Mets Get Frenchy Kissed
Well Omar Minaya certainly energized his fan base, throwing the blargosphere into an ironic frenzy of denunciations, each more outraged than the last. Today was one of the most invigorating days of the season.
But you had to crack a little smile when Jeff Francoeur kissed a ball into the outfield to score two runs in his first at-bat in front of an audience of beat-down Mets fans grateful to take anything short of total failure and run with it. Frenchy did it all tonight, he saw pitches, produced runs, and ran into outs on the basepaths. He is a goofy, jebus lovin' bastard and he's a Met now. Because he was sort of cast out of the Br*ves organization in disgrace, he might have an easier time overcoming the stigma Mets fans rightly place on him, if not the proclivity towards sexual relations with kinfolk and close barnyard friends.
Another angle was Angel Pagan, fresh off of his annual DL stint, setting himself apart from all the other Angels in the organization by viciously stealing bases and gunning down runners while sporting facial hair and a glare. Reminds me that people like Pagan and Cora weren't such bad ideas as backups.
Jeff and his lovely wife also run a side business, selling executive sewing machines.
Johan and his declining velocity easily out-pitched Johnny Cueto, he of the 22-1 babaming in Philadelphia last outing, and the Reds went down easier than a Marge Schott at a skinhead rally. The French Era begins.