To Your Health

You ever watch a Met game at Shea and wonder aloud: "what have you been drinking?"

Once a night, you say?

Then you'll be interested in this tale about a former Met, from a book excerpt via the fine folks at FanHouse:

Interestingly, another Padre, center fielder Mike Cameron, had a more intimate experience with game-day tipsiness:

"Sh-t, I've played drunk.

"When?"New York City.

"What were the circumstances?

"I went four for four with two jacks and eight ribbies. I'm not saying that's the only day I played drunk, but that was the best one."

So how long before we find out about all of the substances the 2007 Mets were on during the last three weeks of the season? Greenies? Doobies? Frosted Mini-Wheats? When? When will we know?

And if they weren't on anything, don't you think they should have been?

Pass the courvoisier.

***

Hey, the Mets are bringing back Moises Alou and Damion Easley! So much for that whole "let's get younger" thing. Maybe they'll stick around for the 2009 grand opening of our brand new park...which apparently is going to have all the angst of the old park at double the price (if you believe in that whole feng shui stuff.

***

The fine folks at Maxim magazine think that we, as baseball fans, get excited over some pretty dumb things.

Peanut vendors who throw the bag. Every section's got one and, somehow,every section is filled with people who are impressed. Go ahead and whoop it up for the 50-year-old man in the neon shirt whose only skill is throwing bags of snacks accurately, but we choose to pity him.

Actually, we whoop it up for him because we're secretly hoping that the Mets will sign the guy in the neon shirt to replace Guillermo Mota in the bullpen. Look, Ed Glynn was a hot dog vendor before he reached the majors. And when he got to the majors, he...well, he wasn't that great, but that's probably because it's hard to throw hot dogs accurately (especially with all that ketchup on it).

But I'll take the 54-year-old Glynn over Mota, any day of the week. And that, my friends, is why we cheer the peanut vendor.

What A Joke!

So there's this kid, right? He's in divorce court, stuck in the middle of an intense custody battle between his parents. After hours upon hours and days upon days, the judge finally asks the child his preferences.

"Do you want to stay with your mother" asks the judge...

"No", the kid says, "my mom hits me."

"So you want to stay with your father" the judge presumes.

"No", repeats the kid, "my dad hits me."

"Is there anyone that you would prefer to stay with" the judge asks.

The kid ponders the question for a moment, and finally responds: "I want to stay with Guillermo Mota...he can't hit an outside corner to save his life."

***

I guess the Cialis that Guillermo Mota took to offset the effects of those steroids wound up straightening out his fastball instead.

***

How do you keep Guillermo Mota in his house at night? Paint a strike zone in front of the welcome mat. He'll never even come close to it.

***

Here's another joke for you: Why can't the Mets beat Philadelphia?

I don't know. But I know why Guillermo Mota can't beat Philadelphia.

Because he can't beat an egg much less a major league baseball team!

Why oh why must this experiment continue? Why? Finally...FINALLY, a Met gets a clutch hit against Adam Eaton to tie the game and give the Mets some life against their new nemesis, the Phillies. So who gets entrusted with this new life in the sixth inning?

Why it's Guillermo Mota...murderer of new life.

That sixth inning wasn't baseball. That was a snuff film. Because all that is decent died. Jorge Sosa wasn't much better. But my goodness, MacGyver can only do so much with a straw, a rubber band, and a paper clip. You give those things to a Met reliever now a days he'll poke his eye out.

How many walks was it? Ten? Eleven? Fifty-eight? Ollie Perez certainly picked a fine time to pretend it was April with six walks of his own. But for crying out loud, only two of his five runs were earned. I know it's always sunny in Philadelphia, but was it that sunny that Moises Alou could go and drop an easy fly ball?

And Jose Reyes should really consider discontinuing his pregame ritual of dipping his hands in the industrial size can of "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter." (And if he refuses to do that, he should at least stop wiping his hands on Luis Castillo halfway through the game.)

And what was wrong with this guy:

That's Kevin Mulvey in the suit. He's the minor league pitcher of the year. He had a uniform. Why couldn't he pitch? OK, so maybe he didn't have the right uniform pattern, but damn...seeing Guillermo Mota emerge from the bullpen is like craving blood and seeing a string of garlic. I'd rather see Kevin Mulvey...or Kevin Kobel...or my cat come out of the bullpen. Where have you gone, Ed Glynn?

Could that be it? Could Mota have just simply switched drugs?

(Editor's note, in no way am I insinuating that Guillermo Mota smokes dope. It is merely a metaphor for my secret desire to smoke dope and forget that the past weekend ever happened. However, taking drugs do not make your problems go away, kids. Creative, gutsy, and necessary roster moves, however, do. Hint...hint?)