Gangsta Roulette

Did you have the same feeling I did when you saw the starting lineup today? Did you have the feeling that a lineup with Wilson Valdez, Angel Pagan, and Ramon Martinez vs. Josh Johnson combined with Tim Redding on the hill basically meant that your Saturday of baseball was going to be a complete waste of time? Well guess what? It was.

It's not like the regular lineup ever does anything against Johnson anyway, and players need their rest, so why the heck not? I was more disturbed at the revelation that Snoop Manuel is going to rest Gary Sheffield twice a week to keep him fresh. This means that if you Mapquest the route to the end of the 2009 season, it will inevitably take a left on Moises Alou Ave.

I was also disturbed by the image of David Wright getting ready to pinch hit in the ninth by licking his bat. Besides the fact that it's a disgusting image, I don't want to root for the first franchise in baseball history to put a player on the disabled list with tongue splinters (it will probably be listed as "fragments in the mouth muscle".)

But what I'll take away from this game was Ron Darling glowing about how special this Omir Santos run has been by saying that in five years, you're going to be wondering what the name of that guy was that had the quick start and hit the home run off Papelbon and was on fire for two months. What Darling is saying is that this run which sent Fluff Castro out of town is magical ... and that Santos will be managing a KFC franchise in five years.

Exit Sandman

You can't make this stuff up:

"I've played my last day as a Met, that's the way it goes ... I've always tried to take on everything straight on. There's no use sitting here and saying, 'Geez, I could always make this miraculous recovery and pitch in August and September.' I'm going to let the thing work itself out and see where it takes me." -Billy Wagner

Wagner said he wasn't feeling much pain, to his elbow or the knee from which doctors extracted a tendon to help repair his elbow, and was comforted by hospital visits on Wednesday from Moises Alou and Scott Schoeneweis. The estimated 12-month recovery phase has begun.

Alou really had no excuse not to visit, considering he's been in the hospital so often he pays rent.

"I've gotten used to the food."

Don't Stare Directly At Moises' Hamstring

The post was supposed to be all sunshine tonight. Johan Santana continued the newfound dominance of the starting staff. Fluff Castro gave Johan some runs, and finally got to raise that finger after hitting a home run (how long before the Florida Marlins complain about his hotdogging?) Even Aaron Heilman remained (gasp!) good, as the Mets win streak reached five and all is well in Flushing.

But the sunshine is blocked by yet another Moises Alou injury. This time, while rehabbing his calf in Binghamton, his hamstring cramped up.

When asked about the Alou injury, Billy Wagner reportedly said "f***ing shocker."

There's something incongruous about Brett Favre still making up his mind about whether to play or not and keeping an entire city on edge, while Alou ... who has done almost everything in this game ... would still ride buses at age 41 just to get back to the show to try to win a World Series. But he can't because the muscles in his legs are made out of Charleston Chews.

Meanwhile the Mets are faced with trying to win the division with Fernando Tatis and Endy Chavez as the regular corner outfielders.

Bring Xavier home.

Unfair Warning

Former MLB commissioner A. Bartlett Giamatti once warned us that baseball is a game that's "designed to break your heart". What he failed to mention to me was that baseball is also capable of ripping out your still beating heart and showing it to you. Then, it has the ability to eat your heart in front of you and your children. And just as an FYI, baseball will think nothing of eating your children.

Bart Giamatti never warned me about those things. Thus, I still watch this stupid game. And I witness things like Mike Pelfrey, like a bolt from the blue, pitch eight brilliant innings (yes, Mike Pelfrey) ... only to watch Country Time come into the ninth and blow it. But not just any blown save, a blown save where the pitch before the game tying three run home run actually hits Mark Reynolds in the toe, clearly shown on replay, yet the home plate ump looked for shoe polish and saw none, and allowed Reynolds to continue his at-bat. Of course, and as I suspected would happen, Reynolds took the next pitch and smacked it towards the back of the picnic area to tie the game while the Mets had them down to the last strike.

It's a game designed to put you in a rubber room.

So even as the Mets came back and won it on a stirring walk-off home run by Carlos Beltran in the 13th, somehow this still feels like a loss. The Mets used to have a way of making losses feel like wins for whatever reason. Now, they win on a walk-off home run in the 13th and all I can think about is how the bullpen is now unnecessarily gassed for Thursday's afternoon game, and that David Wright should have hit one of the five strikes he saw from Edgar Gonzalez in the 13th inning in play and not foul. Maybe I'm only thinking that way to keep myself from writing some dribble about "this is the win that will get our team going", and then going and shouting it from the rooftops in my underwear while offering my Mike Piazza bobblehead as a sacrifice to the baseball gods. But that's how I'm thinking.

It's a game designed to make you use plastic bags as toys.

And of course, I'm also thinking about how Moises Alou can't stay healthy for nine innings, and how his latest calf injury has reduced him to a bumbling mess:

"I'm embarrassed to walk in here and look at my teammates with what they're going through right now," Alou said. "I wish I could stand here talking about getting a game-winning hit instead of, 'I'm hurt, I'm hurt, I'm hurt.'

"It's the story of my life. It's not what I want to talk about, it's not what the fans want to hear."

Shakespeare once said that "the fault lies not in our stars but in ourselves". Moises, you're a star ... hence it's not your fault. Your star is simply fading. Dude ... you're 41. These things happen to 41 -year -old ballplayers. So the fault lies not in our stars, but in our general managers for realistically expecting 41-year-olds to play 130 games.

It's a game designed to tighten your calf during rain delays.

Thanks for the advance warning, Bart.

***

But on the bright side, looks like the whole punctuality thing will not be an issue anymore for our friend, Fluff Castro.

Flu-ffy Fluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuff!

High Speed Fitness

Today, Willie Randolph helped launch Be Fit NYC, a search engine to help New Yorkers find fitness activities wherever they are in the five boroughs.

Meanwhile, in a dark clubhouse, Moises Alou turned to Marlon Anderson and said "You know what Marlon, Willie has a good idea. Let's be fit from now on". Hence, they both returned to active duty today.

(Note: Fluff Castro would have been in that conversation, but he thought Tuesday night's game was 7PM Munich time ... and he also thought it was Monday. So he came to Shea, played, and went home before anyone else even arrived at the park. Castro, somehow, went 0 for 4 in an empty ballpark ... while hitting off a tee. Oh, and he tweaked an imaginary muscle getting thrown out at first base by imaginary fielders while trying to beat out a bunt which, it's worth repeating, came off a tee. If he had "been fit", this would never have happened.)

I wonder if the game in Castro's head was any better than the actual game, a 5-1 Mets lead into a 9-5 Mets loss to Arizona, complete with a rain delay, making sure that fans had to make a choice between leaving during a tie game and making their train and staying until the bitter end. And some made the right choice.

By leaving.

For the rest of us, the Mets have become one of those high speed chases you see on the news every once in a while ... the ones that almost always take place in either Los Angeles or Texas. You're watching it, and you know it's going to end badly for the perp. Because let's face it: once you're on television and the helicopters are following you, you're not getting away. So you know it's going to be a bad ending. But what do you do? You watch anyway. Because you have to know how it's going to end. Will the driver run out of gas and come out peacefully? Will the driver slow down like he's going to surrender and then back up into the police car before speeding away again thinking they're all slick? When the cops stop the perp, will they put a major league beating on them?

At least with the Mets, you know the major league beatings are coming ... every night. But you can't turn away. How will the chase end? Who gets the ultimate beatdown at the end of it all? Willie? The Jacket? Hojo? Omar? Because under the glare of the helicopter that is New York, nobody will get away. They're all on the table for a beatdown at the side of the road. And you and I will have front row seats at our televisions to watch the carnage go down ... all season long.

(Editor's note: Don't expect any help from the minors ... your New Orleans Zephyrs were one-hit by the likes of Brandon Duckworth in a 13-0 loss last night. Great.)

Death, Taxes, Moises Alou Injured, And The Mets at .500

Moises Alou suddenly left Wednesday night's ballgame with one out in the third inning with a sudden urge to escape the sinking ship that is the 2008 New York Mets. He commented afterwards that the last year and a half has been a complete waste of time.

Oh sorry, let me try that again:

Moises Alou suddenly left Wednesday night's ballgame with one out in the third inning as his fairy godmother appeared and reminded him that if he stayed healthy and active for more than three weeks at a time, that he would turn into a pumpkin by the fifth inning.

Damn, I keep messing that up. Oh wait, I know:

Moises Alou suddenly left Wednesday night's ballgame with one out in the third inning as an act of protest due to the fact that Willie Randolph is unfairly portrayed by Sports Net New York.

No, it's not that either. Here's the real story:

Moises Alou suddenly left Wednesday night's ballgame with one out in the third inning to make sure he was by his locker in plenty of time for the media to interview him after the game. This act pleased Billy Wagner very much.

Dammit, wrong.

Moises Alou suddenly left Wednesday night's ballgame with one out in the third inning to get head start watching film on the next triple-A call up from Atlanta, or Colorado, or Florida to shut them down.

What is wrong with me?

Moises Alou suddenly left Wednesday night's ballgame with one out in the third inning to sit in the last row of Turner Field with Kevin Burkhardt and Keith Hernandez and discuss tornadoes.

Wait, wait, wait:

Moises Alou suddenly left Wednesday night's ballgame with one out in the third inning to beat the ever loving snot out of Aaron Heilman. Then, he's going to hunt down Steve Bartman once and for all and beat the ever loving snot out of him as well..

No, that's not right either. Ohhhhhhhhh.

Moises Alou suddenly left Wednesday night's ballgame with one out in the third inning due to a cramp in his left calf.

There, I've got it now.

This is not considered a serious injury, except for the fact that this is Moises Alou we're talking about and we'll probably see him next around August after doctors find manicotti cheese where his knee ligaments should be. See you in August, Moises. Get healthy for that stretch drive (where if you're lucky, you'll be a DH for a contender, since this team isn't playing like it's going to contend for anything anytime soon.)

Plop Plop Fizz Fizz, Oh What A Disgrace It Is!

All you need to know about today's 1-0 loss to the Washington Nationals is that before the game, there were some free giveaways to be had outside Shea. Were they fun things like free gum, or powdered iced tea samples? Guess again.

That's right: Alka Seltzer.

Is this a team that knows its fan base or is this a team that knows its fan base?

Because somehow they knew that we'd need it today. Somehow, they knew that Mike Pelfrey was going to no-hit the Nationals for six innings (until Aaron Flippin' Boone struck again) and yet still be denied of a victory. They knew that the Mets lineup was going to accelerate the rehabilitation of Jason Bergmann, making his first start since going on the disabled list this season with an ERA of 11.68.

Let me repeat that because I find it vaguely important:

ELEVEN FLIPPIN' POINT SIXTY FLIPPIN' EIGHT!!!

They knew that Jose Reyes, whose baseball IQ is dropping by the minute, would try to take third base on a Luis Castillo sacrifice bunt, thinking that Ryan Zimmerman was too far off the bag covering the bunt to get back to third ... only to look like a defensive back burned by the touchdown combination of Aaron Boone to Cristian Guzman. Or was that Tony Romo to Terrell Owens?

They knew that Willie Harris was going to continue to try to muscle his way into the pantheon of Met killers solely on defensive efforts. Remember last season when Harris stole a win for the Braves against Carlos Delgado? Remember last night's great defensive play too? He did it again today with a diving catch down the left field line for the first out in the ninth inning off the bat of Ryan Church.

They knew that Carlos Beltran was going to break for home on a Carlos Delgado line out to first base with one out, leaving him a dead duck ... somehow ... on a throw across the diamond to end the game on an inexplicable double play. (What was that I was saying about baseball IQ?) You know, the thing that the Mets had in abundance two seasons ago, but seems to be lacking with pretty much the same group of players two seasons later? Has everybody gone senile?

No, they've just gone crazy ... at least Billy Wagner did after the game at a group of reporters:

"Wagner looked over toward the area of first baseman Carlos Delgado's locker and blurted: "Someone tell me why the (expletive) you're talking to the closer. I didn't even play. They're over there, not being interviewed. ... I got it. They're gone. (Expletive) shocker."

So here's the deal with this: First, Wagner goes postal on Oliver Perez. Then, Willie Randolph says "oh, no no no no no no no no no no no, we need to keep those things in house." Sure, leave it to the leader, right? One voice representing the club, right? Except that last night, where was Willie Randolph when Moises Alou was getting ejected by Dana DeMuth? I'll tell you where he was: He was on the top step of the dugout under the false impression that everybody was going to be impressed and taken aback with how stoic he is and how cool and calm he is. Willie thought that DeMuth was going to reflect on what a bad thing he did making Willie stand still and seethe for five seconds.

Wrong.

So today, with Randolph obviously unwilling to take a bullet for his players (see: Marlon Anderson getting suspended for a game last season because Randolph couldn't get his stoic butt out to the field to defend him), of course Billy Wagner is going to pop off. Because nobody else obviously will!!! So in that respect, when Wagner rips his 'mates, he may be ripping his manager in the process whether he realizes it or not.

Look, you guys and girls have read me long enough to know the way I feel: that unless the manager is of the Art Howe naptime variety, it's generally the players who win and lose ballgames. I still feel that way. But when Billy Wagner is continuously popping off and feeling as if he's the one that has to stir things up and bring things to light in the clubhouse, that's an indictment of the manager. No, I don't expect Randolph to kick a chair or turn over a buffet table for the pure sake of doing it. Grown men see through that. But going out to cause a ruckus with an umpire to defend your player is something different. Players notice that, both ways. And heaven help me for what I'm about to say, but here goes: how do you think Bobby Cox has lasted so long? I'll tell you how: His players love him! And part of the reason is that he'll defend them even if they don't deserve defending!

Think about it: Besides the little school girl fight that Larry Jones and John Smoltz had recently, how many times have you seen the Bobby Cox led Braves go through something like that? Now how many times have you seen it in the Mets clubhouse in the last two weeks? With a manager, it's worth noting, who was tough when it came to no beards in the clubhouse three years ago, and now only seems to be tough on Oliver Perez?

I've held off as long as I could. I tried and I tried and I tried. But it's time for me to acknowledge that today might be the first day of the rest of Willie Randolph's life. Nobody in that clubhouse has said anything bad publicly about Willie's managing. I'm not even going to assume that anybody is even thinking anything bad about Randolph. But actions, as you well know, speak louder than words and thoughts. The actions I saw today tell me that a new voice needs to speak louder than Willie Randolph is willing to speak.

Maybe it's time to take that Alka Seltzer to neutralize this sick feeling I have about this team. That and the bucket of chicken wings from the Diamond Club today. Plop plop, fizz fizz ...

More Lumber For Everyone!

No sooner do I wax poetic on Flushing University about Carlos Beltran being the guy who most needed to get out of his slump, he drives home five runs in a 12-6 victory in Game one of their doubleheader against Cincinnati. "Take that, stupid blogger who writes in his pajamas!"

With the help of the other Carlos and his three hits today (a triple short of the cycle while hitting seventh ... yeah, like Carlos Delgado is going to hit a triple), the Mets have scored 12 runs in two straight games. Of course, they do this for the two best starters on the staff ... meaning when Mike Pelfrey comes to the window tonight to make a withdrawal, there will be nothing left for poor Mike.

But a more important victory for the Mets today was that Moises Alou and Fluff Castro were active together for the first time this season.

If Orlando Hernandez and Pedro Martinez ever play a game with those two, then Satan can finally use that parka that he got last Halloween. (Preferably this happens during a game where Carlos Delgado hits a triple.)

Where Have You Gone, Chip Ambres?

This started out as one of those games where there was enough goofy stuff happening that it was going to be one of those Chip Ambres games where someone was going to be a late hero for one of those 9-8 contests.

Instead, the Mets never got to that point because they can't hit Hong-Chih Kuo. Let's review for a second: Hong-Chih Kuo, lifetime, was 3-11 with an ERA of close to 5 going in. Any guesses as to who two of those three career wins came against?

That's correct: your New York Mets.

Of course, it wouldn't have mattered if the Mets would have capitalized on some of their opportunities in the early innings ... like when they had a 3-0 lead and Ryan Church up with the bases loaded and nobody out in the second, and Church then hits into a double play and all bets are off. I think by the time Moises Alou stole home in the third on a double steal, the Mets had already stranded something like 35 runners in scoring position.

But Kuo coming in and looking like Carl Hubbell is just freakin' mind boggling. Mind boggling! And worse, it gave me the clarity to notice more things that I can complain about:

• Maybe all the Dodger nostalgia during the broadcasts are a coincidence. But in this world of heightened conspiracy alerts, it's a darn tootin' coincidence that all of these vignettes crop up considering that the president of the Brooklyn Dodgers secret society owns the team. I mean, the opening game of the series is one thing. But the nostalgia was in full force tonight too. The Giants are the only N.L. team with more hall of famers than the Dodgers. Any chance we'll get some Candlestick Park memories when the Mets go up north later in the year?
• I love Ron Darling. But stop with these damn Sovereign Bank commercials after every inning! The trees look like they're on fire and it's freaking me out!
• Is it me, or did David Wright look exhausted when there were two outs and nobody on when the camera cut to him in the dugout? Was it all those sparkling plays in the field he made (sandwiched between the throw he made that landed somewhere in El Segundo) that made him tired? Or was it hopelessness? And if it was hopelessness, how did the rest of the dugout look?
• I love Luis Castillo. Not like I love Ron Darling, but I'm a fan. And I'm pleased as punch he got his first hit in 85 at bats tonight. But a lollipop slider to end the game? Really, Luis? You know, protecting the plate is more than just for dinner, Luis.

But more than all of that, Hong-Chih Kuo just ticks me off. Three wins now out of four career coming against the Mets. More proof that this is how the season is going to go: Just good enough to keep us hopeful (two wins against Arizona), just bad enough to drive us nuts (Hong-Chih Kuo.)

It occurs to me that I've been going about this Aaron Heilman thing all wrong. Instead of complaining about him at every turn, I'm going to start my "Aaron Heilman Initiative". Meaning: When Heilman comes into a game, instead of watching the game and having complaints at the ready, I'm going to perform a good deed. So even when Heilman has a bad outing, some good will have come of it. For example, when Heilman entered the game tonight, I washed the dishes. So if Heilman had spit the bit, at least some good will have come of it. If everyone took part in the "Aaron Heilman Initiative", think of the good we can do as a society! One person does dishes. One person helps an old lady across the street. One person donates ten dollars to North Shore Animal League. We can actually turn society around instead of just sitting around complaining. And if Heilman has a good outing as he did tonight (two scoreless innings ... and in a close game no less), then everyone wins!

Desert Elixir Redux

So I'm thinking of a title for this entry ... and I thought of "Desert Elixir". Hey, that works. They're in Phoenix, they play well in Phoenix, and a win was just what they needed.

One problem: I already used it.

It's amazing how no matter what year it is, how good the Diamondbacks are (and they're good), how dysfunctional the Mets are (that's up for debate), or how the planets are aligned. The Mets just stroll into Arizona and go nuts. And they go nuts in much the same way they always do, which is to score runs in the first inning (here's how dysfunctional I am, I was hoping that Micah Owings would get knocked out in that three run first inning so that the Diamondback lineup would get weaker.)

So instead of just rehashing the old jokes about putting a swimming pool and a roof in the new Citi Field (I've given up that crusade), I'll just say the following: a base hit through Orlando Hudson's legs, and an error on David Wright on a bad hop? Who was the official scorer last night? Heath Bell's dog?

Did anyone notice on David Wright's home run that Eric Byrnes jumped for it about ten seconds after the ball was already in the stands?

Nice catch too by Wright in foul territory. Looked like he kept his feet in bounds too.

Moises Alou returned to action last night. Nothing was re-injured ... unless of course he went looking for food in a cab with Filthy Sanchez after the game. Here's a handy guide going forward:

Slow Pitch

Has there seriously been talk of Barry Bonds being signed by the Mets?

Seriously?

All right, let's put aside the fact that after a full night of rooting for a Mets team with Barry Bonds as a member would dictate that you take a full scrub bath with iodine after leaving Shea Stadium at night. Put aside your moral qualms for just a second here: At this point what's left of his career, Barry Bonds is a softball player. He plays seven innings, he jogs around the bases, and defense is an afterthought. This is the best the Mets can do to replace Moises Alou?

I advocate a deal for Xavier Nady if that's what it comes down to. But ... if it's a softball player the Mets are after, they have other options. Let's look at some as we do our part to spare the Mets the P.R. nightmare and media coverage bloodsucker known as Barry Bonds:

Jennie Finch, USA: The conversation starts and ends here when it comes to softball players. Finch went 32-0 in 2002 for the University of Arizona, and 15-0 for the U.S. National team in 2004. She would immediately slide into the role of 5th starter for the Mets. And she solves the age issue as she's young enough to be Orlando Hernandez's grand-daughter.

Kaitlin Cochran, Arizona State: She's only a sophomore, but she's already demolished the record books in the Pac 10, with a slugging percentage of .838 and 35 HR's in 377 career AB's. In a sport dominated by pitching, this is an accomplishment. Two problems here though: She's a lefty, and her favorite team is the Dodgers ... which tells me that she'd want to play for a west coast team anyway.

Dusty Diamond, Nintendo: I'm still trying to figure out whether Dusty Diamond is real, or just an old Nintendo video game, but it's addicting nonetheless.

Les Nessman, WKRP in Cincinnati: The guy I really want is the guy from that softball episode who caught line drives at third base with a beer can in his throwing hand. But since we have David Wright (and since Bailey Quarters isn't available ... I asked), we'll take Nessman who made a spectacular catch to end the episode in right field.

Metstradamus, Hoffman Park: Admittedly, I'm way past my prime, which lasted about two days. But I'm right-handed, I once hit .400 in a season, and spent most of my time playing first base ... although I can spell Luis Castillo and David Wright once in a while. I even had a walk-off hit robbed from me as a speedy runner was inexplicably held at third on a single to center field.

And, I'm young enough to be Julio Franco's grandson.

Please submit your suggestions here.

Never Forget The Ice Cream

This one was one for the annals.

This past trip was so jam packed that I needed more than a day to process everything and put the words down on paper. The three day spring training trip that we just embarked on was truly a Johnny Cash song.

Sunday started with a two-hour drive from the Disney Complex to Vero Beach. How do you know you're leaving Disney? When you see billboards that read "Vasectomy.com: It's Easier Than You Think!" or other gems that advertise an "Lunch Buffet/Adult Cabaret". See, Florida can be fun even outside of Disneyworld!

We got to Dodgertown at about 11AM and immediately pulled over to take pictures by the sign (like the one you see above) on the way in ... all the while thinking our rent-a-car was going to get plowed by somebody on the side of the road. Luckily, the closest thing to a catastrophe occurred when the zipper on my bag ripped apart my finger and caused me to bleed all over my Todd Zeile jersey.

Yes, you heard me, I own a Todd Zeile jersey. But more on that later.

After two days of mingling amongst Braves and Dodgers and Tigers and Indians, it was nice to be surrounded by my own kind, and that included incomparable Mets bloggers such as Matt Cerrone, Zoe Rice, and "The Coop" who I was fortunate to run into just in front of the walkway into Dodgertown, along with Stefi Kaplan later in the game. The four of them were on their own spring training odysseys, and you can read all about their adventures here and here.

Here's the thing about Dodgertown: It's freakin' awesome. Disney and Tigertown both provided unique experiences in terms of watching a ballgame. Disney provided, well ... Disney, along with the opportunity to heckle Larry Jones (yes, that loud voice you heard during the bottom of the fifth with a 1-2 count on "Chipper" was, in fact, yours truly). Tigertown provided the oldest spring training home in the majors, and the opportunity to sit on a hill of grass with about 1,000 other people. Dodgertown didn't fail in providing yet another unique experience in terms of fan enjoyment. For example, how many people can say they were almost run over by a golf cart being driven by Mariano Duncan, with Don Mattingly and Larry Bowa riding shotgun? Not many.

I, am one of those people.

But such is the experience of Dodgertown, where players walk right past you and give you high fives if you ask nicely. And if you go to the practice fields, you never know who you're going to run into. And that brings me to the story of the weekend:

It actually started on Friday, when my buddy was wearing the hat you see to the right, a St. Andrews Old Course hat, while trying to get Tommy "Come Down From The Tree" Lasorda's autograph. Lasorda was in the stands that day, willing to sign autographs but only between innings. At the end of the game, he failed in getting Tommy to sign his ball, but asked Lasorda's handler if he'd be around on Sunday when we got to Vero. The guy basically told him that if he wore that hat on Sunday, he would be recognized and given an autograph.

Fast forward to Sunday on that Vero Beach practice field, where Tommy was about to be driven away by the handler when my friend starts waving his hat yelling "Old Course! Old Course! Old Course!" True to his word, Tommy's handler stops the golf cart, takes my buddy's ball and gets it signed by Lasorda (and afterwards, drives Lasorda away, making everybody who had failed to get an autograph before even more angry that the guy who just shows up in a golf hat gets a signature at their expense.)

But fear not, there were plenty of autographs to be had ... as for one day only, fans got to go on to the field and get autographs from basically every single Dodger on the team (except Jeff Kent, who was nowhere to be found when I got there. Gee, what a surprise! Oh, and Nomar Garciaparra left early too.) I told Andruw Jones that I was happy that he wouldn't be killing the Mets nearly as much from the N.L. West. Everyone else got a laugh out of it, but I couldn't wipe the smirk-like smile off Andruw's face.

Andre Ethier even remembered it was a sinker that he hit off of Ryan Dempster to win a game in Wrigley last September. Weird.

After the scrum, I have to admit that I was too exhausted to make my way to right field to see if any Mets were doing some signing ... and considering that pretty much every big player either stayed in Port St. Lucie or was injured, there weren't a lot of players available to autograph (but one guy who my buddy was able to get was Fernando Martinez, which was pretty cool.)

Then the game started, and it started with a whimper as Martinez, Ruben Gotay, and Angel Pagan played "I got it you take it" on a pop fly which should have ended the inning but instead put two runs on Ollie Perez's spring ERA. But I couldn't be too upset over that, because I'm sure those players all saw what could happen when you pursue a pop fly too hard in spring training ... you get knocked out with a concussion.

I'll say this: I hope that Carlos Delgado's injury isn't serious ... because I could swear I saw Michel Abreu swing at everything thrown to him, including a hot dog wrapper that was thrown across home plate. In fact, when I got home, I threw an empty cup at a garbage can, and I could swear I felt the breeze of Abreu's bat swinging at it. Here's a sampling of Abreu's greatest whiffs from Sunday:



But speaking of hot dog wrappers, Dodgertown provided me with the fulfillment of a lifelong dream: I ate a Dodger Dog. I'm still not sure that it was the authentic Dodger Dog that's sold at Chavez Ravine, but as I told the vendors: If you're not sure, just tell me it is and don't destroy the dream.

And while on line for that dog, a guy who was with ESPN ... no, I don't know who ... gave me props for being the only guy he's ever seen with a Todd Zeile Mets jersey. I don't know if that means I'm special or insane. Probably the latter ... but I got a warm feeling inside much the same.

Update: Lest you thought I was kidding about the Zeile jersey, it looks like the lens of justice caught me for Straight Cash Homey, a website dedicated to finding unsuspecting folk sporting obscure jerseys, or as they put it: "an international ridiculous jersey scavenger hunt". The funny thing is, I have about 10-15 jerseys that would qualify for this website, and always thought that one day I might make this site. Alas, this is the one that gets me on the site. To whoever snapped the shot, great catch. And thanks to the anonymous tipster that found me on the site. I hope the jersey doesn't make my butt look big.

By the way, did I mention the other oddity about Holman Stadium in Vero Beach? Stadiums like Wrigley Field have pillars to obstruct your view. But Holman obstructs your view while going green at the same time: with trees right in the middle of the stands!

There was a guy at the game behind the stands who could have used a tree as took a foul ball to the head ... it hit him with such ferocity that it bounced back towards the stands and rolled under the seat next to me. It was pretty bad, but he wound up getting the ball as a souvenir.

The game ended with three Met runs in the ninth, capped by Pagan's two -out two-run single (captured below). Before the game, I wasn't convinced that there was a roster spot for Pagan. After the game, I started to come around. And now with the various injuries to Ruben Gotay, Ryan Church, Marlon Anderson, Moises Alou (especially Moises Alou), Joel Youngblood, George Theodore, and Amos Otis, Pagan may be as big a lock for a roster spot out of camp as Jose Reyes is.

But Sunday, like the rest of the weekend, really wasn't about who won or lost. It was about drinking beer, throwing down hot dogs, and experiencing baseball in an entirely new way ... not necessarily in that order. It was about getting a tan in February. It was about chatting with major leaguers. It was about acquiring a whole new appreciation for games that don't count in the standings. It was about appreciating the fact that some people go through their whole year living off the money they make for six weeks out of the year. Unfortunately, that money runs out as the Dodgers move their spring operations out of Vero Beach for good as of the 17th. It runs out for the people that served my ice cream in a plastic helmet, imploring me to think of them, root for them to get a new team so they could make a living, and never forget the ice cream.

Not anytime soon, I promise.

The Crux Of What Grinds My Gears

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

Dan Marino.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To Your Health

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

Once a night, you say?

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

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

"Sh-t, I've played drunk.

"When?"New York City.

"What were the circumstances?

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

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

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

Pass the courvoisier.

***

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

***

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

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

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

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

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.

When Winning Turns Into A Win

So often, it's a little thing that makes me think.

Tonight, it happened while I was in my travels...passing by the television at Metstradamus HQ noticing the score was 1-0 New York. I let out some emotion at that point: "Whoo hoo, we're winning! It's a Christmas miracle!"

Responded an astute observer in close proximity: "We're always winning."

It's true. The Mets are always winning. Every time you look up at the television, they're winning. 1-0, 8-4, 7-2, 3-1, always. Always winning.

They just don't win.

It's how they hook you...get you to hang around until the end. They suck you in by winning. Then yank the win from your clutches by pulling something stupid. And worst of all, they do it while you sleep.

The Mets season has become something like a Freddy Kruger movie. Matt Cerrone goes to sleep and dreams he's falling from the sky with spoons in his chute. Greg Prince takes a nap and John Maine falls from a four run lead. Even I went to sleep a couple of weeks ago and had a clear vision of Moises Alou...and he did something stupid. I'm not quite sure what it was, but it was dumb (and two weeks later he drops a fly ball in the sun against the Phillies.)

It gives new meaning to the term "don't sleep on the Mets." Sleep on them, and you just might never wake up.

I'm not normally scared to take a nap with a five run lead. Not no more. Not after what's transpired. Toothpicks pry open my eyes until the final out. I sure as heck don't want to fall asleep while the Mets are winning...only to wake up to the horrifying shrieks of the Mets not leaving the park with an actual win.

Thankfully, and finally, the Mets were winning...and then they won. Imagine that. A win. It's safe to sleep, because Alou was far from stupid on Wednesday. And while you're at it, you can get your heads out of the oven and come down off those bridges. Get down from those trees, and put the cyanide formulas away too, for the magic number is finally down to single digits...thanks to Yadier Molina (shudder).

But keep those bridges and toxins at the ready.

The Quads Match The Collars

Instead of a players only team meeting, maybe the gang should have had a seance to try to conjure up some ghosts from 1986 to give them some luck.

Actually, I thought they already took care of that in the ninth inning tonight, when three straight hits with two outs in the ninth all of a sudden looked very eerie, and very familiar. Let's just say that if Chad Cordero had thrown a wild pitch at Ruben Gotay's feet, I would have dusted off my Ouija Board.

But Gotay struck out to end the game. There are no ghosts resurrected from 1986. Keith Hernandez's chair at RFK Stadium had no more hits in it. And Gene Mauch is playing craps in heaven, rolling seven after seven while yelling "Let it ride! Let it ride!"

I wonder if anyone inside that clubhouse during that players' only meeting realizes how close they are to the brink of history...as in the worst historical regular season collapse this side of the California Angels. Nobody has ever been seven or more games up past September 12th and been overtaken. However, our team is doing a really good job of trying to execute this trick.

(Editor's note: If the trick is turned, then 1964 would no longer be Baseball's Most Memorable Collapse, now would it? That would mean that somebody would have to write the story of Baseball's New Most Memorable Collapse. The author of this blog would like to volunteer his services to you publishers out there.)

Do they realize what they're doing to us? Think about it for a second. Think about all the firepower contained in the lineup of the team we root for...yet we're reduced to depending on the offensive production of Miguel Cairo.

Oh, you remember Miguel Cairo don't you? Once, he was the bane of the Mets existence when he wore your uniform in 2005. Now, he's the third place hitter on a team that regularly decides to bat their pitcher eighth. And now we're hoping that Cairo has a four hit day so that the Mets can stay 2 and 1/2 games in first place.

That's pathetic, but that's what our troops have reduced us to by giving up 47 runs to the worst hitting team in the National League...you know, part of that "easy" schedule we were "lucky" enough to draw these past two weeks. Don't they know nothing comes easy? Nothing comes easy to the team that has one pitcher in a boot, another pitcher in need of a boot, a third pitcher designated for assignment, and a fourth pitcher who was designated as the latest pitcher to blow a four run lead.

Oh yeah, and a 40-year-old left fielder with a tight quad...to match everybody else's tight collars. Joy.

So what's tomorrow's meeting going to cover?

What A Joke!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

***

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what was wrong with this guy:

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

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

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

Move Along, There's Nothing To See Here

Yes, 301 is a higher number than 300.

No, Mike DiFelice is not fast, despite his triple.

Yes, Moises Alou is still raking.

No, the Pirates couldn't be fair and break the Phillies' heart too.

Yes, Brandon Webb kept his scoreless streak alive, to our benefit.

No, the Mets are not knocking on death's door.

Yes, that double play was freaking awesome.