Please Put Your Complaint In The Box

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

First Response, Or First Tease?

You have to assume that any rumor that involves dumping Luis Castillo's contract is probably too good to be true.

Look, my past man crush on Castillo is well documented. And he deserves a world of credit for bouncing back not once (from 2008), but twice (from the pop-up). But it's also well documented that you sell high. Or at least Castillo high which means you sell mediocre.

So this rumored deal which would send Castillo to the Cubs and Lyle Overbay to the Mets is absolutely the right thing to think about. It's the third part of that deal which will make or break it, which is Milton Bradley going from the Cubs to the Jays. And Toronto, reportedly and predictably, wants no part of Bradley. (Some say the Canadian exchange rate would change Bradley from slightly perturbed and misunderstood to certifiably insane.)

If these rumors do turn out to be a pipe dream, then at least those pesky Doc Halladay to the Phillies rumors can die a horrible death too. Or the rumor that I completely made up myself where the Phillies decline the option on Pedro Feliz for the sole purpose of signing Chone Figgins, and hence moving Jimmy Rollins down in the order.

Die rumors ... die.

Satan's Series

At midnight on Monday, October 26th, the New York Yankees won the 2009 American League pennant, completing a World Series matchup with the Philadelphia Phillies.

Also at midnight on Monday, October 26th, the movie Armageddon was starting on my cable system.

How fitting.

The movie had a happy ending. But this, my friends, is Baseball Armageddon. There is no happy ending. Satan has been unleashed. The minions have arrived on earth. The Mayan calendar has ended little more than three years earlier than expected. The world will never be the same. And the next two weeks are going to be the worst two weeks on earth.

In one respect, this awful season couldn't have ended any other way. The good news is that now, there really is no possible season that could possibly be any worse than this. (At least 1993 saw Toronto in the fall classic to defeat the Phillies.)

But in another respect, we have a final battle where there can be no winners. Only pain and anguish. I'm here, fellow Met fans, to quell that pain and anguish ... because you're unknowingly inflicting it on yourselves.

About a week ago, I set out on a quest to win a Nobel Peace Prize. Unfortunately, my original plan to bring the sabermetricians and the scouts together in harmony was put to rest when I was informed that they were no longer at war. But undeterred, I still seek this honor. Because this, this is a much more noble (Nobel?) crusade.

Anyone over the age of 40 will surely remember, and those under that age surely read about it in their history books, but in 1980 Jimmy Carter pulled the United States Olympians out of the Moscow games because of the Soviet Union's invasion of Afghanistan. The athletes didn't like it. But it was for their own good. Friends, consider me your Jimmy Carter. (Carter, it should be noted, is a past winner of the Nobel Prize for Peace.) Though I realize that I'm not the boss of you, I'm making a decision on behalf of all of you that you may not like, but please trust me when I tell you that it's for your own good, and the good of the planet.

I'm boycotting the 2009 World Series, and pulling all Met fans around the world out of it. You may not like it, but it's for your own good.

For those of you who have made that decision already, good for you. You're doing a service to your community. But I see way too many of you on the internets feel that you have to choose a side. Maybe it's because it's the World Series, or because you don't want to have baseball on somewhere on your dial and not be watching it, and choosing a side will help you be able to watch the games. Let me tell you that no good can come of either outcome.

I'm all for hatred of the Phillies, but rooting for the Yankees is not the answer. Do you really want to have your Yankee fan friends to be all nice to you and tell you that "hey, you've gotta root for New York" (sorry, I hate that) only to then come up to you all winter and tell you that "Hey, we took care of the team that you couldn't ... you're welcome!" in that slimy, smarmy, Yankee voice? Do you want that condescending pat on the back from those people welcoming you to the dark side? You want to be on the same side as these people for the next 4-7 games? When they go back to laughing at you the rest of the winter, and when John Sterling provides the soundtrack to your winter, you're going to be sorry you rooted for them.

Conversely, Yankee hatred is a staple of society. But siding with the Phillies is also not the answer. I understand staying along league lines. But do you want to be on the same side of any argument with Brett Myers? Shane Victorino? Jimmy Rollins??? JIMMY ROLLINS??!?!? The same guy who's insecurities led him to bring up the Mets during their World Series parade? Really??!? When Phillie fans go back to pouring beer on your head and knocking you out with one punch in Citi Field, while Comcast Philly or My Philly 17 puts it on television (yes, this happened), and when the Phils clinch the series in New York and take the World Series trophy for a spin around the Citi Field parking lot that you once knew as your beloved Shea Stadium before heading to the airport, you're going to be sorry you rooted for them.

You get the point, right? Rooting for either one of these teams is like getting into bed with the head cheerleader for a night, only to have her tell the entire school about your shortcomings in bed. Is this what you want??? All winter??!?!? Have some self respect.

But worse than that, do you really want Mets fans fighting with other Mets fans about why rooting for one over the other is more palatable? Maybe these kind of arguments wouldn't happen too much in bars across New York ... and maybe only one of these drunken discussions between Met fans would result in a bar fight. But my friends, that would be one bar fight too many. The few friendships between Met fans that would end because one of them rooted for the Yankees would be one friendship too many. Don't let yourselves be driven apart by taking sides in this mess. Let the Yankee fans and the Phillie fans be the ones to throw hands with each other. Let's not eat our own young, or commit Met on Met crime. You're playing right into Satan's hands. This is what he wants. This is why he's here with his minions.

That's why my solution, my message of peace, is your only chance at a dignified existence over the grueling days and weeks to come. Trust me, it's not worth it. You want to make a statement, turn your backs. Walk away. Have dinner with your families. Watch Armageddon on your local cable system ... it's on, like, all the time! And it has a happy ending even though Bruce Willis dies. (C'mon, like you didn't know.) Read Ron Darling's book, or Greg Prince's Faith and Fear in Flushing. Buy a box set of Gilmore Girls. Anything! You have the power to reject Satan, and stop the inevitability of doom for yourselves. You have the power.

And if your curiosity takes over and you must know what is happening between the minions of Satan, get the scores through telegraph or Pony Express (they still exist, right?) And if you must use the television, at least have the decency of turning on the Spanish version on WWOR so that Joe Buck doesn't cause your ears to bleed. And for heaven's sake boo ... everything. Every play, every strikeout, every hit, home run, and balk ... regardless on who's on which side of the play. Boo.

But you can't take sides. It's for the good of humanity. Please, heed my message of peace and freedom. Oh sure, some might twist that around and say "well, you're taking away our freedom to pick a side." But what I'm saying is this: free yourself from the tyranny that you have to take a side to watch this World Series. Friends, follow me. Follow me to freedom. To Switzerland. To a brief respite of happiness before you have to deal with the Metropolitan signings of Jason Marquis and Hideki Matsui to keep Oliver Perez company on the disabled list. Help me fight evil.

The fate of the world is in your hands.

Let Yourself Be Heard (Or Is That, Hear Yourself?)

Don't forget, you have until 11:59 tonight to look to your right and vote in our annual Hall of Hate election ... and the candidates are stepping up their campaigns:

Coors Light

Citi Field ... Launching pad?

It's almost as if David Wright entered the clubhouse sheepishly and asked the ballpark for forgiveness after word got out that its feelings were hurt.

"No no, Citi ... you really ARE a nice park." -David Wright

Forgiveness came in the form of a first inning home run for Wright, and you knew it would be a nutty night. In fact, there were seven home runs at Citi tonight, or ... one more than Wright, Ryan Church, and Jose Reyes have had all season. Church also added to his total by almost breaking the apple into millions and millions of pieces (which would have been immediately sold by Steiner Sports online for $150 each ... an extra hundred if Church signs the fiberglass shard).

Of course, the park got some revenge by letting the Phillies have four of the home runs, which was wrought with "don't mess with Mother Nature" moments. But all those homers got Johan Santana all jacked up that he wanted to get in on the act. Now he's a pitcher so all he could muster was a double. But heck, it tied the game and set up Church's eventual game winner, so nobody's quibbling here. Well, except for Johan ... who has a touch of the crazies these days.

"I’m a man. I’m a man," Manuel remembered his ace telling him. "What he means by that, I don’t know."

Great, he's finally snapped after a year and a half of this franchise. While everyone else gets hurt physically, Johan is imagining he's Steve Winwood.



And speaking of crazies, what the hell was Shane Victorino staring down after the game? Did anyone else catch him stare down the field from the dugout? Who or what was he looking at? Or was he taking notes on which Mets were celebrating too much so that Jimmy Rollins can lecture the media on what behavior is acceptable on a baseball field? (No ... you shush.)

Jeez, just have a seat in the clubhouse, Shane. (The nice, new luxurious visitor's clubhouse.)

Oh, and while I'm on the subject, how exactly did Carlos Beltran get tagged with the "no class" label while Cole Hamels basically got off without a slap on the wrist for his "choker" comments? I ask this because hey, guess who's pitching tomorrow ...

Line drives up the middle are good, fundamental baseball. Just sayin'.

And Jimmy Thought We Were Bad ...

I'm hearing that Jose Reyes and Carlos Delgado are interested in freshening up their act a little bit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gasp!

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

***

Oh, and speaking of dying a little inside:

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

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

***

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

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

I didn't know Wallace Matthews was Venezuelan.

The Hypocrisy Continues

So, this is the same Jimmy Rollins who is the arbiter of how much dancing and hot dogging is acceptable in baseball, right?

Just wondering.

Pacifiers For Everyone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Fourth Annual Hall of Hate Vote

Hey, Aaron Heilman's implosion got ya' down? Don't despair because it's that time boys and girls. It's time for Metstradamus to go on vacation, which means it's time for you to take out your frustrations by voting for the next member of the Metstradamus Hall of Hate!

Some background for the unfamiliar (which eerily looks like the exact same thing typed last season ... which is why your blogger needs a vacation: He's burnt out.) Soon after starting this blog, I created a daily hate list...five people, places, or things that put a burr in my saddle for that particular calendar day. Mostly baseball players, but many times I would go off the board. From there, due to overwhelming positive response, it evolved into a more permanent and lasting "Hall of Hate", of which the original 25 members were chosen by me, here. It was meant to be a list that encompassed the biggest "enemies" in Mets history, the ones who the mere mention of their names makes one want to drink a bottle of ipecac just so you can puke all over your dog.

Not being enough to satiate the appetite of you, the hating fan, I opened balloting up for additional members, and so far you have voted in five candidates (most of them deserving) in 2005, and then to three more in 2006 to join the original 25, along with two more in 2007. The balloting would coincide with whatever vacation time I was taking.

Well it's that time once again. Metstradamus leaves you for a much deserved and much needed vacation ... but leaves you with a fun procedure to undertake for the next eight days. You, the people, get to vote on the next members of the Hall of Hate via the poll in the sidebar.

Here's the deal, you get one vote per computer. Amongst the list, you can vote for multiple candidates ... anyone you feel deserve induction (so you can check off as many boxes you want, but you can only click "vote" once). You have until 5:59PM on Sunday, August 10th to cast your vote. Later that night the winner will be announced on New York Baseball Digest with Mike Silva (exciting!) This will be the first year that only the top vote-getter gains induction into the Hall of Hate, so fill out your ballot with the utmost of care.

Here now are your candidates for the Hall of Hate:

Pete Rose: Picked a fight with a man half his size because his team was getting it's Big Red Tails kicked in during the 1973 NLCS. Received 76 votes in 2007 and was sixth in the voting.

John Thomson: A new nominee for his recent trashing of Paul Lo Duca as a reason for not signing with the Mets. Also, pitched like a wet dishrag in his prior stint for the Mets in 2002. Thomson was ninth with 54 votes last year.

Jimmy Rollins: His debut on the Hall of Hate ballot, basically for bragging about his team ... and then backing it up. Rollins proclaimed his team "the team to beat", and then getting key hit after key hit to knock the Mets out of the playoffs. Rollins' appearance on the ballot is a respect thing.

Brett Myers: Hates the Mets, hits his wife. Myers' appearance on the ballot is not out of respect, but true hate.

Jeff Torborg: Managed the 1993 Mets, who exposed him as a managing fraud. (Also managed the 2003 World Champion Marlins, but only during the beginning of that season when they stunk.) Received 55 votes and was eighth in last year's voting.

Guillermo Mota: Was on the list in the past for transgressions against Mike Piazza. After shaking off Paul Lo Duca en route to giving up a series-changing double to Scott Spiezio, getting busted for a banned substance, and for basically dubbing 2007 as his own personal year of suck, he re-appears on the ballot.

Mel Rojas: Was traded to the Mets as part of the Turk Wendell deal. The reason it's called the Turk Wendell deal is because Rojas was about as useful as a band-aid on a gunshot wound. Rojas gave up a home run to Paul O'Neill in 1997 that finally landed in 2002. Rojas' greatest transgression was his final act as a Met, which was bringing back Bobby Bonilla in a trade. Rojas garnered 65 votes and finished seventh in the 2006 balloting.

Joe Torre: From "Clueless Joe" as a Met, to a hall of famer (and Roger Clemens apologist) as a Yankee. And now gets ready to stick it to the Mets with the help of Manny Ramirez as a Dodger. Was fifth in 2007 with 77 votes.

Richie Hebner: Wanted no part of the Mets, and played like it at third base. If I'm correct, he set the standard for giving baseball fans the finger. Received 34 votes in 2007 and was tenth in the voting (down from 65 votes in '06).

Eddie Murray: The first baseman of the worst team money could buy, the 1993 Mets. Is it really a compliment when you're the leader of misfits? Eddie was 11th in last year's voting with 29 votes (after being 11th the previous year with 30 votes).

Tony Fernandez: Was successful at every major league stop he made, except Shea Stadium, where he had maybe three hits in half a season, and blamed gallstones. Tony received 18 votes in 2007 and finished last in the voting.

Albert Pujols: Made the ballot last year not-so-subtle digging into Tom Glavine after Game 1 of the NLCS, combined with being on the trainers table receiving "treatment" during the ninth inning of the 2007 All-Star Game, possibly costing the Mets a shot at home field advantage in the '07 World Series. Pujols was 4th in last year's voting with 104 votes. And speaking of Glavine:

Tom Glavine: Had a decent Mets career before derailing during the last three weeks, and certainly the last day ... compounded by his "disappointing not devastating" comment afterwards. But let's not forget his start as a Met, a 4,397-2 loss to the Cubs on Opening Day of 2003 ... a day so cold and so dreary that I, of all people, left in the sixth inning. I personally wouldn't vote for Glavine but there's enough of you that still hold a grudge that he needs to be on the list. I don't blame you.

Shane Victorino: General pain in the ass, has shared Brett Myers' disdain for the Mets in the past while taunting the Mets by standing on home plate after scoring and clapping in the general direction of the Mets dugout ... yet somehow escapes criticism from the national baseball media because he's a "gamer" and because he's not Jose Reyes.

And as always, you may write in a vote here in the comments section. If someone gets enough write-in votes, then yes, I'll put him in (unless it's an obvious attempt by a rogue group of Yankee fans that want to experiment and see if they can get somebody like Tom Seaver or Gary Carter on the list just by creating computer systems that will write the same name hundreds of times. So don't even bother). And in terms of write-ins, if you write in a vote please make it easy for this old man and put the name in bold or something like that. (But please, before you come out with a comment like "Where's Bobby Bonilla" or "What about Chipper Jones", please refer to the original induction list along with the additions via fan balloting below).

Your Hall of Hate members:

Mike Scioscia-Charter Member
Jeff Kent-Charter Member
Robby Alomar-Charter Member
Rey Ordonez-Charter Member
Larry Jones-Charter Member
Bobby Bonilla-Charter Member
Vince Coleman-Charter Member
Ken Griffey Jr.-Charter Member
Roger Clemens-Charter Member
Mike Hampton-Charter Member
Mike Scott-Charter Member
John Tudor-Charter Member
David Wells-Charter Member
Armando Benitez-Charter Member
John Rocker-Charter Member
Donne Wall-Charter Member
Mike Stanton-Charter Member
Mike DeJean-Charter Member
Brian Jordan-Charter Member
Eddie Perez-Charter Member
Pat Burrell-Charter Member
Terry Pendleton-Charter Member
Jose Vizciano-Charter Member
Pedro Guerrero-Charter Member
Juan Gonzalez-Charter Member
Whitey Herzog-Charter Member
Art Howe-Charter Member
Dallas Green-Charter Member
Al Harazin-Charter Member
The 1993 Home Uniforms-Charter Member
Kenny Rogers-Voted in 2005
Derek Jeter-Voted in 2005
Mo Vaughn-Voted in 2005
Joe Randa-Voted in 2005
M. Donald Grant-Voted in 2005
Mike Francesa- Voted in 2006
Jim Duquette- Voted in 2006
Steve Phillips- Voted in 2006
Dick Young- Voted in 2007
Braden Looper- Voted in 2007

You have the power to decide who joins them. Remember, your vote counts. And back to remind you for this recruiting campaign:

Alternate Reality

I don't know when it happened, or why it happened, but I think we went through the keyhole into a parallel universe. Think about it for a couple of seconds:

• Mike Pelfrey has won seven straight?
• Xavier Nady is a Yankee?
• Jimmy Rollins is getting benched for not hustling and showing up late?
• Oliver Perez is hardly walking anybody?
• Aaron Heilman is getting huge outs while Filthy Sanchez isn't getting anybody out?

I mean, what's next, the last game at Shea Stadium is televised around the world while ESPN drops the Yankee Stadium finale?

Where the hell is this hole in the universe, and how can we switch John Maine with his better version?

A Crowbar To The Knee

I don't think they've ever made a movie about that whole Tonya Harding/Nancy Kerrigan situation. But if they ever did, you could easily cast So Taguchi as Jeff Gillooly. Playing the part of Kerrigan would be me in the fetal position screaming "Whyyyyyyyyyyyyy! Whyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" Because that's basically what I do every time So Gillooly picks up a bat. Or is that a crowbar that he takes to the knees and ankles of Met fans?

(Playing Tonya Harding in my Lifetime movie of the week would have to be that pain in the ass Shane Victorino ... only instead of a wedding video, Victorino would just dress up in a t-shirt that says "F-the Mets" with a Hawaiian grass skirt and he'd just do the hula ... or maybe that "I'm safe" dance he did at second base ... on the Shea Stadium mound all night.)

I mean, you have to be kidding me. Victorino, Taguchi, and Jimmy Rollins in the same six-run ninth inning rally? I'm shocked that Larry Jones wasn't instantly traded to the Phillies so he could have followed Rollins to the plate and put an end to the Mets franchise right then and there. And maybe Yadier Molina, Brian Jordan, and Terry Pendleton could have all come out wearing Phillies uniforms with crowbars in a conga line while taking their hacks at the pinata that is the Mets bullpen.

Not for nothing, but f**k!

Of course, people will be asking themselves if Johan Santana should have pitched the ninth inning. First off, Snoop Manuel gave an informed reason as to why he didn't trot Santana out, that he's very rarely gone past 100 pitches. Fine. And for those of you who scream at me hoping for a return to the old days where pitchers went nine innings, forget it. Outside of Roy Halladay, those days are dead and buried forever. Tony "I'm a genius" La Russa blew up the baseball landscape, it's time to move on.

But the most important reason to not bother complaining about that is that it doesn't matter who pitched the ninth inning because ...

wait for it ...

protecting a three run lead with three outs to go shouldn't be that hard!!!

Should it?

That's why Gary Cohen giving us the "this bullpen, thrust into unfamiliar roles ..." made me a little crazy (as if the bullpen didn't make me crazy enough to throw my shoe). No! No! No! Your role is to win the game!

You play ...

to win ...

the game!!!

Three outs, three run lead. At that point, is it really necessary to be a "ninth inning guy" to get three outs? One run lead, yes. There's definitely a difference between a set-up guy in the role of closer ... and a closer. Three run lead? Stop. Get three outs.

Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

Think about it. Have you ever seen So Taguchi and Jeff Gillooly in the same place at the same time?

And Luis Aguayo, I'm on to you. Endy Chavez doesn't get thrown out at home plate twice in one game unless he has help. You ran Jesse Orosco out of town with your season killing home run, and now you're back to finish the job like you were the villain in some awful sequel starring Steven Seagal. Now that Tom Glavine is gone the agency had to infiltrate the premises with another spy. And despite Jose Reyes' dopey decision to try to beat Victorino to second base instead of throwing out a slow-footed catcher (a move that would have had Hugh Fullerton circling his scorecard if it was 1919) my ... first ... guess ... is ... you.

The truth is out there, Aguayo.

Accentuate The Positive

I'm not going to be a complete curmudgeon (SAT word) and complain about certain things that I could complain about.

"A win is a win is a win" is what an old dear friend of mine used to say (of course, he used to say that about the Knicks so you know those wins are at a premium), and I'm going to take that tact here. The Mets have won their series against the Phillies, and they're back to .500 on the season. That should be enough to satisfy my palate.

I will not be focusing on the fact that the victory should have been in eight and a half innings and not flippin' twelve. I'm not going to focus on the fact that Carlos Beltran would have an excellent mindset at the plate if he indeed had a mind. I'm not going to sweat the fact that after Jose Reyes and David Wright executed a double steal in the eighth, and J.C. Romero had a 2-2 count on Beltran with first base open, a hitter that Romero has dominated on deck (Carlos Delgado), and every reason to pitch around him, Beltran went hacking at a pitch designed to be impossible to hit and unlikely to tick the strike zone and strike out.

I'm not even going to fret that these two Met victories over Philadelphia came with Jimmy Rollins on the bench (save for a strikeout against Billy Wagner in the ninth on Thursday) because Joe Morgan gave him medical advice.

And I'm in such a good mood, I'm not even going to mention how Aaron Heilman sucks koala bear testicles.

Instead, I will revel in the outing provided to us by John Maine (one run in six plus strong innings.)

I will pump my fist and wipe my brow over the jam that Scott Schoeneweis got the Mets out of in the eleventh getting Chase Utley to ground into a big double play.

And I will do a Reyes/Delgado hand slap over the fact that the clock hasn't struck midnight for Angel Pagan, and that he still gets hits ... including the big walk-off hit in the twelfth in back of Reyes' second extra base hit of the year.

(All that, and Claudio Vargas too? What did I do to deserve this?)

But then my heart will sink because it took me from February until ten minutes ago that the Mets have an Angel, and a Church on the team. How did I not see this and make a stupid joke about that up until now? I have to be a better writer than that. But otherwise, it's positive, positive, positive.

A win ... is a win ... is a win.

And Tell Jimmy Rollins He's Ugly Too!

"So, this year, tell Jimmy Rollins we are the team to beat." -Carlos Beltran, February 16th

So we're stealing quotes now. Wasn't enough we steal "Who Let The Dogs Out" and "Sweet Caroline". Now we're stealing guarantees.

If you know me at all, you'll know that I applaud this. Good for Carlos Beltran. Enough blandness and vanilla wafer quotes. Go for the throat. Now he's the lightning rod, and you know that he's gotta know that even an off-handed quote to a bunch of reporters would make it's way towards the headlines ... because that's what quotes like that do. So good for him in his attempts to be a vocal leader.

Just so long as Carlos knows that now, to back up that quote, he's gotta be Superman this season. And as you know, there's only one Superman.



All right, I guess there's two now.

All Right, I'll Be The First

You saw the collapse last season.

You saw that strange news conference that basically announced that Willie Randolph was not going to be fired, where Willie looked extra lost without the mustache.

You saw Omar Minaya keep up his end of the bargain by acquiring one of the best pitchers in baseball (of course, I'm talking about Brian Stokes.)

So the question must be asked: What happens if the Mets start the season by falling behind the Braves, the Phillies, and even the Nationals by a good amount of games ... then what? When a team on paper as good as the Mets have, assuming that a slow start isn't caused by a key injury or two (or five), what's the quickest way to improve the team?

Do you make a trade? With the bulk of the top minor leaguers gone in the Johan Santana deal, good luck getting an impact player back.

Fire a coach to send a message? Rick Down would like to remind you that they've tried that already.

Raise ticket prices mid-season? Don't tempt the Wilpons.

That leaves one option: Willie Randolph.

He has to know. He's got to know. After last season's news conference, he's gotta know that his job could be on the line ... even if his job shouldn't be on the line. Because if that 3-8 start comes to fruition, somebody in the mainstream media is going to write it (and that someone will no doubt be Wally Matthews). And once that happens, the onslaught will snowball (too many metaphors?) to the point where Willie is going to feel the heat every day even if he never lets you see him sweat.

If that 3-8 start comes to fruition, you could probably read the comments before anybody writes 'em.

• How could Willie take Santana out in that situation, Omar only paid $137 and a half million for him! He's gotta go!
• Marlon Anderson to the plate against a lefty when you got Damion Easley sitting on the bench?
• Willie can't handle a small child much less a bullpen!

You know how I know those comments are coming if the Mets start 3-8? Because the comments would be there if the Mets start 8-3! A slow start combined with, say, Jimmy Rollins reminding everybody why he's the reigning N.L. MVP, and the Willie Randolph watch begins.

So I'll be the first to ask you this (because someone has to): Is Willie Randolph on the hot seat right now ... before the season even begins?

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 Manifesto

"It hurts doesn't it? Your hopes dashed, your dreams down the toilet. And your fate is sitting right besides you." -John Malkovich in Rounders

Well team, you did it.

For a franchise that gave us the Terry Pendelton home run, the Mike Scioscia home run, the Worst Team Money Could Buy, Bobby Valentine's fake mustache, a bases loaded walk to end a playoff series, the 2000 Subway Series, eighteen Brian Jordan grand slams, countless losses to Atlanta, trading a number one prospect who would one day lead the American League in strikeouts for a guy who ran off the field with an arm injury never to be seen at Shea Stadium again, a game seven loss to an 83 victory St. Louis Cardinal team that had no business getting as far as they did, you...the 2007 New York Mets...have done the impossible.

You topped 'em all.

You blew a seven game lead with seventeen games to play.

Amazin'.

But it goes much deeper than that.

You had the two bottom teams in the division over the last two weeks...and nothing but the last two teams in the division.

You had a two and a half game lead with seven games left. Oh, that's seven home games left.

You went 1-6 during a group of games that you really should have won at least four of just by rolling out of bed.

You allowed a team that pulled a bush league stunt by announcing publicly that tickets to a one game playoff would go on sale at 11AM, then starting the sale an hour early yet only telling their own fan base, steal the division from you.

You wiped the 1964 Phillies off the map, and brought their franchise back to even when it comes to these things.

You allowed a man who once punched his wife with a closed fist on a Boston street throw his glove in the air and feel feelings that I should have been feeling tonight.

You proved right a man who made a stupid statement at the beginning of the season when he said "finally, we have the best team on paper." I said then that Jimmy Rollins was wrong, and I still say he's wrong. The Philadelphia Phillies did not have the best team on paper. The New York Mets, however, did.

But guess what the Philadelphia Phillies are: They're the best team in the National League East. And that's what counts.

And guess what you New York Mets are, for having the best team on paper: you're a bunch of underachievers who have become the joke of baseball...except there's no punch line besides the ones being written by Leno and Letterman. There's just a punch to my gut.

And you pulled all of this off during the same season that the Yankees came back from about 48 games behind the wild card to make the playoffs for the hundredth straight season, ensuring that Mets fans are going to be ridiculed for the rest of their natural lives.

Oh, and by the way, you have let them off the hook for choking away a 3-0 ALCS lead in 2004.

Anybody who wants to tell me that the 2004 ALCS is still a worse choke than the 2007 Mets were, I'm cutting you off at word one. The Yankees lost four straight games to a World Champion Boston Red Sox team. The Mets, meanwhile, lost six games out of seven to a bunch of B-list stunt doubles who had nothing to play for.

Let me repeat that because it's vaguely important: Nothing to play for.

And now, you're just like them. Because you have nothing to play for.

But I bet the champagne tastes sweeter, right Willie?

But here's what Willie said that bugged me even more...he said it after today's final nail, when he was asked if he had anything to say about the fans:

"Real Met fans know we played our hearts out."

Gee, that's sounds a lot like "Real Met fans aren't going to criticize this team...they're going to say aw shucks and we'll get 'em next season and stuff like that."

Yeah, Mr. Randolph, I want to ask you a follow up question if I may: Who are you to tell me what a real Met fan is or does? I'm sorry, have you been here playing, managing, or watching this team for thirty years? No, you haven't. You've been here for four years. Three as a manager, one as a player. And you're going to tell me what a real Met fan does? Or does your years as a Yankee give you the entitlement to tell me who I am?

Here's the problem, and it's something I absolutely despise when I hear it from a player or a manager: They like to say "You've never put on a uniform...you don't know what it's like to be me." And everybody who's ever said that has been right.

But guess what, that works both ways, Willie. You see, you, and everybody who plays for you have never...ever...been in my shoes. And I think you all need to be reminded of that. You don't blindly invest your time, money, and faith in a group of men who don't know you from Adam, but you know way too much about them. And you support them. You support them with your money...with your time...and with your allegiance. You support them because you hope that one day they'll give you that feeling of exhilaration that makes you feel like you're actually one of them.

You hope that. You hope for the best. And you expect the worst. But beyond your wildest dreams you never expect that the worst is going to include a future hall of fame pitcher giving up seven runs in a third of an inning, and hit an opposing pitcher for the first time in his career, and then tells me that he's merely "disappointed", in what surely will be his last outing before he embarks on his farewell tour back in Atlanta, where he will get a standing ovation just for what he did on Sunday.

And guess what else you don't get to experience: at the end of the season, you get to talk to the media for a day, and then you go home for three months. You go to your nice homes, with your wonderful families, and shelter yourselves from everything until spring training.

Meanwhile, we're stuck here. We're stuck to carry the brunt of what you failed to accomplish. We get to hear it from Yankee fans who ring our phones, taunt us for hours on end, and in turn affect our wonderful families who, with word and deed, live and die with us as we live and die with you.

Mostly die.

And speaking of die, here's what else we get to deal with:

Wallace Mathews, at this very moment, is doing a jig while writing his latest Met-bashing column...this one he doesn't even have to work at.

John Kruk has probably poisoned himself alcoholically with all the toasts he's drunk to tonight.

Mike Francesa and Chris Russo? They're probably lathering each other in Crisco, giggling like school girls in anticipation of the piling on they're going to do tomorrow.

You, the 2007 New York Mets, have proved them all right. The Mount Rushmore of baseball stupidity? You've raised their IQ about 100 points in one fell swoop.

Congratulations. It must have taken a lot of work to do all that you did. More work than, oh I don't know, winning one or two more games down the stretch like you were supposed to do.

Good thing it's just a game, right boys?

You must think I'm a little bit harsh. Well, you have it coming. Being a Met fan sometimes is like learning how to ride a bicycle...teetering back and forth trying to find your balance between being a supporter, and being a smart ass. You won the division title last season while blowing the field away. With that, you won the benefit of the doubt. You lost Game seven to the Cardinals, but they did go on to win the World Series. So you got a pass.

You didn't look the same in 2007 as you did in 2006. But you had the division lead over two improved teams in Atlanta and Philadelphia...and we all knew that you wouldn't run away with it in '07 like '06. So you got a pass.

Your bullpen blew lead...after lead...after lead. You lost four straight heartbreaking games to the Phillies in Philadelphia. But you went and got that seven game lead. So you got the benefit of the doubt.

When you lost the lead, and you lost the playoffs, you have lost the benefit of the doubt.

You lost the benefit of the doubt when you all tried to steal third base with two outs. You lost the benefit of the doubt when you couldn't hold a three run lead in the bottom of the ninth...or a five run lead in the top of the fourth. You lost the benefit of the doubt when you forgot that there was a force play at third base with runners on second and third. You lost the benefit of the doubt when you stopped running out grounders, and started socializing with every middle infielder every time you got to second base...which wasn't very often down the stretch.

You know what I've lost? Hope. After Yadier Molina, after Adam Wainright? After that happened? I hoped that spring training would start the next day. Things were still going rather well. You actually went farther than the Yankees, you had something to build on, and 2007 was the season for "the next step."

Little did I know that "the next step" would be right off a cliff. Because do you know what you've made me hope for now? You've made me hope that when spring training starts in 2008, I hope you guys don't show up. I hope you take a sabbatical. I hope that there's a Mets-free 2008. I hope Tradition Field stays locked up. Because to see you guys swing bats and run pitching drills and dig out curveballs from the dirt is only going to drive me to drink all over again...just as you did tonight.

What's the point? What's the point in going through all of this again if you're just going to find new ways to crush our spirit? So you can have that inevitable spring training brawl with the Marlins to get your revenge? Oooh, I can't wait! That'll make me feel better.

I know that's not possible. I know you'll be back. Well, at least some of you will be back. And against what I think is my better judgement, I know I'll be back. I know that hoping for a sabbatical is unrealistic. But did it turn out to be any less realistic than hoping that you'd make the playoffs this season?

So go. Enjoy your offseason. But lord help you if I see a picture of any of you in the act of actually enjoying your offseason. Lord help you if I see you in any stupid photo layouts for fashion magazines, or eating fancy steak dinners with your agents. The only thing I want to see you eating is the humble pie that you've forced all of us to eat as local and national media will continue to ridicule the Met fans you leave behind...who's only crime was throwing their allegiance behind you...while we have to sit back and take every last drop of it because there's nothing we can say on these blogs to defend you.

Hey, after the humble pie, you can have some chicken if you subscribe to that "you are what you eat" theory.

Just make sure it's boneless.

All In

So, baseball gods...I see you've called my bluff.

I asked for a reason for belief. You saw that with a one hitter, raised me a benches clearing brawl as an extra sign of life...and a Phillies loss to the Nationals.

Do I call? Do I fold? Do I raise?

I'm all in, baby.

Here I go, baseball gods...all my chips are at the center of the table and I've got acey deucey going up against your jack-six. Let's turn over those cards.

Show me an ace on the flop...an ace as in Tommy Glavine.

Show me a deuce on the turn...as in two wins by the Nationals.

You give me that, there's no need for the river...as in the river crossed by going over the Walt Whitman bridge for a one game playoff with the Phillies.

You're surprised? You're surprised that I'm all in? Why? Do you think I'm scared of you? You think I'm scared because two weeks ago I had a chip pile a mile high, and now I'm down to a handful? Well maybe as the days grew by I was discouraged...but I've pretty much lost everything. There's nothing more to lose at this point. And as you know, it's dangerous to deal cards to someone who's got nothing to lose.

Am I blinking? Not really. In fact I'm staring you baseball gods down without so much as batting an eyelash. Because really, what if I lose? What if you get three sixes and wipe me out? What do I have to be afraid of? Making you guys mad? Feeling your wrath? What more can you do to me that hasn't already been done to me?

Karma? Should I be afraid of baseball karma? Karma's a bitch, you say? Yes, I've said it too. And you know what?

F**k Karma!

What the f**k has Karma gotten me over the last two weeks? I'll tell you what it's gotten me...f***ing grief, that's what! Hell I've practically left the Yankees and Yankee fans alone this season and what has it gotten me? They've made a miraculous comeback from the dead, every rookie they have has a Yankeeography, and they're tearing down the bat at Yankee Stadium to make room for the gold plated statue of Joba Chamberlain for the fans to meet by. Make that the backdrop to my team's collapse, and you want to tell me that Karma plays this game of baseball fair? You want to tell me that Karma doesn't have aces up it's sleeve to use against me, like it did in '87? In '99? In 2000? In 2001? Game seven last year? Where exactly is the reward I get from Karma for not messing with it?

F**k Karma!!! I'm staring Karma down just like I'm staring you down, baseball gods. And if the city of Philadelphia wants to get in on the staredown then bring it on, boys and girls. I know you want nothing better than to knock us down, and I know you're beating down the doors to the castle waiting to come in and bury us once and for all. I know you're there and I'm waiting for you with my chips at the center of the table.

And Mets fans, I'm staring you down too. I'm staring you down because I want you all in with me. I want you in if you've believed all season. I want you in if you gave up somewhere along the way. I want you in if you've said that this is the last straw with this team. I want you in because I've done all three. I've felt it all. I've been to hell and back. I was at the Pendleton game. I was at the Scioscia game. I was at Game Five in 2000. Whatever you've seen, I've seen it.

Whatever you've felt, I've felt it.

Whatever you've done, I've done it.

Whatever you've thrown against the wall in anger, I've broken the wall with it.

Whatever the Mets have done to your heart, I've taken medicine for it.

And even after all that...even after Mike Stanton, Kenny Rogers, Brian Jordan, Art Howe, Terry Pendleton, Bobby Bonilla, Vince Coleman, Armando Benitez, Larry Jones, Willie Harris, Jimmy Rollins, and the rest of the rogues gallery of Mets criminals, I'm still willing to put everything on the line knowing that this team we're banking on could fold their hand and come up with the game that's going to make every bad moment in this franchise history seem like a ticker tape parade in comparison.

I know it. I embrace it. And I refuse to fear it anymore. Because according to the rest of the world, we're mongrels. They want us dead and buried once and for all.

Are you really going to turn in your cards and fold after that?

Not me.

As for you baseball gods, you're trying to get a bad beat on me, and I say bring it. There's two cards to turn over on Sunday. Maybe one card on Monday. I'm ready for whatever happens. They say never bet money that you're afraid to lose, and it's high time to stop being afraid. Here's my ace, here's my deuce. You beat it, you win. Remember that you don't have all my money yet...and a wise man once said that if you don't have my money then you are mine.

So, baseball gods...let's play some cards.

Dreamin'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nine Up: Seven Up

Wonder what people must be thinking now...I mean, those people who took glee in pointing out that the Mets couldn't beat the Braves this season?

4-8 from April-August.

5-1 in September.

Nine up. The entire season with the Braves is a wash...like it never happened. Except it did happen. It happened when it counted the most, in September. 5-1.

And now, with the Phillies somehow pulling the rare feat of turning a triple play in a 12-0 loss, the Mets are seven games up on the Phillies. You know what Philly? Sweep the Mets again. Go ahead. It'll barely make a dent. And besides, you'll give it back the following week when Lincoln High is on the schedule.

(Editor's note: The author of this blog would not like a sweep.)

I'm in such a philanthropic mood tonight that I'm not even going to kill Guillermo Mota for coughing up John Maine's well earned lead tonight in the top of the eighth. It's really sad when I lower my standards to the point where Mota giving up a lead with a seeing eye single instead of a grand slam counts as progress to me, but that's exactly what I've done. Besides, everyone in that bullpen contributed to the Braves tying the game. Mota, Aaron Heilman, Pedro Feliciano, Skip Lockwood, Dick Tidrow, Alejandro Pena, Jeff Musselman...everyone.

(Editor's note: The author of this blog is not philanthropic enough to want to see Guillermo Mota anywhere near a pressure situation in October.)

But Shawn Green took deposited a hanging slider into the outfield to drive home Carlos Beltran, and the Braves have been rocked to sleep.


The bed for the Phillies is waiting for them this weekend. All that's left is for the Mets to tuck them in.

Rock-a-bye Philly on the tree top...
When the wind blows, Shea Stadium will rock.
When Pat's bat breaks, the Phillies will fall...
And down will come Jimmy, Eaton, and all.

We hope.