Willie, Wankers and the Losing Factory*
Ah, those were the days!
Today's fiasco was a real Stomach Turner. But I think I learned something about the 2008 Mets.
The first game was torturous, making me rage uncontrollably, like a graduate of Tampa's Hillsborough High School. Within the first three innings, the weekend triumphs against the last-place, Arod-less Spankers were entirely forgotten. The Mets were back to playing like pulseless zombies. It took me all day, but no media shitstorm was going to distract me from making a startling discovery.
This team is just no good.
Earlier, when I was still in denial, I thought the day game was lost when someone switched the QuestTek machine off and the chUmps were free to give Toothless Tom a strike zone like it was the late 90s.
Without the enormous strike zone given to his opposition, the Maine was sunk. The way I saw it, home plate douche bag Bill Miller preposterously gave no close calls to the Mets and John Maine, while gifting Glavine with apparently any pitch anywhere. And sure, no one thinks twice when Errant Hellman comes in and the ball goes out, but it says here that 2-2 pitch to Brian McCann, the one immediately before the 2 run home run that put the game out of reach if it wasn't already, was a flat out strike three. That doesn't mean that Hellman doesn't suck, for he surely sucks mightily.
A total bullshit check swing against Brian Schneider, I think, in the 8th convinced me that the fix was in, and made me wonder if the Mets shouldn't have petitioned Bud Selig for a change in venue for the night cap. Before I blacked out from the rage, I was pissed at the SNY guys for not stating the obvious.
Well, when I came to, rest my worried head, the umps played no role in the Mets evening dismemberment--that was grade A Metropolitan suck all the way. There were also no Willies to blame, just crappy players, and now we've lost our only performer to his second concussion of the season to the signature play of the day, a double play to end the game which I could barely hear over the glee of the inbred Br*ves announcing team.
So you've probably figured this out already, but here it is spelled out. My old, working theory was that this was a uninspiring team playing below their abilities, and it would only be a matter of time til something clicked--talent, pride, something. But now I realize this discouraging team is playing at their talent level. They are just not that good, and they're certainly not better than the Br*ves. Outside of fearsome starters like Jorge Campillo, the Br*ves, always superior organizationally, are put together much better—a young core, a real bullpen, and no reliance on aging bench bozos, etc. The Br*ves get rid of players just at the moment they're going into a steep decline (Andruw Jwones, and well Tom Glavine), the Mets get players just as the roller coaster is leaving the station (Tom Glavine, Pedro, Beltran?, Delgado, Alomar, Moo, blah blah). The Br*ves bring up their young players (or bring them out of the backwoods) and patiently let them mature into Met killers. The Mets, with few exceptions, screw with their young players heads, overhype them, set them up to fail, and then ship them out of town for pennies on the dollar. So all that winning, you know the winning that would save Willie's job, spare us continued media nonsense, justify landing this generation's best pitcher, that winning? Don't hold yer breath. This is not JUST the SportSouth homer induced rage talking either, though I can’t deny that's a factor. It’s realism, and it is only sad that it has taken me this long after Pedro's season altering injury to realize it.
Listless, virtual forfeit of a double header at Turner, partially broadcast by the local hicks, losing to meatballer Tom Glavine= one grade lower...I'm PISSED!
The 2008 Metfan Sanity Scale: Where are you?
not as happy as I could be
gone to safe place
danger to others
lose control of bodily functions
wake up with blood on hands and no memory
danger to myself
move to cabin to facilitate rage
new Royals fan
Mike Piazza prepares to hit the relay man on a throw to second base.
When I heard that Mike Piazza made an announcement today, I worried that it was some further information about his sexuality, and I didn't think I could take it during a stomach Turner. Phew, it turns out that Mike just hung up the tools of ignorance for the last time today, officially retiring and setting the Mets up for the final indignity of his career--the possible decision to send him into the Hall of Fame with a Dodgers cap on. During SNY's on air discussion, I noticed Keith got a shot in at the Kid, calling Mike "unquestionably the greatest Met catcher" a highly debatable claim since Mike never won anything whatsoever for the Mets, basically leading them through the desert. But he was our Met hero for many years when the team just wasn't good enough, so here's to you and your Playmate, Mike, may you ride off happily ever after into the land of dudes (and I mean that in a cool SoCal, relaxing way, not implying that Alicia is a beard). May you finally answer that question that has always been bothering you: Where's Mota?
Cruel as usual, Marty "Pants" Noble's article on Mike reminds us in passing of the days when the Mets had an offense, or even one guy, that could touch of a rally for a win:
Of course, it wasn't only mistakes that Piazza significantly re-routed. He hit pitchers' best stuff over buildings. Or, on other occasions, he hit line drives that threatened the well-being of outfield walls, not to mention outfielders. It was one of those which Piazza hit off Mulholland in 2000 that the pitcher said was sure to deny him REM sleep.
He had thrown Piazza "not a bad pitch" in the bottom of the eighth inning of the Mets-Braves game on June 30. That the home run delivered the final three runs in a 10-run rally, producing an 11-8 Mets victory, was enough to fill the memories of anyone who witnessed or cared about the game's outcomes.
*title stolen from Cver