Drawing The Long Straw

You were scared, weren't you?

So was I, when it was 0-0 in the sixth and people were wondering about another 20 inning game to the point that they were taking bets on what would happen first, the Mets game ending or the Jets picking at 29.

But Johan Santana would get his run support to ensure that there would be no lengthening of Thursday night's game. Instead, Frankie Rodriguez lengthened his efforts for a five out save (first since July 2nd of 2005), and the Mets won their first series of the season against the Cubbies with a 5-2 win.

And now, the Mets move on to face the Braves, where rumor has it that Snoop Manuel will unveil his new lineup with Jose Reyes at the third spot. Will it be Lineup 2.0? Or will it be more like Lineup Vista? In any event, Snoop hopes that Reyes in the three hole will "lengthen the lineup" (if Stimulus keeps going 3-for-4 that should lengthen the lineup far enough). This is all very phallic to me, and I'm scared that Mets games are going to be played at 2AM and sponsored by Extenze.

I guess anything is better than those anti-smoking commercials. Hey, I'm anti-smoking too but, gross.

Supersize Me

Very few baseball games exist that can turn me into a laughing hyena, an angry pyromaniac, and a babbling idiot. Most games accomplish one of the three. Some may hit two of those emotions. Rarely the hat trick. But a 20-inning game just about did it.

Top 1:

Who, exactly, is Jamie Garcia?

Bottom 1:

Skip Schumaker doubles, and there are Nyjer Morgan flashbacks. But Santana settles down and goes through the middle of the order in good shape.

Top 3:

Another 1-2-3 inning. Noticed that former Met Gary Bennett turns 38.

Top 4:

Still nothing against Garcia. Jason Bay's average plummeting faster than the stock market.

Top 5:

Crap, we're about to be no-hit by Jamie Garcia. No no-hitters in 48 seasons and we're going to have the deed done to us by Jamie Garcia. Laughter commences at the mere thought.

Bottom 5:

Here I start to think that Johan Santana is going to get screwed somehow. He's pitching too well. Somebody is going to blow it for him.

Top 6:

Hey, a hit! It's a Christmas Miracle!!!

Bottom 6:

Santana knifes through the middle of the order. So much for Pujols' success against Johan.

Top 7:

Jason Bay flies out to deep right. That ball must have been knocked down by the volcanic ash.

Top 10:

It's mentioned to me that a team that holds Albert Pujols and company to zilch through nine innings deserves to win. I mention that a team that gets one hit off Jamie Garcia for seven innings deserves to lose.

That must be why they call me Mr. Sunshine.

Bottom 10:

Alex Cora comes in for his third ever appearance at first base, and saves the day by making a leaping catch into the stands with the bases loaded and two outs. City of St. Louis groans, then thinks "Hey, Sam Bradford is going to need a receiver."

Top 11:

You know in the good ol' days, the Mets have torched the likes of Mitchell Boggs. Now, Boggs reminds us that even 2008 is a long ways away, as he gets the Mets down rather easily. Oh, and Corporal, you're not helping.

Bottom 11:

1-2-3 inning. Gary Bennett turns 42.

Top 12:

Ubaldo Jimenez finishes up his no-hitter against the Braves. One no-hitter in 18 years for Colorado. None in 48 for the Mets. This can't be a good omen.

Bottom 12:

How many bodies would have flown off the bridge if the Mets walked Albert Pujols to get to the pitcher, and Jason Motte beats them with a base hit?

Top 13:

John Maine runs for Rod Barajas. Thankfully, he didn't leave a trail of puke behind.

Top 14:

Blake Hawksworth comes in to pitch. I still think he's a Harvey Birdman character. He strikes out Mike Jacobs. Chris Carter hit .414 in the spring. Just thought I'd bring that up.

Bottom 14:

Once again, Pujols is walked for the pitchers' spot. My heart, once again in my throat as my brain thinks "This is it. Blake Hawksworth is going to win the game for the Cardinals and then waltz back into the romance novel he came from." Thankfully, disaster is avoided.

Top 15:

1-2-3 inning. Jon Niese pinch hits, actually has a good stroke going for him ... well, relative to the rest of the team, anyway.

The Mets now have four hits in fifteen innings. Gary Bennett turns 44.

Bottom 15:

Jenrry Mejia comes into the game and gets through the 15th without soiling himself. Nice to see a rookie make strides.

Top 16:

Mike Jacobs gets the first sacrifice bunt in his life. I look out the window to make sure there are no pigs with wings.

Bottom 16:

La Russa burns his last position player, and Ryan Ludwick burns a chance to win by Paganing himself out of the inning between third and home.

Top 17:

The Canadiens/Capitals game, which started at 7:00, and goes to overtime, ends. This game, which puts me closer to hell with every inning, lives on.

Bottom 17:

Raul Valdez comes into the game. Surely, this has to be it. This has to be the game. Okay, I'm prepared. Just make the death quick and painless, would ya?

Death won't come. Valdez actually has a curveball tonight.

Top 18:

La Russa's trying to give the Mets the game. Felipe Lopez, who hit a grannie to beat the Mets on Friday, is on the hill on Saturday. And he's throwing slop. But the only hit the Mets get is by Valdez (who Lopez hit the grannie off of ... irony), who's thrown out trying to go to second on a bad throw. Up until this point, I am thinking that there's I'm not going to be too upset if the Mets drop this game. Now, now that the Mets can't muster up a simple rally off a position player, that's out the window.

Mike Jacobs flies out to end the inning off of Lopez, who gets through the 18th scoreless. Proof that there's no justice in the world: Jacobs wasn't released before he hit the dugout.

Bottom 18:

I run outside with a glove and a ball because all the junk I've been told about how baseball is a hard game, and how there's no way in the world a regular joe could strike out a major league hitter is blown to bits. If Felipe Lopez can set the Mets down meekly, surely there's hope for me. I'm officially in training.

By the end of the 18th, however, I've blown out my arm. Prevention and Recovery my ass.

Top 19:

"Hey Dave, check this ... I'm going to put a center fielder in to pitch, and put a pitcher in left field. If this works, I'm going to be the greatest f***ing genius of all time! THE GREATEST, I say!" -Tony La Russa

I make up my mind that if the Mets go two innings without scoring a run off two different position players, I would take a torch to Citi Field. There would be no more Shake Shack, no more Beers of the World, and the only delicacy in the outfield would be Charred Home Run Apple. It would all be gone and the Mets would have to finish out the season playing their games in the Ebbets Field apartment complex. Then the Wilpon's dream will truly come true. However, lives are spared as the Mets score the first run of the game against La Russa's plan to have a pitcher play the outfield and an outfielder pitch, which was almost as good a plan as double switching Matt Holliday out of the game ensuring that Pujols would see nothing but walks in front of whatever pitcher has to bat (Editor's update: Okay, Tony gets a pass on that since Holliday was still sick). They still can't get a clean hit off of a position player, but at least Luis Castillo lays down a beautiful sacrifice bunt. Nice that the Mets can execute fundamentals with a center fielder on the mound.

Bottom 19:

In fairness to Frankie Rodriguez, he probably threw about 100 pitches in the bullpen warming up, sitting down. Warming up, sitting down.

That said, the Mets all star closer gave up the same amount of runs as the position player did in the top of the inning, by giving up the tying run on a Yadier Molina base hit. The fact that Frankie warmed up seventeen times didn't help fade away the Aaron Heilman flashbacks. At the end of the inning, Frankie points to the sky, as per custom. Why would he do this?

Because he was thanking the Good Lord that Ryan Ludwick was thrown out stealing second ... and that I couldn't possibly fly to St. Louis and set fire to his jockstrap with him in it.

Top 20:

Pagan reaches on an infield single, and Jacobs hits the first ball out of the infield off a position player. I still want him cut.

Jose Reyes hits a sac fly to give the Mets the lead again. A sac fly ... off Joe Mather. Not a hit ... a sac fly. Reyes, 0 for 7, is now being considered for 10th in the lineup. Jeff Francoeur disagrees.

Bottom 20:

Mike Pelfrey volunteers to come into the game, and after a quick two-out rally, the Mets finally end this and come away with a 2-1 win. That's two runs, off two position players, on three lousy hits off of them. And people wonder why Met fans are so bitter. Imagine if the Mets had lost ... where would this have ranked on the all-time gut wrenching loss list? Top ten? Top five? And how is it that this may wind up being the wackiest game you've ever seen in your life, and the one player on the roster that had nothing to do with it was Oliver Perez? Now that's irony.

At the end of the game, Gary Bennett turned 50.

And Omar Minaya signed him to a three year deal.

King Cranky

Johan Santana losses are like twice the size of a normal loss. That's the burden that Santana carries on this team, much like the burden that Henrik Lundqvist perpetually carries for the New York Rangers. As a goalie for a team that is scoring challenged, chances are that if King Henrik isn't spectacular, the Rangers lose. Unfortunately there are too many nights where King Henrik is spectacular, but the Rangers still lose. Sunday's winner take all for the playoffs, unfortunately, was a prime example.

For Johan Santana, it might be worse. At lease Lundqvist can start 85% of his team's games and win 35 games a year. If Johan could win 35 games a year maybe Met fans wouldn't worry so much. But he can't. And now that he's suffered a strange loss against the Washington Nationals, we know that we aren't going to see him again until Friday or Saturday. And coming off a loss heading into a series against a playoff team on the road and throwing John Maine, Jon Niese, and Mike Pelfrey at the Rockies, Sunday's loss hurts more.

Santana wasn't spectacular on Sunday. The surprise wasn't that Johan gave up a long ball, the surprise was the road to that homer, which was a triple to Nyjer Morgan and two walks. Santana is prone to the long ball early in the season, but usually they're solo shots. Though I suppose that if Felix Hernandez can hit a grand slam off Santana then Josh Willingham certainly can.

But when Santana isn't spectacular, and certainly when he shorts out in the first inning, it had to deflate the team. On the one hand, it could be correct to say that Santana could have had one of those Lundqvist games today where he was spectacular and they still would have lost because the Mets couldn't get a good shot at Livan Hernandez. But is it? Could Johan's freaky first have deflated the Mets to the point where the entire lineup pressed at the plate against Livan's slow pitch softball stuff?

And that brings me to another point, if Snoop Manuel was right in saying that the team was "unprepared" to hit Livan Hernandez, a guy that most of this lineup played with last season, then that's on Snoop and his coaches. If, however, Bob Ojeda was correct on the postgame show in saying that the Mets were in fact prepared but were simply pressing too much against Livan, who was clearly taking advantage of that, then that begs the following question: What the hell game is Snoop watching???

The Rangers?

And for the lack of a segue that works, let me say this: If Willie Harris wants to flatter himself and think that Frankie Rodriguez plunked him in the ninth inning because he made a game saving catch on Saturday, then let him do so. But if he's going to bark at Frankie for a pitch that hit his arm in an area that was just off the inner half, then he deserves whatever he gets.

Yes, I'm crawling back into "Baseball needs to be more like it was in the 80's" mode, so pay close attention: If I'm Frankie, I go one step further than simply saying "f**k you" to Harris a couple of times, and put one right in Nyjer Morgan's back after that. Willie wants to bitch and moan? Give him something to bitch and moan about. Now, I know what you're going to say: "Oh Metstradamus that's extreme! Nyjer Morgan didn't do anything!" Or: "What if Morgan charges the mound and Frankie hurts his arm?" Or: "What if the Nats retaliate and David Wright gets hit in the head again?" Valid points. I'm not Frankie Rodriguez. I don't have to be concerned with my long term health put in the hands of doctors who will probably have their recommendations squashed by ownership. All of your responses are logical, and I'm not.

But screw it. I'm sick and tired of players like Willie Harris thinking that they have latitude to hang over the plate and then be big mouths when they get hit because they're on the right side of the scoreboard. I'm tired of the "he dominated you, get over it" mentality. There are idiots on either side of the scoreboard. And maybe if Willie Harris sees Morgan take a fastball in the middle of the number one on his back, maybe he isn't going to be so quick to open his mouth when the moment doesn't call for it like Brian Bruney did (that Jacobs home run, couldn't have happened to a nicer guy ... Maybe the mere sight of Bruney was the thing that sparked Frankie to react the way he did.) What's the worst that can happen? Teams hate the Mets? Like that isn't already the case. Or Frankie Rodriguez gets suspended for the next three games? So what? Like he's going to get a save chance in Colorado anyway at this rate.

And yet, I also tire of trying to convince people that the Mets need to return to some vigilante justice just once in their lives. It's a losing battle. Everyone is everyone's friend these days, and everybody just wants to run their mouths instead of charging the mound or sending a message like Bob Gibson used to do because nobody wants to be fined. It's the way of the world and I'll just have to be happy with Frankie throwing a couple of f-bombs instead of a beanball and go on my merry, cranky way.

If We Die, We Die

So what if the middle of the rotation is made up of question marks and silly putty.

So what if the bullpen wasn't cemented until the last spring training game.

So what if Mike Jacobs, who wasn't a lock for the Opening Day roster a week ago is now the cleanup hitter.

So what if Jenrry Mejia is merely the latest prospect rushed through the system despite the decree that things were going to be different 'round here.

So what if outside of Jason Bay the team is still same ol' same ol'.

So what if Snoop Manuel is still the manager.

So what if Omar Minaya is still the GM.

So what if the Wilpons still grip this team like a vice drenched in flop sweat and shame.

Baseball season is here.

And here's how I look at it: Unless the top-level talent performs above and beyond their best performances so as to cover up the mistakes of the rest of the rosters ... unless the newfound clubhouse chemistry really makes the difference between winning and losing ... unless Oliver Perez forgets he's Oliver Perez ... it's most likely going to be a tough grind of a season. I emphasize "most likely" because anything can happen. We learned this last season.

But why stress? Why worry about all that now? It's Opening Day. The Mets are tied for first. They're serving lasagna bolognese at Citi Field. Life is good.

As far as the season goes, I believe it was Alex Cora who told Dustin Pedroia the following when Pedroia was experiencing some flight fright:

"If we die, we die."

Most likely, this season will have casualties. Maybe Minaya. Maybe Manuel. Maybe both. Maybe our collective sanity. Who knows? But make no mistake: The lowered expectations that this team has will make all the bitching, moaning, and complaining fun again.

There will be bitching.

There will be moaning.

There will be complaining.

That's all I can guarantee for 2010. Win total? I had 91 last season and was only off by about twenty. So I'm staying away from picking a number. Instead, I'm going all Range Game and saying that this team could go anywhere from 78-86 wins. I'm counting on a full season from Jose Reyes, a bounce back season from David Wright, a nice season from Jason Bay, and Johan Santana being the 2008 Johan Santana.

I'm not counting on Oliver Perez doing anything. I'm not counting on Jenrry Mejia to fool hitters past a month. I'm not counting on Sean Green to turn into Chad Bradford.

Everything else, I can only hope for. I hope Jeff Francoeur keeps smiling, keeps hitting, and keeps his K's to a minimum. I hope Mike Jacobs can return to the production of his Florida days. I hope that Carlos Beltran's return means something more than a two month audition for a playoff team that plays somewhere other than Flushing. I'm hoping Ike Davis and Fernando Martinez tear up Buffalo until September. I'm hoping that Bobby Parnell learns a cutter. I'm hoping Ryota Igarashi puts spring behind him. I'm hoping Mike Pelfrey bounces back like I think he will. I'm hoping Hisanori Takahashi is nothing like Ken Takahashi. I'm hoping John Maine keeps his puking to a minimum. I'm hoping Jon Niese grows up. I'm hoping Angel Pagan remembers how to get from first to home. I'm hoping Gary Matthews Jr. is slightly more than adequate. I'm hoping Frank Catalanotto was as good an idea now as he would have been five years ago. I'm hoping Pedro Feliciano continues to strike out Ryan Howard and Chase Utley with regularity. I'm hoping Frankie Rodriguez doesn't give up another grand slam to Justin Maxwell. I hope we see Chris Carter. I hope we see Daniel Murphy. I hope Rod Barajas and Henry Blanco are as defensively able as advertised. I hope those two knock some sense into the pitching staff.

Yes, I have a lot of hope this season.

But if we die, we die. As long as we die big.

And if we die, I hope somebody brings punch to the Apology Day party I'm throwing.

Please Put Your Complaint In The Box

How long before Jimmy Rollins complains that the goggles are too flashy and distracting and showboaty?

The Incomplete Slogan

The Yankees had Mystique and Aura. The Mets? They have Prevention and Recovery. Boy, we're really running out of stripper names. No wonder we're held back as a species.

See, Jeff Wilpon's way of overhauling the medical procedures is to add a slogan and make a logo. It's like slapping a coat of nice paint over a busted septic tank. Well, Prevention and Recovery are off to a rip-roaring start. But just as there was no room in the budget for Jason Marquis, there's no room on the logo for the word "Diagnosis".

"Closer Francisco Rodriguez has pinkeye.

The Mets told K-Rod not to even show up at camp Thursday, although it's certainly not expected to be a setback."

Yeah. Surgery is on Thursday.

Also this from Ed Price:

"It took a week to figure out it was pinkeye."

Must have thought it was swine flu ... or bone spurs. Boy I hope those cortisone shots in both his eyes weren't too painful.

But I look at it this way: What would you rather have, Frankie resting with Pinkeye, or Frankie pitching every other day at the World Baseball Wheel Of Injury Classic?

Positivity, pass it on ... but please wipe your hands with some Purell before you do so.

Secretary Of Walking Off

Frankie Rodriguez gave up 11 runs in three innings against Venezuela's President Hugo Chavez and members of his cabinet in a slow pitch softball game on Thursday.

At least now we have someone to blame if Frankie bombs this season. I mean ... three innings? C'mon. It's like the World Baseball Classic all over again. And why is he playing softball when he should be working with Shawn Riggans, Luke Montz, and the other 59 catchers on the roster. He's got a lot of catching up to do. (Get it? "Catching" up to do? It's a Mets pun!)

But at least there was a legitimate explanation for giving up 11 runs in three innings: Chavez's cabinet apparently includes Justin Maxwell and Everth Cabrera.

(Editor's note: For more "gems" such as the ones above, join Metstradamus as he continues to make people regret buying computers with his weekly internet appearance on Sportstalk NY Live. It all happens Sunday night at 9PM on Ustream's new Talk USA channel ... click it. Don't be afraid. Mark Rosenman and A.J. Carter also welcome real guests, and this Valentine's Day you'll love interviews with 1969 Mets Jerry Koosman, Jack DiLauro, and Ron Swoboda. Plus, the author of The Last Days of Shea, your friend and mine: Dana Brand. It all happens Valentine's Night starting at 9PM. Now go buy a computer.)

Old Habits Die Hard

"Yeah, let's replace Livan Hernandez with somebody older and less durable. Yeah! That'll work just fine!!! Now let's crack open those beers."

If you were a fly on the wall of the Mets war room, that might have been what you heard as the powers that be have discussed the possibility of John Smoltz being a Met. That's the John Smoltz who will be 43 in May (for perspective, that's two years and eight months older than Orel Hershiser was when he pitched for the Mets). That's also the same John Smoltz who pitched a total of 106 innings over the last two seasons due to injuries.

Not that I'm that crazy about anybody who's left in the free agent market (it's so bad that Joel Pineiro is looking like the Brooklyn Decker of starting pitchers right now), but the fact that the Mets are even thinking of bringing John Smoltz into the fold proves that this regime is never going to learn. Ever. Doesn't matter much if they sign him or not, they're thinking about it. That's reason enough for me to overreact ... because the pattern is starting again.

They make a good signing with Jason Bay, and now threaten to make five bad ones to back that up. Bengie Molina will be that first bad signing, and Smoltz might be right behind him on that list. (And Carlos Delgado might be third, but that's another blog for another time.) Because there's nothing like filling holes with old guys who are ripe to get injured and expose a farm system under siege. Sound like any particular season you might have lived through lately? You don't have to think too hard about this one.

It's a bad move whether he's the fifth starter or a bullpen option. It was one thing when they were backing up Frankie Rodriguez with J.J. Putz and Sean Green. Now it's John Smoltz and Kelvin Escobar? That's 111 innings in four seasons of baseball. Putz has the durability of Brett Favre next to these two.

And that's not even mentioning the fact that Tom Glavine is Smoltzie's golfing buddy which means there's a chance we could see Glavine show up at Citi Field with a Mets hat to support his buddy ... and looking all devastated as his friend gets torched by the Brewers for six runs in two and a third. (Oh, did I say devastated? I meant slightly disappointed.) I dare say this would induce more vomit than seeing Roger Clemens attend the Texas/Alabama game on Thursday. Glavine had better hope that he sits in one of those suites where the angry mobs can't get to him.

Predictability

So there was a Christmas gift under the tree after all!

Unfortunately, the thing ran once in two years ... and I think it needs a part no longer in stock.

The Christmas Eve signing of Kelvim Escobar is a perfect illustration of what ails the New York Mets. Look, I'm happy Escobar has found work. And despite what you might think I'm going to say (just to show you I'm not getting too predictable in my own age), I'm happy that Kelvim Escobar has found work with the New York Mets. His stuff and his talent makes him worth taking the chance, so my official word is that I like the signing.

But here is where, predictably, the Mets are going to get this wrong. Where most teams would give a guy who has pitched once in two major league seasons (plus one recent Venezuelan league stint) a minor league contract to try to make a team that is stocked with enough talent that if Escobar wouldn't make it, no harm no foul, the Mets no doubt will see him have a couple of halfway decent outings in spring training and say "Hey, let's make him Frankie's set-up man" or, "Hey, he's our number two starter!"

I fear that instead of Escobar being the first of many moves to back themselves up, Escobar is going to be given too much importance too soon and, when he gets hurt again, will leave the Mets with another huge gaping hole that they can't fill until it's too late. When the Mets got J.J. Putz, it was great but more moves needed to be made. They weren't. And Putz going down was something the Mets couldn't recover from (the club's handling of his injury didn't help either.)

You want to tell me that Escobar is "low risk/high reward", fine. I hated that term when it applied to Gary Sheffield ... because it's my belief that it never applied to Sheffield. Signing Sheffield is never, ever "low risk". I still hate that term, but I'll grant you that signing Escobar could portray this mythical "low risk/high reward" scenario. But that'll be true only if he's put in a position where losing him to yet another injury (and let's face it, his history doesn't look good here) isn't going to hurt them. Knowing the Mets and their recent history, I doubt that this is going to happen. The eyes of Omar and Snoop will no doubt be too big for their stomachs and Escobar, after a stellar April, will be given the keys to the kingdom, just as Livan Hernandez was at one time. Escobar will then promptly lose said keys in the needle disposal bin of the surgery room he'll be visiting, and the Mets will be lost along with those keys.

Tell me I'm wrong all you want. But it's gotta be proven to me.

Xavier Nady Stole My Couch

Metstradamus comes home from work after a long day of dealing with hoards of Yankee fans using mass transit to travel to and from their victory parade, and finds a surprise waiting for him.

X: Hey, man.

MD: Who are you and what are you doing in my living room?

X: Come on, you don't recognize me?

MD: You look familiar ...

X: Yeah, you even bought a t-shirt with my name on it.

MD: Dude, that only eliminates, like, half of major league baseball.

X: Dude!

MD: Wait a second ... are you Xavier Nady?

X: Yeah man, what's up?

MD: Nothing, but I reiterate: What are you doing in my living room?

X: I heard you had meatloaf in the fridge.

MD: Uh, okay.

X: It's damn good.

MD: Yes it is. But, how did you get in here?

X: With this (holds up a giant key)

MD: That's a large key.

X: It's not just any large key ... it's my key to the city.

MD: You got a key to the city? For what??!?

X: Dude, I'm a Yankee!

MD: Don't remind me.

X: Yeah, so we're world champs, so I got this key.

MD: And ... you used it to come into my apartment.

X: Yeah.

MD: You can do that?

X: Anywhere in the city I want, I can just use this and walk right in.

MD: I thought it was merely symbolic.

X: Crazy, huh?

MD: So at any moment I could see Jeter or A-Rod in my kitchen?

X: In theory, yes. But the big players don't really use them much ... it's just the bench guys that use them to get a meal or some furniture. Not everyone can make $20 million a year. We're just trying to make a living.

MD: Furniture?

X: Yeah, I just came from Jay-Z's house. I took his couch.

MD: Dude, that's theft!

X: Hey I've got a key. The city is mine. Besides, he'll never know it's missing. He's too busy trying to convince LeBron James to play for the Nets next year.

MD: But there has to be some specific purpose that brought you here.

X: Huh?

MD: I mean, you could go anywhere you wanted, but you came here. I mean, what's it about? Is this some sort of penance that I have to go through? Is this my punishment for not watching the World Series ... I find Xavier Nady on my couch eating my meat loaf with a key to the city earned while playing for the New York Yankees? Are you a symbol, Xavier? A symbol of what my life is going to be like rooting for this team for the next twenty years? What? What is it??!?

X: Dude, do you have some ketchup for this meat loaf?

MD: No I do not have any ketchup for your damn meat loaf!!!!

X: Dude, chillax. I really just came for the meat loaf and to watch some T.V. I'm sorry if you were searching for a larger purpose for me being in your living room. It was really just hunger and television.

MD: You couldn't find a larger house with a bigger T.V.?

X: Well, I went into Frankie Rodriguez's house to watch his wall-sized flat screen. But that didn't work out so well.

MD: He didn't have meat loaf?

X: It wasn't that ... turns out he put a bullet through his television when Brian Bruney got his key to the city.

MD: Oh.

X: Yeah.

MD: Maybe you're here as a symbol that Oliver Perez will also one day get his key to the city.

X: He's got his already. Unfortunately, that city is Port St. Lucie.

MD: That sounds appropriate.


X: Hey, you got any salt for this?

MD: No Xavier. Even though you're a somewhat popular former Met, you're a Yankee who has won a championship so I'm going to have to throw you out of my home.

X: I understand.

MD: And by the way, that meat loaf is like two weeks old.

X: I knew it needed ketchup.

MD: You think Jeter will actually try to show up with his key? Because if he does I'll press charges.

X: Jeter already exchanged his for a new blazing copper Ford. And A-Rod gave his to Kate Hudson ... told her it was the key to his heart or something stupid like that.

MD: Oh lord, really?

X: Yeah. Can you believe that?

MD: What was the deal with that hat, anyway?

X: Don't ask, dude.

MD: Feel free to come back when you're a Met again.

X: With my recent injury history, that'll be soon.

MD: I'll expect the medical records in the mail.

X: I'm off for my cortisone and salmonella shots.

And The Scarlet Number 2000 Fades Away

For nine years, I've had the indignity of having witnessed the last Yankees world championship in person. Now, I don't have to say that anymore.

So I suppose that's a good thing (along with Shane Victorino being the final out ... I'll take what I can get, I guess.)

But it's not enough that the Yankees are back to being World F***ing Champions (thanks Chase), but Hideki Matsui won the MVP award after a six RBI night ... meaning that Jeff Wilpon is now salivating over the thought of signing him to play left with his surgically repaired knees.

(Hmmmmmm ... advertising dollars.)

But here's the good news: Thanks to Bud Selig letting FOX walk all over him with November baseball, spring training starts in just about two weeks. Then we can start worrying about important things ... like how to beat the Pirates now that they have Akinori Iwamura, or how to replace Frankie Rodriguez after he blows out his elbow pitching winter league in Venezuela.

The bad news is that Jose Reyes will still be rehabbing 48 of the 124 tears in his hamstring.

The Final Meltdown In The District Of Columbia

I really wanted to avoid a third straight "manifesto". For as sick as you may be of reading them, believe you me, I'm more sick of writing them.

And while there's no "Manifesto Part III" coming on this site per say, "Manifesto Part III" spontaneously came out at Nationals Park on Wednesday night after Frankie gave up the grand slam to Justin Maxwell. It came out in part because I was able to move up six rows to get right by the field. I yelled at anyone in blue and orange, and I lost my mind ... plain and simple. It was two days worth of frustration which topped off a season's worth of frustration piled on to three seasons worth of more frustration. It's like a Famous Bowl from KFC ... a whole bunch of slop thrown in a bowl (or in this case, a Washington Nationals ice cream helmet).

I lost my mind to the point that I wouldn't be surprised if this ends up on You Tube somewhere down the line. But as I've said, the anger was misplaced. These players, for the most part, have no business being in the majors much less on a pennant contender. The players that are bonafide major leaguers that are still here are either physically beat up, mentally beat up, or have been possessed by the soul of Aaron Heilman. Or in Frankie Rodriguez's case, all three. These are traits whose fault lies very little with the players on the field. (As I know from personal experience, when Aaron Heilman's soul envelops your body, there's very little you can do.)

The anger really belongs to the person who manages this team, the person who put the team together, and most of all, the people who own this team. But with the latter three not even in town (I think), and our manager rushing off to most likely record new bits for Dial-a-Joke, the players were all that were left. So they caught the brunt. And you must understand that Maxwell's grand slam topped off two days of baseball hell. First came Elijah Dukes' catch where you can clearly see me in the front row hoping to catch a home run, which basically makes Dukes Michael Jordan, and me Orlando Woolridge. I was posterized.

Then I realize that that former Yankee punk Tyler Clippard was the winning pitcher. Tyler Clippard has seven major league victories in three years. I was a witness to two of them. I loathe Tyler Clippard ... irrationally, but still.

Then came Wednesday. I was with an old buddy whom I hadn't seen in years, and never down in his new home in the Beltway. The last game we went to together was Game 5 of the Subway Series. We tried every single rally hat in existence, and some that weren't invented yet. We switched hats for the last inning, and if Mike Piazza's last out had cleared the fence, we were keeping each other's hat.

We didn't try that in the bottom of the ninth on Wednesday (since it worked so well the first time), but he was confident that we had the game in the bag as Frankie was facing Ryan Zimmerman. If he was confident, that was good enough for me. I needed an excuse to wash away all of the nonsense of the season and pretend, just for a few minutes, that it was a big game and we actually had a shot of winning it. Zen awashed me ... until BB-Rod and Maxwell combined to make it all rush back to me.

That's when I flipped out. Look, I realize it's not my birth right to see a win every time I go on the road to see the Mets. But for crying out loud, give us something this month ... anything. One warm and fuzzy memory to take to the winter? Just one? Especially when the all-star closer has a two run lead in the ninth?

No. The Mets are the Washington Generals. Think about it: The Nationals, a team with 100 losses and zero to play for, are running around like they've won the World Series and throwing pies at each other, happily throwing t-shirts to the fans. Meanwhile the Mets are playing because the schedule says so ... and they look like it. Who's fault is that? Johan Santana beat the Rockies 7-0 on July 30th. Since then, they have the worst record in the N.L. The San Diego Padres, with guys who should be in A ball, are 33-23 since that date. The Reds, similarly horrible, are 31-26 in that span. Oakland? 32-25. All aforementioned teams had nothing to play for by the time July 30th rolled around, like the Mets. Yet they've decided to show up. The Mets? 18-41. How long are we supposed to lean on all these injuries as a crutch? Eighteen and forty-f***ing-one. That's when cornstarch was patented!

Your manager has put a ton of stock and spent team meetings discussing finishing strong and playing to win. What has that gotten you? 18-41!!! And where has it gotten Nick Evans?

Get comfy, Nick.

You mean to tell me there's no at-bats for Nick Evans on an 18-41 team? There's room for Maxwell and Ian Desmond on the Nats. But Nick Evans can't break this sad sack lineup?

***

Let me digress for a second. Can I tell you that we got free t-shirts on Tuesday and free fleeces on Wednesday for the Fan Appreciation Day that we don't have (sorry to keep harping on that, it bugs the ever loving crap out of me.) Now I want you to tell me what you see, or more importantly, what you don't see:


What? A giveaway not slathered with the words "Spongetech" or "US Gold Dot Com" or some other corporate sponsor? You mean teams that give away things to their fans just for the sake of giving them away still exist? Wow!!! Look, I understand the ways of the world ... corporations pay for these things so that you can enjoy them. Bla bla bla. Then how can a smaller market team that draws nothing like the Nationals able to do this? Did they just have some leftovers lying around? Or do the Nationals just simply ... appreciate their fans? What do the Mets fans get?

We get our owners packing up the pitching rubber from Citi Field and presenting it to Mariano Rivera to commemorate his 500th save. No Mets hall of fame inductions since 2002, but Mariano Rivera gets our pitching rubber. "Congratulations on kicking us in the groin, can we bronze your foot?" I mean, what's next ... are we going to plate Luis Castillo's glove in gold and present it to Mark Teixeira for hustling all the way on the dropped pop-up? Or maybe we could dip the broken bat that Clemens threw at Piazza in encrusted diamonds and present it to Roger when he's inducted into the Texas Sports Hall of Fame. Ooh, I know! Let's take the DVR that I recorded Wednesday's game on, have me sign it, encase it in glass, and send it to Justin Maxwell so that he can watch his home run over and over and over again. And let's honor Adam Dunn for his bases loaded walk since we didn't sign him.

Oh, they'll decrease the ticket prices ... what a convenient announcement to make after looking like dogmeat this weekend. But now they have a built in excuse if they do indeed cut the payroll. See, trust nobody.

If the team wants to show their appreciation to their fans, here's an idea for the rest of the season: three forfeits. Just don't show up. Nobody will know the difference.

I'm sorry, I guess this was Manifesto Part III. But I'm just getting started. Once this wretched season is done, there will be plenty more to discuss. You can count on that.

To Be Continued

Apologies for the short post tonight. I don't even know what to say except that when the first two runners got on off Frankie in the ninth, my thought was "how are we going to lose this one?" Sure enough ...

I got to witness it all ... six rows from the Mets dugout. And they heard plenty of me by the time they retreated to the dugout. The words: "back up the truck" were prevalent.

It was misplaced frustration. I probably shouldn't have yelled at the players, some of whom put their signature on a baseball for me before the game. You should know that none of those players who were nice enough to provide signatures were responsible for what happened on Wednesday. For the rest of you ... well, back up the truck. Since I can't yell at Snoop, or Omar, or the Wilpons, the players had to feel the brunt of that.

But Frankie, hows about a strike once in a while? Is that a lot to ask?

And Wilson, I thought you were some sort of defensive wizard. Isn't that the only reason you're in the majors? Oh that's right, I forgot about the 34 tears that Jose Reyes has in his hamstring. There's that. (Way to go, medical staff.)

Oh, and even though the only person I should blame for all of this is myself for wanting to travel all the way to Washington, DC to see the Mets lose two meaningless games in spectacularly horrendous fashion, I want my money back. I want a refund for Tuesday's and Wednesday's tickets, my one night in the hotel, my round trip bus tickets, the 3 Musketeers bar I bought at the vending machine, everything. The invoice is in the mail, headed to 126-01 Roosevelt Ave. Send my refund to Metstradamus at Wysteria Lane.

See you at our own Fan Appreciation Day. Oh wait ...

To be continued.

Heroics In A Vacuum

Had it meant anything, it would have been an instant classic. Then maybe somebody from Philadelphia staying in New York for the weekend would have to endure an airing of Saturday's game on SNY over the Christmas holiday as a InstaMet Classic, just like I have to endure repeats of the Phillies pasting the Mets whenever I go to Atlantic City.

Instead, we'll just have to deal with the consolation that David Wright's two home runs, the last one being the two-out, two-run top of the ninth shot to give them a 10-9 win, put him right at the team lead in dingers with Gary Sheffield. Surely, flashbulbs will be going off in the stands with every David Wright swing from here on in anticipating David taking over the club lead ... an important milestone in Met history.

Too bad Mike Pelfrey missed all of it, as after his horrible outing in which he coughed up a four run first inning lead, he changed into his running gear, left the clubhouse, ran around the Citizens Bank Park parking lot seventeen times, beat up five Phillies fans, ran up the Rocky steps, beat up the Rocky statue, ran to Geno's to pick up cheesesteaks for the team, beat up Geno, ran to the Liberty Bell, rang the bell, beat up the bell, then ran back to the clubhouse, ate all the cheesesteaks, then beat up Ken Takahashi when he found out he missed everything including Frankie's knee buckling pitch to Jayson Werth. Then he beat up Frankie Rodriguez.

Anger management is a bitch, isn't it?

In an unrelated story, Brian Schneider says he doesn't expect to return to the Mets in 2010. He came to this conclusion when he found out that his locker at Citi Field was donated to a youth baseball league, and that he had to use Jerry Seinfeld's mold infested suite to dress and store his catching gear. That, and every time he falls asleep on the team bus, he wakes up at a Motel 6 in Kansas City ... and they don't even leave the light on for him.

Oh, and the only batting helmets left for him are those Gazoo helmets that Wright doesn't use anymore. The signs don't get clearer than that.

Scream '09: You're Next

I'm starting to get the feeling that Frankie Rodriguez is the Jamie Lee Curtis of the group ... the last one standing after Michael Myers has killed everyone else, while Billy Wagner is the guy who you thought died in the first half hour of the film, only to be that guy who finally drives a stake into the psychopath's heart when he's just about to kill Frankie, then tear both of his hamstrings.

Well, someone's gotta survive ... who will be left to kill off for the sequel? Cory Sullivan? Cory Sullivan doesn't sell tickets.

With that, I'd like to share with you an e-mail exchange I had today:

Monday, August 24, 2009 3:37 PM
Subject: Francoeur

Torn thumb ligament. Day to day. When does it end?

My response:

Monday, August 24, 2009 3:45 PM
Subject: Francoeur

October 4th. Unless Johan Santana is electrocuted by his Christmas Tree.

By 4:30 PM, Santana had been scratched from his start today, scheduled for an MRI on his pitching elbow, and the subject of candlelight vigils all over New York. Note to baseball gods: I was kidding!!! You don't light Christmas trees in August!!!!!

SNY better hurry with that "Nelson's Next Start" graphic ... because "Johan's Next Start" might be anywhere from next week to 2011.

I don't know what else to say (and I'm scared if I say anything else about anybody, that person will be swallowed whole by the Atlantic Ocean) except this: Drown your sorrows at Two Boots Tavern tonight for the second installment of the Amazin Tuesdays Trilogy. Greg Prince and Jason Fry of Faith and Fear in Flushing are your gracious hosts, and Dana Brand and Caryn Rose will be your guest readers. As for what they'll be reading ... rumor has it they'll be reading from the book of ancient war chants to ward off whatever evil spirits that are hovering over this baseball team. Either that or they'll be reading the American Journal of Medicine, I'm not sure which.

If I Could Save Baseball In A Bottle

Tonight was merely a sad reminder of how life could have been 'round these parts in September. Close games with division rivals ... Cole Hamels imploding ... some brushback pitches ... smart baserunning ... emotion from the manager ... fights in the stands ... it was all featured at Citi Field as the Mets gained a game on the Philadelphia Phillies with a 4-2 victory. The only thing missing was Larry Andersen wanting to put one in Frankie Rodriguez's neck, although I'm sure that quote is coming.

Only 13 and a half games to go!

I have to admit, as I'm searching for small things to clutch to, that I gravitate towards the spiteful. Whether it's 13.5 back or 13.5 ahead, Cole Hamels could walk off a skyscraper for all I care. Seeing him fall below .500 (and incidentally have a worse record than one Mike Pelfrey), did my baseball heart some much needed good. Was it important? No. But was it satisfying?

Well, not as much as I would like. After all, all the good done on Friday will most likely be neutralized as the J.A. Happ (remember when it was good news to see him on the mound?) will ride a potent Phillies lineup against Tim Redding on '69 night Saturday, and then Oliver Perez on Sunday. (Whoo boy, if you thought Ryan Howard hit the ball hard against Pelfrey ...) But Friday night was something that really should be put in a bottle and saved for all of those September nights when the Mets are down 17-1 and you don't want to go all the way back to 2006 for a halfway decent baseball memory.

Also, I'd like to mention that the Boston Red Sox lost on Friday by a score of 20-11. This is notable for two reasons: One: because the Sox hope that Billy Wagner can be the one to stop these football scores from being put up against them as they've claimed him on waivers from the Mets. And two: Because this was the score that broke the camel's back at Citi Field. This was the score that revealed another Citi Field flaw ... the out of town scoreboard doesn't have the capacity to show that any team scores over 19 runs. They only put enough lights in the teens column for a "1". So once the Red Sox surrendered 20, the score was taken off the board.

Funny how the 97-year-old creaky scoreboard at Fenway can handle 20 runs, but the state of the art six-month-old scoreboard at Citi can't handle it. Actually it's not funny at all. It's just sad. But it's not surprising. In fact, it's a big f***ing shocker. Right Billy?

Utilitarian

There's something that's been brewing a little bit in my brain lately (no, not beer). It took Monday's 7-4 loss to illustrate my point for me.

Sure, one could call Monday night's effort unacceptable (and I believe one did), but I think there is something else at play here.

As told by either Gary Cohen and Ron Darling, Snoop Manuel was asked about Anderson Hernandez and Snoop said that he wants to see what Hernandez can do at other positions. This has been a line of thinking that you saw in the minor league system, where players like Daniel Murphy and Nick Evans were made to play multiple positions. It tells me all I need to know about the Mets general idea of "player development":

We're grooming an entire organization of utility players.

Doesn't that seem a little dangerous to you?

Look, utility players are wonderful. It's nice to have a Bert Campaneris circa 1965 on your roster, or a Kevin Mitchell circa 1986. But to have a whole minor league system of utility players ... players worrying about learning three or four positions? No wonder they're all messed up in the head and need mental vacations. Heck, even David Wright needs a mental break and he's just playing third. No wonder it doesn't occur to Fernando Tatis that Trent Oeltjen might be taking second base on a hit to left. No wonder Murphy was on his way to the Bahamas on a bouncer over the pitcher's head so that Hernandez can throw the ball to an imaginary first baseman on a double play attempt.

There's a reason that the saying goes: "jack of all trades, master of none" ... least of all hitting. Nobody is mastering that, probably because everyone's busy learning how to be Bert Campaneris. Nobody gets less out of less than the Mets.

But that's looking at too big a picture. Obviously this team is done ... mentally, and physically. Even Gary Cohen is counting down the games ("just 50 more games, Ron.") You know there's trouble when Cohen, who loves baseball enough to sit in the stands and watch a game on his off day, is counting down the games. Heck the whole announcing team has resorted to schtick long ago when they started sword fighting and giving Ron Darling haircuts in the booth (and can we be sure that when Gary shot a t-shirt out of that gun that he didn't hit Frankie Rodriguez in the arm?) So can we really be surprised that it's come to this?

You'd be counting down the days too if you saw Doug Davis, having just been described as a "notoriously bad hitter", smack a single to center which Angel Pagan turned into a double (how come extra bases are only taken when Angel's in the field?) I'm guessing that giving up a hit to a notoriously bad hitter isn't quite the late night feeding that Mike Pelfrey had in mind.

Pelfrey, by the way, is playing third tomorrow for Wright. Because the Mets need more versatility.

Be Kind To Small Animals

I figure it this way: to by hyper-critical of Bobby Parnell for only lasting into the third inning in his first major league start would be like smacking a puppy for no good reason. What good would it do? There will be plenty of time to rub Bobby's nose in it if he pulls a Trachsel in a future NLCS. But now that the final two months of the season are resembling extended spring training (much like the first four did except with less delusion), Parnell has a unique opportunity to build arm strength and learn how to negotiate full lineups and select from a whole catalogue of pitches rather than just from the front cover. Getting angry at the latest Mets malaise would be counter-productive, and create unnecessary stress.

Necessary stress, for example, would be to continue to wonder how Frankie Rodriguez ... aside from giving up a grand slam to an A ball player ... could walk Kyle Blanks, a man who at 6'6" has a strike zone the approximate size of a broadside of a barn. You know, the one Frankie couldn't hit.

But throwing small animals and kicking inanimate objects over Saturday night's 3-1 loss is counterproductive. I'm not sure when throwing small animals would be productive, but I guess you would have to ask Kevin Mitchell about that. Besides, I like puppies. I hope Bobby Parnell does too.

Conversations With Oliver Part 2

Alien 1: Do you have the specimen?

Alien 2: Yeah, he seems pretty typical of this life form. Apparently, they call them ... humans.

A1: Have you sufficiently replaced him with one of our cyborgs without anyone knowing?

A2: Yes, we had one that was just the right size.

A1: Perfect! Okay, bring the specimen to, so we can find out about his ways in preparation for the invasion.

...

A2: Human? Human! Wake up, we have much to ask you.

Oliver Perez: Wha, what happened?

A1: You are under our control.

OP: But I'm supposed to pitch tonight.

A2: Pitch? What is this "pitch" you refer to.

OP: It's a slider. I've been working on it extra with Dan Warthen.

A1: Who is this, Warthen? Is he your leader?

OP: Yes.

A1: Tiberius, bring me Warthen ... dead or alive!

OP: Hey, are you guys aliens?

A1: Do not fight us, mere human.

OP: Oh wow, this is so cool, I have so many questions to ask you! What color is the sky in your world?

A2: Ummm ...

OP: Hey, if you're aliens, how do you know so much English?

A1: You ask too many questions.

OP: Do you get SNY up here?

A2: Yeah, this is a state of the art space travel craft. We get all galaxial stations ... but the reception on Bravo comes in a little fuzzy.

OP: Oooh, let me see who is pitching for me since I'm missing.

A1: We have replaced you with a cyborg!

A2: Yeah, they have no idea you're gone.

OP: Really? Oh, look at that guy's fastball. I didn't know they had cyborgs that could throw 94 mph fastballs.

A1: We are far superior to you humans in every ...

OP: Is there popcorn in space?

A2: Of course.

OP: Can I have some? I've always wanted to try space popcorn.

A1: But you didn't know there was popcorn in space.

OP: Do you have Styrofoam on your planet?

A2: Yeah.

OP: When you ship it, what do you pack it in?

A1: Look, we need to know what you know, not the other way around. Now where is the mission control center on your planet?

OP: I don't know. Hey, how come a psychic never wins the lottery?

A2: What's a lottery?

OP: Are you from Mars?

A2: Do we look like we're from Mars?

OP: No, you don't have antennae and you don't look like the Great Gazoo.

A1: Enough!

OP: Hey, why is lemon juice made with artificial flavor, and dishwashing liquid made with real lemons?

A1: THERE ARE NO LEMONS IN OUTER SPACE!!!!!

OP: I knew I shouldn't be drinking dishwashing liquid.

A1: See? We should have abducted Papelbon.

A2: He's one of our plants, remember?

A1: Oh yeah. Well this specimen is useless. Put him back in his original shell. If this is a typical human he'll be more use to us on Earth instead of here. Then we'll be able to invade this planet like a hot knife though space butter.

OP: Oh good, I can pitch the seventh inning!

A2: What do we do with the super-cyborg who's dominating this competition we secretly invaded?

A1: Put him in that smallish character in white who wears number 1 ... Everth Cabrera. Perhaps the lower numbers are indicative of a higher intellect. I have a good feeling we can get some real information from him.

"The humans don't suspect a thing. They're too busy throwing rocks and garbage at this Rodriguez person."

(Editor's note: To revisit the original conversation with Oliver, click here.)

It's So Big ...

Johan Santana: You know Nelson, this big chipotle cheesesteak sandwich from Subway restaurant is so big ...

Nelson Figueroa: Yeah, it's playing in the majors big.

Johan: No no no, it's winning the Cy Young big.

Nelson: No, it's pitching a no-hitter big.

Nolan Ryan: No no Nelson, it's pitching seven no-hitters after you leave the Mets big.

Angel Pagan: No Nolan, it's constantly holding at third base on singles to the outfield big.

Luis Castillo: No Angel, it's falling down the dugout steps and spraining your ankle big.

Hospital for Special Surgery: No Luis, it's diagnosing your injury and having people who know nothing about medicine prescribe a cortisone shot big.

Snoop Manuel: No doctors, it's not needing tendons to play baseball big.

Jose Reyes: No coach, it's not being able to run because of that tendon that I supposedly don't need big.

K-Rod: No Jose, it's blowing a 7-5 lead in the ninth big.

Johan: Wait a minute Frankie, it's not that big.

Sean Green: No Frankie, it's hitting the first batter you see in a tie game with the bases loaded with your first pitch big.

Albert Pujols: No Sean, it's hitting a grand slam to put the game away while playing lion to your christian big.

Johan Santana: Come on guys ...

David Wright: No Albert, it's having your season end in August big.

Carlos Beltran: No David, it's having your season end when all of your stars eventually land on the disabled list big.

Oliver Perez: No Carlos, it's having your season end when you let Derek Lowe go to Atlanta to sign a mediocre lefty to an overpriced contract big.

Fred Wilpon: No Oliver, it's having your season end when you get taken for $700 million on a ponzi scheme big.

Johan Santana: Yeah, I guess you're right.

Johan Santana: Hey, who took my f***ing chipotle cheesesteak sandwich from Subway restaurant???

Angel Berroa: (Mumbles with mouth full of sandwich) What?