The Hate Becomes Slightly More Rational

The streamers were hung, the hors d'oeuvres were on the table, and the guests had arrived. The only question would be this: Who would ruin Jose Reyes' welcome home party by sitting on the cake?

I thought it would be Oliver Perez.

But even though he gave up four runs and walked four in five and 2/3 innings, there was just enough (and I mean juuuuuust enough) to like from Cousin Oliver today, which means either he had some legitimate good moments or my standards have gotten way too low. In either case, it was enough to convince me not to call for Perez to be traded to Saskatchewan for a rogue moose until his next start.

No, the party pooper was Tyler Clippard, who has given me no reason to cease my irrational hate for him by throwing three shutout innings and striking out seven (!) Mets in the process in relief. And you wondered why Citi Field has been so windy lately. You had three innings worth of breezes courtesy of Clippard, who is clearly an alien sent by a far away galaxy to gain secrets on the Mets and piss me off in the process. We'll know this is true when Clippard will have trouble striking out seven batters the rest of the season against the rest of the league.

Then there's Willie Harris, who once again made a game ending web gem ... this time off a Rod Barajas line drive with two outs and the bases loaded that was so unexpected even Gary Cohen had Chip Caray'd the call to a base hit before it landed in Harris' glove. That would be the same Willie Harris who was only in the game because Ryan Zimmerman got hurt. See how when other teams have injuries they have players who step up but when the Mets had injuries they trotted out Ramon Martinez? And would now be a bad time to remind you, courtesy of Cohen and co. on Friday night, that the manager who convinced a young second baseman named Willie Harris to learn the outfield and be more versatile was Snoop Manuel back when both were with the White Sox?

Yes, it's true. Basically, Snoop's been ruining my life even before he moved to my city. What's next, Snoop? You want to teach him to play goaltender so he can hop on the Acela and suit up for the Flyers after the ballgame is done? Because that would be quite gangsta.

So while you may believe in comebacks, I believe in Willie Harris flushing my hopes and dreams down the toilet after Tyler Clippard urinates on them. Again. All while Willy Taveras and his four RBI's laugh at me ... and Rob Dibble accuses me of going to Canada for blood running.

Hey, I believe what I see.

The Final Meltdown In The District Of Columbia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Get comfy, Nick.

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

***

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


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

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

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

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

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

A Loss Through The Eyes ...

Saturday was my final chance to see a Met victory against the Yankees at Shea Stadium. First, it was an exhibition game in 1989 where the only thing I remember is that Ken Phelps went nuts. Then, it was Game 5. Then not again until Tyler Clippard. Saturday was my last chance. And not only is my final record against the Yankees at Shea 0-4, but the infamous lords of baseball made me sit through an hour rain delay. But that was at least entertaining because of:

• The Yankee fan who pointed at ever Met fan who walked by on the opposite concourse and yelled "Hey Met fan! Hey Met fan!!! Getthefuggouttaheeeeeeeeeeeeeeere!!!!" Then he almost fell on me.

• The woman who had to be dragged out of the stadium by four cops ... yes, I said woman, and yes, I said four cops ... one for each appendage ... all the way down the ramps from the upper deck down to the floor. I don't know what she did, but it must have been serious. Must have had the audacity to say that she thought the dead animal on Jason Giambi's face was "sexy".

Otherwise, it was a dark day ... punctuated by the guy in the Mattingly jersey leaving the game with two outs in the bottom of the ninth because "this game's over ... it's not even fair." (And you wonder why everyone hates Yankee fans). Join me for a quick photo essay of the day:

The guy hugging the catcher is newest Knick Danilo Gallinardi. Let's see, he just got booed by 5,000 people ... so let's put him in front of an angry and liquored up crowd of 56,000. Yeah, that'll work.

The attendance for Saturday's game against the Yankees was actually 56,172. When you count the players, umpires, ushers, vendors, and the Pepsi Party Patrol with their boxes of Bubba Burgers, the amount of people probably pused 57,500.

Yet when Jose Reyes was picked off second base with two outs in the bottom of the fifth, he couldn't have been more alone.

No sign of anybody sliding on the tarp today.

Meanwhile, Carlos Beltran struck out four times ... this one against Kyle Farnsworth. Nice job, clutch.

This signifies ... well, it signifies whatever you want it to signify. I know what it signifies for me.

The Uniforms Change, The Nightmares Remain The Same

Don't worry teach, I still have nightmares about what might have happened throughout the season if the Mets could have only gotten more than three hits off of Tyler Clippard back in his major league debut on May 20th. Well, I have nightmares about a lot of games in '07, but this was the game that started it all (and I threw out my back to boot.) And now, he'll be on all of our minds more as the Washington Nationals are continuing their hunting and gathering for past, present, and future Met killers, as they've traded for Clippard.

We're overdue for some good news. Is today the day? Forgive me if I don't hold my breath.

Small Soldiers

Sometime during the eighth inning, the screen showed that if you stuck around past the game, that you would see a movie called "Small Soldiers".

No thanks, CW11. I've seen enough small soldiers on my television for three plus hours. Of them all, here are the three smallest (in lack of size order):

• Tom Glavine: All right, let's see. An ace is defined, in part, as the guy your teammates look to when you need a big victory. You can all come on this site and comment that John Maine is the ace, or Jorge Sosa is the ace, or Oliver Perez is the ace simply because of their stats. But let's be real. When your offense has been slumping, and you finally get to a rookie who can't find the plate, that team looked to Glavine to give them a quality start. Now, a quality start is giving up no more than three runs in no less than three innings. Heck, five runs in five innings would have been fine. Five runs in five innings is like remembering to bring your number two pencil to your SAT exam, and that's all Glavine needed to do. Glavine instead gave up seven runs in four innings. An ace has gotta have a tad more intestinal fortitude than that. It's not like the team was asking for a whole lot.
• Willie Randolph: I have figured out why the price of gasoline is so high...because Guillermo Mota insists on using buckets of it to put out fires. Yes, Mota is pitching like a dog this season (a sleeping dog who doesn't pay any mind to baserunners). But the two runs in the sixth inning could have been avoided, if only Willie Randolph had just made the prudent decision to walk Hideki Matsui with runners on second and third and two outs. Matsui has probably gotten as many big hits against the Mets as a certain Revlon wearing Ford driving shortstop we all know. And if you don't believe your eyes, then believe what you see on the stat sheet: Matsui was a career .349 lifetime hitter against the Mets before today. The on deck hitter, Robinson Cano, is a career .235 hitter. I know Willie likes to manage by the seat of his pants and I would prefer he stay that way. But today, Willie made the wrong move.
• Carlos Beltran: We here at Folgers have replaced the Mets' normal center fielder with Bobby Abreu. Let's see if they notice...YES, WE'VE NOTICED! PLEASE BRING OUR OUTFIELDER BACK! I know...Carlos Gomez can play left field like Todd Hundley sometimes, but give the kid some credit for the way he battled Mariano Rivera on an eight pitch at bat which resulted in a single. Then, Jose Reyes takes Rivera eight pitches deep for a single of his own. So after that, you mean to tell me that Carlos Beltran swings at the first pitch and foul pops it to the catcher? To complete an 0 for 6 day? This offense scored eight runs on the strength of Jose Reyes and the bottom of the order. Ruben Gotay can't continue to be the lynchpin of the lineup. What could the Mets have done if the middle of the order is hitting like it's capable of? Not to belabor the point but...no hits in six at-bats!!!

There...your small soldiers. We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog.

A Quantity Of One

It sure didn't seem as neat and tidy as a 2-0 win should have been. There were runners all over the place against Oliver Perez, who wasn't too sharp with his control despite not allowing a run through the first three and 1/3.

And then there was Miguel Cairo's fly ball to left field at Yankee Stadium, which has been a coffin corner for the Mets at times, between Lenny Harris' deflected ball off his glove for a home run, and Todd Zeile's home run except for the fact that it wasn't which resulted in Timo Perez becoming a household name by not running. So when Carlos Gomez went back to the wall, there was trouble written all over my television screen.

And when that fan in the front row lept out of his seat to try to become part of the game and interfere with the natural order of life, the worry on my screen grew ten-fold. You know what can happen when kids...or drunks...or well meaning folk with walkmen decide they want to be part of the fun.

But the ball landed harmlessly in a leaping Carlos Gomez's glove, who turned it into a double play, saving the Mets from not only their fifth loss in a row, but the embarrassment of getting through a lineup full of all-star caliber players only to give up the big hit to Miguel freakin' Cairo.

Subsequent to that catch, Perez calmed down and looked a lot better the rest of the way going 7 and 1/3's scoreless before giving way to the bullpen for some stellar work. And by the way, even though it was Gomez and not Chavez, and even though Gomez only prevented a double while Chavez prevented a two run HR, did you think back to Endy's catch when you saw Perez with his arm up in celebration? Did you get all warm and tingly inside for a moment before you remembered how that game ended? Thankfully, this game ended differently.

It still doesn't mask the deficiency of the middle of the order. The Mets lineup, you see, is a tasty treat. Unfortunately, the tasty treat in question is a doughnut. Gomez and Jose Reyes provided the speed and savvy, with Gomez bunting his way on base twice against the aging walrus that is Roger Clemens (gee, making the 45 year old move around...what a novel concept), and Reyes driving both runs in with a single and an upper deck dinger. But Carlos Delgado took the golden sombrero tonight against some less than nasty stuff from Clemens. Diesel struck out against batting practice fastballs, for crying out loud. And the four through eight hitters in the lineup had a grand total of zero hits.

So while the Mets are finally in the win column with a one game winning streak, there was little of quality to fall back on to make this blogger feel that this team is completely out of the woods. Saturday features Tyler Clippard for the Yankees, who baffled the Mets at Shea Stadium causing my back to go out (well, it wasn't exactly Tyler Clippard that did that, but it's a good story). The Mets lineup has an opportunity to get well against this rookie now that there's some tape on him. He fooled them once, shame on him. Fool them twice?

Well, you know who gets shame then.

Psych Out? Or Just Plain Psychotic?

It's amazing what teams will try these days to psych out the Mets. The Marlins came out on Sunday wearing their eye black like they were the Ultimate Warrior in the middle of a rainstorm. Perhaps they would have been better served pulling the extra head trick that Felix Unger tried against Bobby Riggs. Maybe the extra head could have been Tyler Clippard's head or Kyle Davies' head (both pitchers having looked like Sandy Koufax while facing the Mets, yet spent their next starts looking more like Sandy Duncan).

But this weekend, the Mets put away any hitches and glitches and triskadekaphobias they might have had and put away the Marlins, with the back end of the sweep coming at the expense of Scott Olsen, making the Marlins look more like the Brooklyn Brawler than the Ultimate Warrior.

Meanwhile, in Atlanta, the Braves were busy getting their heads handed to them by the Phillies, and the Mets now have a 4 and 1/2 game lead in a division that just three days earlier was slipping away as everyone wondered if the Mets going 3-6 against Atlanta spelled doom. But let's throw this out there: The Mets record against the rest of the division is 12-5. The Braves, meanwhile, are 11-12 against the likes of Philadelphia, Florida, and the Washington Nationals.

What is striking me about the recent exploits of the Flushing nine is the resurgence of the middle of the order, albeit a reshuffled deck. David Wright and Carlos Delgado have taken their rightful places in the top three on the team RBI list. And Carlos Beltran was heating up against the Fish. What made the Mets so good last season was that for long stretches, every single lineup spot was hot...or at least not in a slump. The Mets have the best record in the National League without hitting on all cylinders in the lineup. They had Reyes and Beltran without having Diesel and Sugar Pants. Now Delgado and Wright are coming around without the help of Reyes. When they're all clicking...well let's just hope the pitching holds up when that happens.

Happy Memorial Day, remember the troops, grill those burgers, and enjoy your day off.

It Hurts To Boo

I wish I could give you a bit more tonight...just as I wish Tyler Clippard could have given you a bit less Sunday night.

But as it turns out, your great and all knowing soothsayer doesn't know well enough to know that if you swing yourself under the rail that separates the sections in the upper deck, and that if you're considerate enough to keep bending at the waist so as not to block your fellow fans from the incoming pitch, then there's every chance that your back is going to go out.

And out it is.

My back is more out than Derek Jeter's blast off John Maine...which was so out it was halfway to the CitiField construction. The Jeter blast, unfortunately, was the signal for all of the frustrated Yankee fans to let loose their frustrations and morph into the bragging, puffy chest, brain surgeons that we all knew they could be, as a big bag of popcorn came flying down from the reaches of section 41 in the upper tank. Not so coincidentally, that is the general vicinity where all of the fights started, yet it took the security folk a good two innings to reach that area and start ejecting people.

Then, of course, there seemed to be one of them in every section...the one that felt he needed to get up and make a spectacle of himself to everybody to prove that he's a Yankee fan, reminding us to look at the scoreboard (but conveniently failing to bring up the current standings), like the one in our section...section 31. He deserved a good booing, but it couldn't be from me...heck I could hardly stand up. Even booing hurt.

On Sunday night, a lot of things hurt.

But let's keep in mind that while losing to a pitcher fresh out of grade school is a bitter bill to swallow (along with that court order that prevents Shawn Green from coming at least ten feet away from every fly ball), the Mets have won another series, and have gained a game on the Braves in the process (not to mention the 7-3 homestand). Silver linings people...silver linings.

Enjoy your off day, and I'll give you a little bit more then...that is, if it doesn't hurt to type.