Satan's Series

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

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

How fitting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fate of the world is in your hands.

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.

Shea Stadium: The Board Game

Off days and rainouts stink.

What is a Met fan to do on those lonely off days and rainouts during April besides wonder why Willie Randolph consistently mismanages his bullpen?

Well now, you can combine off-day fun with Shea Stadium nostalgia with a great new board game titled: "Shea Stadium: The Board Game"! Can you get through a day at Shea without being pinched by the ushers, buying a cold knish, getting into an fistfight with a Yankee fan, or seeing Carlos Beltran strike out in a big spot? Now, you can experience the fun, excitement, and frustration of seeing the Mets at Shea Stadium from the comfort of your own living room! So help celebrate the final season at Shea Stadium with this addicting board game!

*Click board for optimal view ... template shamlessly stolen from here. Extended game play may cause drooling and dizzyness.

It Hurts To Boo: The Epilogue

Half good livin'...half dumb luck...half minor miracle...but I'm able to sit down for a long stretch without dying when I get up. Looks like my demise has been nothing more than a drill. A trip to the back-cracker should bring me back to 100%. (Willie Randolph says that they're no need for me to go on a rehab assignment to blog about the Savannah Sand Gnats). Thank you all for your well wishes (including the phone call I got telling me what a wuss I am...you know who you are).

While in the midst of self medicating over the last 24 hours and nothing to sink my teeth into during this off day, it occurs to me...a microcosm of why the Yankee fan is so loathed in Queens.

I'm talking besides the obvious.

It's something I noticed in the crowd during the Sunday night game. The key...my friends...is in the chants. And it's a phenomenon you'll probably only see at Shea Stadium, but when Met fans chant "Let's Go Mets", it's in the general vicinity of the field, where the Mets are. The chant is delivered quite literally. We want the Mets to...well, go. So we chant "Let's Go Mets" to the Mets. The chant, you see, is used in the traditional method.

The "Let's Go Yankees" chant...a chant, by the way, rarely heard if heard at all before the mid-90's (despite the fact that the Yankee revisionist historian will probably have you believe that this chant was born the same day as Frank Crosetti himself...I will swear to my dying day that chant is a mere derivative of the "Let's Go Rangers" chant, which really has lasted since the beginning of time), was chanted on Sunday night by Yankees fans not in the vicinity of the field to exhort their Yankees to victory, but rather with their backs to the field, with pointed fingers at Mets fans as if "Let's Go Yankees" was a threat. Or perhaps a four-letter word...which many Mets fans consider "Let's Go Yankees" to be anyway...a cuss.

So how else, I ask, is a Met fan to respond to being cussed out?

"Yankees Suck!"

"Yankees Suck!"

"Yankees Suck!"

And while I'm not trying to exonerate the Met fans who went too far with their actions Sunday night, and neither am I trying to condemn the majority of Yankee fans who behaved (including, thankfully, the two that provided us with our tickets), this is more a way of trying to further delve deep into the psyche of the Met fan...what makes the typical Met fan lash out when confronted with "Yanksimus Maximus".

It's a mere sparkplug of the psychiatric melting pot that was Sunday night at Shea Stadium.