Mr. Met on the Couch

Item: Mr. Met seeks counseling


Mr Met: Doc, thanks for seeing me on such short notice. All these little kids leaving the park crying every night, not to mention the adults. I thought I could handle it, but the autumn season around here is brutal. Well, I just can't take it anymore.


Dr. Headshrinker: That's ok. I've been helping Johan Santana--what a guy--get over the way the Mets bullpen has blown his games over and over again. And I think my treatment sure paid off tonight, although he had to pitch 125 pitches just to keep those bozos from completely blowing it.

Mr Met: Yeah that guy is terrific. He's the only thing that keeps me from tearing my head off and throwing it into the street sometimes.

Dr. Headshrinker: I have also been on a team of doctors who help Carlos Beltran determine exactly what percentage he is playing at after each minor injury, though I can't imagine why he keeps sharing this with the media. He's at about 80 to 85% right at this moment, if you must know.


Mr. Met: Yeah. Interesting.

Dr. Headshrinker: Ok, lets get started. Mr Met what do you see when you look at this picture?

Mr. Met: (Screaming uncontrollably and beating his head with his hands) Its... Nooooo. It can't be. Noooo. It's the worst thing imaginable. It's Aaron Heilman with a baseball in his hand! Saints preserve us. No. Good god no.


Dr. Headshrinker: Ok, relax. There, there. Let's change the subject. What do you want to talk about?

Mr. Met: Well Doc, can some one tell me why the hell the Pirates would let T.J. Beam pitch to Prince Fielder last night with a base open in the bottom of the ninth, tied at 5 and with 2 outs?

Dr. Headshrinker: Dammit Mr. Met, I'm a doctor not a detective. All I can tell you is those Pirates are six kinds of stupid and deserve to lose 90-100 games a year the way they always do. Besides if I could explain that move, I could also tell you why the Mets would chose this moment to reward Omar Minaya with a new contract just as the team he put together tries to scratch its way out of its second consecutive collapse in a row, again due in no small part to his refusal to upgrade the bullpen or have any strategy whatsoever outside of signing the biggest free agent available most winters. And I have no blessed idea.

Mr Met: Omar? You mean my boss? We don't see him around much. I can't remember the last time he made a public statement about the direction of the club, other than maybe at the trade deadline to mumble something about not having a match for any trade and how happy he was with the team he has.

Dr. Headshrinker: Now Mr Met, I know you might be feeling anxious about the last days of Shea Stadium after so many years. How does that make you feel?

Mr Met: Doc I keep having this nightmare that on Sunday's historic game, the Mets will find a way to blow the game, blow the season, blow themselves right out of the playoffs, and kill Bambi's mother--even with Santana on the mound--braking every ones' hearts in a way that is perverse even by their standards. Frankly, that's the only thing I can think about. That and shouldn't the Mets be paying the fans to haul away the seats and other garbage? I guess I'm gonna miss the rats that live in my novelty shoes. I gave them names. Other than that I won't miss Shea a bit.

Dr. Headshrinker: Well that's all the time we have for this session.

Mr Met: I feel a lot better. Hey, what are you doing later? Wanna come over to my place and check out my t-shirt cannon? It's a real crowd pleaser.

Dr. Headshrinker: (blushing) Mr Met! Don't you have a family?