King Cranky

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

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

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

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

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

The Rangers?

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

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

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

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

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.

Other Than That, I'm Peachy!

Did Willie Harris really have to lay down a bunt to break up Tim Redding's no-hitter? I know it was only the fourth inning. I know the Nationals got more hits later. I know it's only Tim Redding. I know it's a meaningless game. But it's Willie Harris. He's the fly in the ointment of eternity. And after a six game losing streak, I'm automatically in complain mode. And Willie Harris is good at getting me to complain. So dude, really?

When You Wish Upon What The Mets Call "Stars"

At the beginning of the day, I stopped at a fountain, and made a wish that the Mets would gain a game on the Phillies tonight. I was desperate. With that, I took a penny out of my pocket and hurled it towards the fountain with my eyes shut tight.

As I opened my eyes, there was Willie Harris diving in the fountain and catching my penny before it could hit the water.

But you know what, even after Harris' latest defensive gem which helped put a nail in the Mets 2008 season (which is currently in a hand basket on Hell's front porch), I'm beginning to think that it could have been Lenny Harris out in left field, and it wouldn't matter.

In fact, screw that. The Nationals could have fielded nine Lenny Harrises tonight. It didn't matter. It's not going to matter. Not when you can't get hits off a guy who gave up six runs in three innings in his last start against ... oh, wouldn't you know it? The Mets!

So let's review: The Mets are out of first place, Fernando Tatis is out for the season, and Endy Chavez couldn't save AIG. So for tomorrow's meeting, let's try reading from the passage of "Maple Bats, The Heimlich, and You".

A Picture Is Worthless

Carlos Delgado has done many great things in his career. Last night's achievement might have been his greatest: He finally hit a ball that Willie Harris couldn't catch.

Turns out Harris keeps a picture in his locker of a game winning catch (a walk-off catch?) off of Delgado last season that wound up, among other things, costing the Mets the divisional title. But he only puts it up in his locker when he plays the Mets. It didn't help him Thursday night, or at any point this series.

I'll use the above picture, one where Harris can only watch Delgado's home run sail over the wall, as my screen saver. But only when the Mets play whichever team Harris happens to be on. This means that I can't use it during the Pirates series in Pittsburgh, where the Mets have historically lost some awful games. This also means that Ronny Paulino is probably busy tacking some things up in his locker.

***

By the way, Orlando Hernandez thinks that Olympic gymnasts lying about their ages is totally reprehensible.

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 ...

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.

The Phrase Of Hate

"Only time will tell..."

You hear that all the time when you're watching television. A serious looking face comes on your screen and says something like "Will I be hit by a truck? Will a meteor hit the earth? Will Lindsay Lohan drink again? Only time will tell."

"Only time will tell" is the literary equivalent of a shrug of the shoulders. "I have neither idea nor insight." So you understand how painful it is for me to type what I'm about to type:

Only time will tell (shudder) if Willie Harris is going to be a footnote in this 2007 season, or a thorn for all time. It depends on what the Braves and Mets do during the time that is left (and "time" isn't a nebulous throw away term...the time we're talking about here is a finite about of days and games left). Today, Willie Harris is their Endy Chavez. In time (you know, the time that will only tell), he may become our new Terry Pendleton.

Larry Jones is there already. And he, of course, was up to his old tricks, hitting a three run bomb (and I mean a flippin' bomb) off of John Maine which turned the game on its ear (it's amazing how when I see Jones play against others, the pain in his thumbs make him wince and grimace like he was David Wells at a vegan convention...but against the Mets all that pain seems to wash away like he's taking a Calgon bath or something.)

Mark Teixeira is getting there. Not only for his home run which followed Jones', but for prevention of a Luis Castillo RBI triple in the fifth inning...the same inning in which Fluff Castro popped up with the sacks full to end the inning...and how much more damaging than one run would that frame had been without Teixeira's diving play down the line? Yeah, he's getting there.

But it's always the one that you never expect. I was in the stands when Pendleton ripped my heart out of my chest and fed it to Tom Pagnozzi in front of everyone. I can absolutely tell you that I never saw it coming. The thought never entered my mind that Pendleton would hit a ball that crossed the plate at his ankles out of the ballpark. And it never entered my mind that Willie Harris would rob Carlos Delgado of the tying home run in the ninth. Never would I have thought he would have done that twice in the same game after robbing Moises Alou of a double in the first inning...again preventing a small inning to grow and blossom into a large one.

I wasn't in the stands for this one, although my cat probably would have wanted me there for all the soft objects turned into projectiles around Casametstra today. But that's the way it goes in the big city. One minute, Oscar Villareal's cab is taking him to Yankee Stadium, the next he's getting his first save on any level of professional baseball...against the Mets, of course. But that save was equal parts Larry, Tex, and Willie Harris. At 3.5 games ahead, the world isn't ending. The meteor isn't hitting anytime soon. Or has it already hit the Mets season...

"Only time will tell."

In True John Franco Fashion...

Boy, that ninth inning scared the Orosco out of me.

Somewhere, the ghost of Randy Myers is having a good chuckle as Country Time decided to pull the ultimate escape act, as he loaded the bases only to get the next two batters to provide three outs in a 4-3 Mets thriller.

Maybe, as much as Chris Russo gets on my nerves, maybe he's right when he says that there's been something missing from the 2007 Mets as opposed to the 2006 Mets. While it's hardly a fair statement considering that the 2006 Mets were like that perfect regular season storm that comes once in a generation, it may have been true up until tonight.

You see when Orlando Hernandez was victimized by a two out walk to Willie Harris that turned into three Braves runs, it seemed that that something missing was going to remain missing, with Atlanta winning yet another series from the Mets.

But in the battle of trade deadline acquisitions set in the backdrop of National League East battle, Castillo defeated Mahay to get the Mets even with the Braves at three apiece in the seventh. You must understand how much pressure was packed in that at-bat...the difference between John Schuerholz being anointed a genius for all time, and Omar Minaya saying "Ha, take that you Liberty Media Slut!" (Honestly, I don't even know what that means.) And considering my admitted Luis Castillo man crush, it held higher stakes than even that. If Castillo strikes out, it's my butt on the line here.

Wrong again. Castillo ties the game, and takes the first step on the road to Brave slaying.

Then there's Moises Alou...the walking conundrum. Sure, we want David Wright and Carlos Delgado to hit. But we also want Moises Alou to hit with the bases empty, where he stood at .338 this season with three of his four home runs coming in...and not with runners in scoring position where he is at .167 entering Wednesday, including a rally killing double play on Tuesday. It's the catch 22 of life, and we're stuck with it. Even when he does hit a home run his reward is Jose Reyes making fun of his swing. What a drag it is getting old.

Billy Wagner pulling one out of the John Franco playbook though, is no drag. Loading the bases with nobody out and still coming out on top is exciting, exhilarating and exhausting at the same time. Maybe that's what we've been missing...a mind-blowing escape act that you can put in the win column.

And on your cardiology report.

Old Men Need Oxygen

But when the old men need oxygen because they're sprinting around the bases at a high rate of speed, that's a good thing. It was certainly a good thing for Damion Easley today. Unfortunately, Easley (and Moises Alou, who only had to travel 180 feet) needed to be hosed down after his jaunt around the bases on his inside the park home run in the seventh inning. But fortunately...he hit an inside the park home run in the seventh inning.

(Give Alou a break though...poor guy has been doing nothing but running into walls and running into Lastings Milledge non-stop for the last 48 hours, yet still had the energy to get three hits in the last two days.)

It's fun to have games like the one we had this afternoon, a 12-4 victory over Milwaukee with one of our plethora of fifth starters going...this time Brian Lawrence, who got his first win since Game 3 of the 1979 World Series (that's exaggeration speak for August 16th, 2005). Not only is it fun because of the bushel full of runs scored, but because the other team is having fights in the dugout instead of the Mets, which is not a good sign for the other team, but a good sign for us. (Heck, I don't know another team that wouldn't fight after giving up an RBI ground rule double to Jorge Sosa...I would want to kill my manager after that, too.)

Lawrence will be cheered for his efforts today, a five inning outing in which he struck out three and didn't walk anyone, giving up three runs. It's all about perspective, as Mike Pelfrey had a similar outing against Washington last Saturday, giving up three runs in six innings, walking one and striking out five. Pelfrey, with his electric but straight fastball, was booed off the mound. While Lawrence, with his surgically repaired slider, gets an A for effort.

Lawrence was outpitched by a third of an inning. No, not by opposing starter Chris Capuano, but by Pedro Martinez down in Port St. Lucie. Martinez threw 50 strikes out of 67 pitches, and said that he felt better as he went along (while only hitting 86-88 on the radar gun so far). It's still a long road ahead for Pedro, but at least he's actually on the interstate, and not off the beaten path. And yes, I will still act as if Pedro does not exist until he takes his act to a major league stage...only for my own good.

I would also prefer to act as if this new and improved Braves lineup with Mark Teixeira doesn't exist either, but unfortunately it does. At this time, they have wiped out a 5-1 Astros lead with relative ease, proving that this is going to be a lineup that the Mets are going to have to reckon with the rest of the season. Which is bad because now that TBS has decided to put a microphone near Chatterbox Bobby Cox in the dugout, his voice is starting to grate on me like nails on a chalkboard. And I'm about to put my head through a damn wall. And the more runs the Braves score, the more I'm going to want to bleed through my eyes. This can't last.

And Willie Harris is starting to really get on my nerves (lousy Woody Williams...)