Tuesday night's loss had a very Deer Hunter feel to it. Not the video game, but the movie where Christopher Walken offs himself while playing Russian Roulette.

There's one problem: Can it really be a game of Russian Roulette if the gun only has bullets for one contestant?

Because apparently, the Mets wasted their lone bullet in the second inning, when Carlos Delgado hit a ball to the moon for a 2-0 Mets lead. Who knew that would be it off of Adam Eaton?

If the Mets don't hit Adam Eaton tomorrow night, not only should they be ashamed of themselves, but the Phillies are going to be back in this race with a load of confidence tomorrow. -Me, unfortunately, last night

Guess what cheech, we have a race. (And the Mets should be ashamed of themselves.)

Can't say there weren't plenty of chances to stretch the lead a little bit. Paul Lo Duca grounding into a double play in the fourth inning. Delgado just missing on a deep fly to right field in the sixth, followed by Lo Duca stranding Carlos Beltran at third base. Delgado striking out in the eighth with runners on first and second.

After that, and after Jimmy Rollins hit a home run off of Pedro Feliciano while Tom Glavine was doing his in-game interview on SNY, it was just a matter of when and how...not if.

(And while I'm on the subject, these in-game interviews have to stop for the good of humanity. Yes, they're informative...yes, they're fun. And yes, the Mets seem to lose every single time one of these interviews happen...especially to Glavine. So around the start of the seventh inning, Kevin Burkhardt needs to be tied to a chair and gagged for his own good...only to be let free when the game is safely over. Irrational? Yes. But is it important...)

Of course, it's always the "how" part of the equation that's most fun. How does a Lo Duca throwing error, plus a thirty foot bunt hit that Lo Duca let roll foul except for the fact that it rolled the complete opposite way and stayed fair to cause the 2-2 tie grab ya? Somebody had better get Paulie some Dramamine so that he can get to sleep and not have the nightmares of Tuesday's game that he's going to have?

The Phillies came back in the ninth with their closer, Brett Myers. Who do the Mets counter with? Guillermo Mota. That, apparently, is how you play Russian Roulette where the chamber in the gun is empty when the Phillies are holding it, and when the Mets take hold of the gun, the chamber has five hollow point bullets ready to pierce a hole in your brain so wide that even Doug Sisk can throw through it for a strike. Amazingly, the empty bullet slot came up in the ninth inning for Mota. Predictably, that same slot did not come up in the tenth for him, as he gave up a bloop hit to Shane Victorino, then a bomb to Ryan Howard to bring the Phillies to within four games of the divison lead.

Why was Mota in for two innings...again? Probably because Pedro Martinez called up from Port St. Lucie over the weekend because he spotted a mechanical flaw in Mota. Of course when Pedro talks, people listen. And Mota's two "Post-Pedro" scoreless innings on Sunday against the Dodgers gave everybody in the organization this warm and fuzzy feeling inside.

But did you know that you also get a warm and fuzzy feeling from drinking anti-freeze before you convulse and die? Apparently, that's what you get from Mota in his first inning of work before the Mets convulse and die during his second inning. Pedro spotted a mechanical flaw? Hooray! Who's going to spot the rocks in Mota's head which would cause him to throw a cookie to Howard on a 1-2 count?

How ironic is it going to be when the man who called collect to try to fix a flaw in Guillermo Mota's mechanics is going to be the same man who will put Mota out of a job when he returns? At least Met fans hope it's going to be really ironic. Because the Guillermo Mota experiment, which really should have ended long ago, has to end tomorrow after Willie and Omar get a night's sleep to think this over.

Insurance...What A Concept!

You would think that a leaping amazing catch at a wall containing the logo of a now famous insurance company would have put a collective thought in the heads of the team that benefited from said catch.

AIG, in fact, stands for: Ain't Insurance runs Grand?

Ain't It Grand to be able to go into a late inning and be able to breathe...regardless of the fact that Jose Reyes had to kick Matt Treanor in the head to do it? Because it's not necessarily the clutch ninth inning come from behind win that's going to convince Met fans that their team is back...no, it's wins like today where you have chances to put a team away and you score five runs in the eighth inning (two home runs by Moises Alou don't hurt none either). They made the most of that chance today, unlike past games where they've had chance after chance to deliver the knockout blow and instead let teams hang around until they can break their hearts (see: Friday and Saturday).

But of course, with every silver lining comes a dark cloud (you like how I flipped that one on you, don't ya? You see, the usual phrasing is...ah, forget it). As soon as the Mets put Paul Lo Duca on the DL despite Lo Duca claiming he's healthy and feels great (after what's happened to Endy Chavez, I don't think I would take a chance, either), Fluff Castro comes up with "lower back discomfort", exposing the Mets to the musical stylings of Mike DiFelice.

Yes boys and girls, Mike DiFelice, until further notice, is the starting catcher for the New York Mets. If there is a silver lining to that dark cloud (oh, the phrasing equivalent of the double reverse! You can't stop me...you can only hope to contain me in a nut house somewhere) is waiting to see Willie Randolph justify batting DiFelice ahead of Lastings Milledge in the lineup. The anticipation is killing me.

Three Hundred Apologies

I bought tickets to see The Police way back on February 26th. I had tried to get tickets to see them at Madison Square Garden and Fenway Park...with no luck. But with some luck, one show at the 76,000 seat Giants Stadium was added for Sunday, August 5th. How the hell was I supposed to know that it would be the exact day that Tom Glavine would win his 300th career game?

Oh yeah, my name suggests that I'm a soothsayer. Damn!

So please Tom, except my apologies for not witnessing your historic victory live. Synchronicity was never one of my strong points. But I'm watching you on ESPN's replay...you seemed to have the Cubs Wrapped Around Your Finger all night. I bet you were so nervous, you must have felt that you had Voices Inside Your Head. (Rickey Henderson has those same voices, you know...but all they ever seem to say is De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da. Rickey's a little weird, you know.)

And know that your efforts kept your team in pace with the Braves and Phillies, who scored five runs in the ninth to tie the Brewers, and then eventually defeat them. When I heard that after I came home, I was practically Driven To Tears.

At least Moises Alou, the King of Pain, got to play and support your efforts. And Paul Lo Duca caught your historic victory for you...he wanted so bad to be in there and be a part of your historic evening. But what could he do? All he wanted is to be Next to You. Too bad that Luis Castillo left early due to heat exhaustion. If he needed water, then some scientists suggest that all he needs to do is go Walking On The Moon.

In 2005, people thought you were through. You found out that eventually, the Truth Hits Everybody. But when your World Was Running Down, you (and Rick Peterson) made the best of what was still around. And now, you are a 300 game winner. Oliver Perez, another lefthanded pitcher, would be wise to follow every move you'd make (if not necessarily hanging on Every Breath You'd Take), if he is to someday win his 300th, when he would be Walking In Your Footsteps. But seriously, if you expect anyone to be joining you in the 300 win club soon, you'll be lonely...So Lonely.

So rather than send out an S.O.S., my Message in a Bottle to you is simply this: Congrats, Tom. You earned it. May Everything You Do Be Magic, from now until October.

(Editor's note: This isn't the first time the author of this blog missed an historic Mets game due to attending a concert. Metstradamus' very first concert attended took place on July 4th, 1985. You may remember that date for a 19-inning victory in Atlanta. Thankfully, there was a rain delay in Atlanta that night, enabling the author to witness over half of the game on television upon returning home from the concert.)