Why would a grown man get all emotional about the close of a building, infamously derided as a hokey dump, with a papier mache apple gimmick as one of its most famous features? When that grown man was just a boy, he would go with his Dad to attend this blue/purple monstrosity and see villains like Bobby Bonilla and Bret Saberhagen, and heroes like Eddie Murray and Todd Hundley. John Franco would be one or the other, depending on the day. The most vivid sensory image was the aroma of a Kahn's hot dog. That boy would go with his Dad, roughly ten times or so a year, to see those guys in the blue and orange mostly lose until the late 90s or so.
I stood above my seat in the Upper Reserve, Section 25, Row O, Seat 3 at 5:06pm today, seeing the worst come to fruition. Intense anger flooded my veins as, for the third year straight, the 25 guys to whom I had trusted my heart ripped it up like so much confetti that rained down over an hour later.
This latest failing was soon deemed irrelevant, as the anger became reflective sadness. I needed to see that video of Mr. Met packing up and leaving Shea Stadium while recalling that building's greatest memories like I needed a hole in my head. Thus the first tears welled up.
One summer afternoon in 1998, while the Mets were looking like contenders for the first time in nearly a decade, my Dad came home from work beaming. He told me that it looked like the team might be in the running for some guy whose name sounded like pizza, and that this guy was an incredible baseball player. I was twelve, so still had to rely on him to determine whether something the Mets did was good or bad. When he did actually come to Queens, he struggled a bit and drew the ire of a few pessimists, but my young mind saw something in him that can only be described as heroic. For eight years, there was no equal in my mind to Mike Piazza. As much as everyone knows I love David Wright, he still has quite a bit to go before he takes the crown of my favorite baseball player of all time. And it's a beautiful thing to know that in 2005, one man's last Mets season was the other's first.
So spending the final minutes in my home away from home, while not being able to comprehend a Mets game without a Shea Stadium, the guy whose named adorned my back for nine years was introduced during the park's farewell ceremony. The dam that was holding back those welled up tears instantly burst. For the first time in at least three years, I was openly sobbing uncontrollably. At this point, I was finally facing the fact that this personal mecca to which I've eagerly gone probably about 200 times, during meaningful games in September, already-meaningless games in July, two straight drizzly 40 degree April nights, a 95 degree night which preceded a New York City blackout, days with parents, best friends, girlfriends, and even a few by myself, four playoff games including Flushing's only game won in the 2000 World Series, a concert this July that nearly brought the house down, and the final three contests to ever occur in William A. Shea Municipal Stadium, that this Holy Ground would soon be a parking lot for a place called Citi Field. Too much to bear, and I felt terribly that it didn't see a happier finale. The dimming lights followed by the blue and orange flares shooting from the rafters moments after the greatest Met of my Dad's generation, Tom Seaver, threw the final pitch of the house to the greatest Met of my generation, Mike Piazza, was the only thing that the organization did right all day. And you know what? As I was walking down the ramps, snapping pictures at Mr. Met's various phrases underneath those exit signs I had seen so many times, I announced that no matter what the price, I would be on hand at 7:10PM on April 13th, 2009 to usher in a new era of magic.
But I'm still calling it Shea.
Showing posts with label New York Mets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New York Mets. Show all posts
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Say Somethin' Funny, Mikey
Well, wow. My New York Metropolitans continue to dominate and "run roughshod over the National League" in exciting fashion. Two and a half games up on Philadelphia. But I'll keep my excitement to a dull roar until we actually, God forbid, clinch a postseason spot.
Speaking of my favorite sports team in the entire universe, the station on which their radio broadcasts are carried has suffered another dangerous blow. Sixteen months after Imus in the Morning was pulled from the WFAN airwaves, the also-crucial afternoon drive spot has lost its Mad Dog of Mike and the Mad Dog. Since the age of roughly twelve, the show has been my afternoon soundtrack, either while procrastinating on homework or, in recent years, driving home from school. It also seems that the Mets contract with your flagship station for New York sports is up next year. If the Mets go elsewhere, then Mark Chernoff, turn your transmitter off now.
For the record, Mike Francesa, as the remaining survivor of the team on WFAN, will now have a show known as "Francesa on the FAN." But as anyone who has heard the man speak would know, the correct enunciation of the show's title is: Francesuhh.........onnnnnnn the FAN."
As of the end of next week, I will be living in my big boy apartment in Astoria. While Manhattan was my original goal, both the low price tag of the neighborhood and its eternal charm kept me in my native borough. I don't think I'll be making a move without this guy.
I expect to be roused from a peaceful sleep early tomorrow morning by that magical text message from the Obama campaign stating who his Number Two will be. To paraphrase Dick Morris, if Senator Obama gives the nod to Tim Kaine, it will be a recent state senator picking a recent mayor of a city with a population of 200,000. I basically see tomorrow as Election Day. Ceteris paribus, if Hillary Clinton is his nominee, Obama wins. If not, hello Mr. President-elect McCain.
In watching the Olympics lately, and seeing Brian Williams proclaim during promos, "I'm in Beijing, but I'm from Jersey, and I'm 4 New York!" I've been reminded of this from 1992, with familiar figures Len Berman, a hairier Al Roker, Chuck Scarborough, and Sue "The F*** Are You Doing?!" Simmons.
Speaking of my favorite sports team in the entire universe, the station on which their radio broadcasts are carried has suffered another dangerous blow. Sixteen months after Imus in the Morning was pulled from the WFAN airwaves, the also-crucial afternoon drive spot has lost its Mad Dog of Mike and the Mad Dog. Since the age of roughly twelve, the show has been my afternoon soundtrack, either while procrastinating on homework or, in recent years, driving home from school. It also seems that the Mets contract with your flagship station for New York sports is up next year. If the Mets go elsewhere, then Mark Chernoff, turn your transmitter off now.
For the record, Mike Francesa, as the remaining survivor of the team on WFAN, will now have a show known as "Francesa on the FAN." But as anyone who has heard the man speak would know, the correct enunciation of the show's title is: Francesuhh.........onnnnnnn the FAN."
As of the end of next week, I will be living in my big boy apartment in Astoria. While Manhattan was my original goal, both the low price tag of the neighborhood and its eternal charm kept me in my native borough. I don't think I'll be making a move without this guy.
I expect to be roused from a peaceful sleep early tomorrow morning by that magical text message from the Obama campaign stating who his Number Two will be. To paraphrase Dick Morris, if Senator Obama gives the nod to Tim Kaine, it will be a recent state senator picking a recent mayor of a city with a population of 200,000. I basically see tomorrow as Election Day. Ceteris paribus, if Hillary Clinton is his nominee, Obama wins. If not, hello Mr. President-elect McCain.
In watching the Olympics lately, and seeing Brian Williams proclaim during promos, "I'm in Beijing, but I'm from Jersey, and I'm 4 New York!" I've been reminded of this from 1992, with familiar figures Len Berman, a hairier Al Roker, Chuck Scarborough, and Sue "The F*** Are You Doing?!" Simmons.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Odds N Ends
So I have a brilliant idea that would pass muster with the vast majority of Americans. However, this means nothing because McCain Inc. and Obama-Mart (since these campaigns are essentially corporations) as well as pundits like those whose names begin with the letter "C" and end in "hris Matthews" would resoundingly reject my idea as though I were to ask them for the skin off their faces.
Simple as this: Obama versus McCain. Not David Axelrod versus Rick Davis. Not Wesley Clark versus Joe Lieberman. One of these men will be President. The next gasoline price milestone or the first global terror threat under a new administration will not send Americans demanding answers from these bloviators and cheerleaders. The American people need to know the guy in charge, not the guys and gals who know the guys that want to be in charge. FIRE THE REST OF THE BUMS.
From an objective standpoint, as someone who admires both candidates, they are both miles apart on policy, but were nominated by their parties for the same flippin' reason. Barack Obama and John McCain were each the most independent thinking, off-the-cuff, likable people from each of their respective parties. While I admire Hillary Clinton and while I think Mitt Romney is probably Senator McCain's best veep option, could you imagine a general election between these two focus-grouped, moldable, say-anything-to-win loonies? They would end up running so far and so fast to the center, because that's what you're supposed to do between June and November, that they'd probably cross paths and you'd hear Romney calling for the repeal of the Bush tax cuts and Clinton demanding an amendment to ban gay marriage.
Free-thinking Democrats and free-thinking Republicans produced the presumptive nominees, and now these voters are being betrayed. Stick a flag pin on Barack, even though he'll look like a sell-out to our base! Tell McCain to stop calling reporters jerks, no matter how affectionately he means it! The only way to let these candidates be who they are, how to act in the way they got to the big stage, is to get rid of all their handlers. So what if Obama's personality doesn't appeal to the Rust Belt Reagan Democrats? So what if McCain makes jokes about attacking other countries to the tune of Beach Boys songs? Fire their whole campaign staffs, save a few in charge of scheduling and travel. Get rid of campaign commercials - all they are is noise to those who don't care and regurgitation to those who already know what's going on. Let them spend money only on essentials and traveling the country to meet voters. Rather than obliquely responding to a campaign's surrogate, the only people who may speak for John McCain and Barack Obama are, yes, John McCain and Barack Obama. You might not get the same volume of minutiae on the cable shows (but, but, but, I wanna hear Lindsay Graham responding to Evan Bayh responding to Joe Lieberman responding to Wes Clark!), but you'll get an intelligent, sane campaign with people knowing about the issues more than they know about the Obama campaign's faux-presidential seal.
My Metsies made it five in a row tonight. I find it interesting and slightly puzzling that the weekend series against the Rockies, usually a pedestrian outing against a team in some other division, is picked up regionally by Fox on Saturday and nationally by ESPN on Sunday.
Brother Jesse: Don't sugar coat it, tell us how you really feel about your candidate. All of us in Hymietown really want to know.
Simple as this: Obama versus McCain. Not David Axelrod versus Rick Davis. Not Wesley Clark versus Joe Lieberman. One of these men will be President. The next gasoline price milestone or the first global terror threat under a new administration will not send Americans demanding answers from these bloviators and cheerleaders. The American people need to know the guy in charge, not the guys and gals who know the guys that want to be in charge. FIRE THE REST OF THE BUMS.
From an objective standpoint, as someone who admires both candidates, they are both miles apart on policy, but were nominated by their parties for the same flippin' reason. Barack Obama and John McCain were each the most independent thinking, off-the-cuff, likable people from each of their respective parties. While I admire Hillary Clinton and while I think Mitt Romney is probably Senator McCain's best veep option, could you imagine a general election between these two focus-grouped, moldable, say-anything-to-win loonies? They would end up running so far and so fast to the center, because that's what you're supposed to do between June and November, that they'd probably cross paths and you'd hear Romney calling for the repeal of the Bush tax cuts and Clinton demanding an amendment to ban gay marriage.
Free-thinking Democrats and free-thinking Republicans produced the presumptive nominees, and now these voters are being betrayed. Stick a flag pin on Barack, even though he'll look like a sell-out to our base! Tell McCain to stop calling reporters jerks, no matter how affectionately he means it! The only way to let these candidates be who they are, how to act in the way they got to the big stage, is to get rid of all their handlers. So what if Obama's personality doesn't appeal to the Rust Belt Reagan Democrats? So what if McCain makes jokes about attacking other countries to the tune of Beach Boys songs? Fire their whole campaign staffs, save a few in charge of scheduling and travel. Get rid of campaign commercials - all they are is noise to those who don't care and regurgitation to those who already know what's going on. Let them spend money only on essentials and traveling the country to meet voters. Rather than obliquely responding to a campaign's surrogate, the only people who may speak for John McCain and Barack Obama are, yes, John McCain and Barack Obama. You might not get the same volume of minutiae on the cable shows (but, but, but, I wanna hear Lindsay Graham responding to Evan Bayh responding to Joe Lieberman responding to Wes Clark!), but you'll get an intelligent, sane campaign with people knowing about the issues more than they know about the Obama campaign's faux-presidential seal.
My Metsies made it five in a row tonight. I find it interesting and slightly puzzling that the weekend series against the Rockies, usually a pedestrian outing against a team in some other division, is picked up regionally by Fox on Saturday and nationally by ESPN on Sunday.
Brother Jesse: Don't sugar coat it, tell us how you really feel about your candidate. All of us in Hymietown really want to know.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Friday Tidbits
It's official: The Mets are once again the team to beat in the National League. Vegas actually improved their odds of winning the World Series from 8-1 to 5-1, somewhere between the Red Sox and Yankees.
In other news, I watched the whole thing. I can't believe I watched the whole damn thing. What I was hoping would be a slugfest, ending with Obama pummeling Clinton with left hooks while Michelle and Chelsea tumbled down the stairs of the Kodak theater on top of each other, actually proved civil and even pretty inspirational. And fine, fine, I think an Obama/Clinton ticket would probably be pretty positive, but as Barack said, that combination is much different when flipped around.
The following, according to "Don Corleone" on the Imus in the Morning Program the other day, is the reason why his "godson" Rudy lost in the Sunshine State:
In Florida, there are too many old people. They take sides based on what they have heard last. Rudy speaks to them and they nod as they drool in their oatmeal. They swear their loyalty and respect and then as soon as he leaves their sight they turn to one another and say, "Who was that? Where am I? When is Bingo?" I thought I made them an offer they couldn't refuse, but instead it was an offer they couldn't remember.
In other news, I watched the whole thing. I can't believe I watched the whole damn thing. What I was hoping would be a slugfest, ending with Obama pummeling Clinton with left hooks while Michelle and Chelsea tumbled down the stairs of the Kodak theater on top of each other, actually proved civil and even pretty inspirational. And fine, fine, I think an Obama/Clinton ticket would probably be pretty positive, but as Barack said, that combination is much different when flipped around.
The following, according to "Don Corleone" on the Imus in the Morning Program the other day, is the reason why his "godson" Rudy lost in the Sunshine State:
In Florida, there are too many old people. They take sides based on what they have heard last. Rudy speaks to them and they nod as they drool in their oatmeal. They swear their loyalty and respect and then as soon as he leaves their sight they turn to one another and say, "Who was that? Where am I? When is Bingo?" I thought I made them an offer they couldn't refuse, but instead it was an offer they couldn't remember.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Friday Hodge Podge
One of my female readers asked me the other if this was now exclusively a baseball blog. (You could have expressed that in a comment, I mean that's what comment boxes are for, geez). It is not, nor will it be, it just so happens that I write about what I know and where my passions lie. That'll probably be my last Mets post until March, unless Omar Minaya pulls off the insane and trades Lastings Milledge for Johan Santana. Actually, I'll be too busy to write because I'll be gone for a week or so volunteering to drive Lastings to Minnesota and pick up Johan. And Lastings, don't get any ideas. I control the radio.
Fordham held its first "Senior Night" of the year. Twenty-one year old seniors are allowed to come, drink for two bucks a beer or glass of wine, and dance the night away with fellow seniors. What I enjoyed so much is that for once Fordham was selling something under 125% of market rate. Maybe it's because Jesuits are such fans of brewskies. Anyway, I was please to find that I recognized about 90% of the people there. Of this group, a third of them I know well enough to chat with, another third I see sporadically on campus or in class, and the rest I thought died or worse transferred because I haven't seen them since freshman year in my random liberal arts core classes. I believe a good time was had by all; it was by me at least, and I look forward to next month's 80s theme.
For those of you who watch The Office, last night was so much better than the season premiere. I like the direction they're going in with Ryan, once-temp-now-boss, being villain-istic. I mean it was set up nicely the past two seasons with exposing him as a heartless corporate type more suited for Lehman than a failing regional paper company in Scranton, PA. I know I've been whining lately about devoting too much time to the romances of Jam, Relly, Janchael, and Dwangela, but they did an awesome job with all of those last night. That's in spite of the fact that two of those four (I won't say who so that you can watch the episode online and by clicking on the video link NBC knows that millions across the country actually watch the show and it can stay on for four hundred more years) didn't survive the night. My gut tells me both couples will be back together soon, and we'll be all the better for it.
Ahh, five day weekends. I'm gonna go spend mine now studying for the GMAT. It's a comfort to me knowing that tonight while all of you are getting loaded and participating in marvelous random hookups, you'll simultaneously envy me while I'm on my fourth cup of coffee taking online diagnostics.
Out.
Fordham held its first "Senior Night" of the year. Twenty-one year old seniors are allowed to come, drink for two bucks a beer or glass of wine, and dance the night away with fellow seniors. What I enjoyed so much is that for once Fordham was selling something under 125% of market rate. Maybe it's because Jesuits are such fans of brewskies. Anyway, I was please to find that I recognized about 90% of the people there. Of this group, a third of them I know well enough to chat with, another third I see sporadically on campus or in class, and the rest I thought died or worse transferred because I haven't seen them since freshman year in my random liberal arts core classes. I believe a good time was had by all; it was by me at least, and I look forward to next month's 80s theme.
For those of you who watch The Office, last night was so much better than the season premiere. I like the direction they're going in with Ryan, once-temp-now-boss, being villain-istic. I mean it was set up nicely the past two seasons with exposing him as a heartless corporate type more suited for Lehman than a failing regional paper company in Scranton, PA. I know I've been whining lately about devoting too much time to the romances of Jam, Relly, Janchael, and Dwangela, but they did an awesome job with all of those last night. That's in spite of the fact that two of those four (I won't say who so that you can watch the episode online and by clicking on the video link NBC knows that millions across the country actually watch the show and it can stay on for four hundred more years) didn't survive the night. My gut tells me both couples will be back together soon, and we'll be all the better for it.
Ahh, five day weekends. I'm gonna go spend mine now studying for the GMAT. It's a comfort to me knowing that tonight while all of you are getting loaded and participating in marvelous random hookups, you'll simultaneously envy me while I'm on my fourth cup of coffee taking online diagnostics.
Out.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Your (Off-)Season Has Come
I came home this evening to the following e-mail for the Collapsins':
Dear Mets Fan:
All of us at the Mets are bitterly disappointed in failing to achieve our collective goal of building upon last year's success. We did not meet our organization's expectations -- or yours. Everyone at Shea feels the same range of emotions as you -- our loyal fans -- and we know we have let you down. We wanted to thank you for your record-breaking support of our team this year.
Equally important, Ownership will continue its commitment in providing the resources necessary to field a championship team. Omar will be meeting with Ownership shortly to present his plan on addressing our shortcomings so that we can achieve our goal of winning championships in 2008 and beyond.
You deserve better results.
Many thanks again for your record-breaking support.
I'm not sure what this e-mail means to me. Is it better than nothing? Yes. But I also feel they mean the final line to mean: "Many thanks again for your record-breaking support. We can expect the same from you next year, right? Eh? Eh?"
I may have appreciated this message more if all twenty-five (I don't care about the additional September call-ups) players lined the field after the final out to read this statement to the 30,000+ who stayed to go down with the ship.
I hereby provide my analysis of The Team, The Time, The Collapse:
If Mets fans can find a single rallying cry of anger, a single quote to point to as why we're so pissed-off at these bums, it was when Carlos Delgado waved the then-budding collapse off with: "I think at times we can get a little careless. We’ve got so much talent I think sometimes we get bored."
Reyes, Castillo, Wright, Beltran, Alou, Delgado, LoDuca, Green. What pitcher would ever think of wanting to face that row? Well, in September, he wouldn't while his team was behind anyway. But once his team inevitably came back from its five run deficit, he could go out to the mound with confidence that the Mutts would not score another run.
Pitching? HA. A man with 303 career wins couldn't get past 1/27th of a game. More on him later. But as the season wore on and a five inning effort from the starters was inevitable, the porous bullpen coughed up everything.
Now let's talk about the members of the most infamous New York sports failure ever individually - and whoever thought anyone could top the Yankees' choke against Boston in '04?
David Wright: It's easy to start here, because the kid deserves no blame. After a horrible April, he posted a season anyone would sign up for: .325 batting average, 30 homers, 107 RBIs. An leader on the field and off at the tender age of 24, he didn't get bored or mail it in, ever.
Carlos Beltran: Again, almost nothing bad to say here. Had some rough patches, but he was on fire in August and September. Team leader in homers and RBIs. I'll be very depressed if he gets traded this winter, which has already been rumored possibly for Johan Santana.
Moises Alou: Omar, Moises, and all of us knew going into the season that 'lou would miss a significant amount of time. My only regret is that we didn't have a twenty-year younger version of the man.
Shawn Green: Not a bad tail-end of a career. Shalom, Shawnie.
Paul LoDuca: I sincerely hope that my last memory of the Duke is not limping to the plate with two out and the bases loaded, then grounding out to the pitcher. Not a terrific season, but better than most catchers our there. But we need his fire. If you cut the man, he would bleed orange and blue.
Pedro Martinez: What he could have done for us in the post-season, we can only wonder now. At least a full year of St. Pedro Days is something to look forward to next year.
John Maine, Ollie Perez: Gutsy, gutsy, gutsy. They may not have had Cy Young years, but the heart they showed during each and every start spare them any blame or criticism from Mets Nation.
Carlos Delgado: I was never big on the guy. When we got him I said I would have been perfectly fine keeping a young Mike Jacobs. And his aforementioned comment burns me up. Notably, Jacobs was on the winning side of that field yesterday. Delgado left the game with a broken hand.
The bench (Endy Chavez, Carlos Gomez, Marlon Anderson, Ruben Gotay, Ramon Castro): Many days towards the end I would've preferred some of you out there starting. Great job pinch hitting and Alou-subbing, guys.
Lastings Milledge: Gone. Bye. Just go. Omar, trade this immature punk who you've given more than enough chances to for a bullpen arm. We need that a lot more.
Tom Glavine: What a thief. He comes in to fill out a 300-win career in a major media market with a lot of money because Atlanta was done with him. We proceed to give him five years. Besides his 300th win, what highlights has he given us? He bombed in his first Mets start in 2003, and he bombed his last three. And while Mets fans were jumping off the Whitestone Bridge in droves, he says, "It's not devastating, but it's disappointing." GET OUT OF NEW YORK IF YOU THINK OUR FANS DON'T CARE. The next time I see him at Shea, it better in a Braves uniform during a 10-0 Mets' rout.
Bullpen: Wow. I hope some of you thought to ask Tom Glavine for a ride out of Shea permanently. You stay, Joe Smith - Rick Peterson burned you out. Actually, give Heilman a chance in the rotation. And Wagner, I hope your back spasms turn into mouth spasms so you save 35 games next year without saying a damn word.
Jose Reyes: I saved my remaining disappointment for you. (Wow, notice how I've slipped into the second-person as I've gotten more upset). You wanna be a top-line shortstop? I think you have what it takes. I wouldn't put it past you to eclipse Derek Jeter as the greatest New York shortstop by the time you enter the Hall. But Derek's got something you haven't developed yet: maturity. Man has four rings. He deserves to show a little flair. Once you broke the franchise stolen bases record, you became Mo Vaughn. Not running out ground balls? Swinging at the first pitch and popping out all the time? DANCING with Lastings Milledge after you're already up 10-0? You were a huge part of the reason why the rest of the National League hated your team this year, buddy. Hanley Ramirez would've come out in a wheelchair yesterday to see you lose. I don't know if Rickey Henderson gave you this uncalled for arrogance. If he did, listening to him is a mistake and I don't think you have to worry about him as one of your coaches next year anyway. Wake up, kid. Grow up and be who we all thought you would be and who you've shown you're capable of being.
As for Omar and Willie, they have to be back next year. I remember dancing in my room the night in Winter 2004 when I heard on WFAN that Omar Minaya would be named GM. Firing Omar and Willie would send us back to the Jim Duquette/Art (Whowhatwhenwherewhy)Howe era. No one wants to remember that.
Omar: Pull off some crazy stuff like you did in 2005 and 2006. Figure out a way to trade Aaron Sele for Todd Lincecum. Get us a bullpen, and don't give up Wright, Reyes, or Beltran in the process. I assure you, people will piss on your house if you do.
Willie: Man, I can't fault you for not charging an ump Billy Martin style. I know you're Cool Hand Willie and the bite in your words are conveyed to your players in private and not in media tirades. That's how it should be. I don't want antics, I want wins. But you gotta lay into Reyes more. Don't let Omar make your decisions for you, either. Be your own man in your clubhouse and dugout. As mad as we are and as irrational as many are being in calling for your head, Mets fans would love to see you on a World Series parade float. Bottom line is, we love you. Now show us some love back.
Garykeithandron: According to the Sports Pope, the Mets booth is the greatest in baseball. I knew that long before he had that revelation today. Keith Hernandez would be the only man I'd replace Willie Randolph with in a heartbeat. However, he's said that he loves going to the stadium every day, in a suit and not a uniform. Whether it was a seventeen inning nailbiter or a 7-0 pounding by a west coast team at 1am, these three made SNY must-see TV. These three make a strong case for team MVP.
Wait till next year, right?
Dear Mets Fan:
All of us at the Mets are bitterly disappointed in failing to achieve our collective goal of building upon last year's success. We did not meet our organization's expectations -- or yours. Everyone at Shea feels the same range of emotions as you -- our loyal fans -- and we know we have let you down. We wanted to thank you for your record-breaking support of our team this year.
Equally important, Ownership will continue its commitment in providing the resources necessary to field a championship team. Omar will be meeting with Ownership shortly to present his plan on addressing our shortcomings so that we can achieve our goal of winning championships in 2008 and beyond.
You deserve better results.
Many thanks again for your record-breaking support.
I'm not sure what this e-mail means to me. Is it better than nothing? Yes. But I also feel they mean the final line to mean: "Many thanks again for your record-breaking support. We can expect the same from you next year, right? Eh? Eh?"
I may have appreciated this message more if all twenty-five (I don't care about the additional September call-ups) players lined the field after the final out to read this statement to the 30,000+ who stayed to go down with the ship.
I hereby provide my analysis of The Team, The Time, The Collapse:
If Mets fans can find a single rallying cry of anger, a single quote to point to as why we're so pissed-off at these bums, it was when Carlos Delgado waved the then-budding collapse off with: "I think at times we can get a little careless. We’ve got so much talent I think sometimes we get bored."
Reyes, Castillo, Wright, Beltran, Alou, Delgado, LoDuca, Green. What pitcher would ever think of wanting to face that row? Well, in September, he wouldn't while his team was behind anyway. But once his team inevitably came back from its five run deficit, he could go out to the mound with confidence that the Mutts would not score another run.
Pitching? HA. A man with 303 career wins couldn't get past 1/27th of a game. More on him later. But as the season wore on and a five inning effort from the starters was inevitable, the porous bullpen coughed up everything.
Now let's talk about the members of the most infamous New York sports failure ever individually - and whoever thought anyone could top the Yankees' choke against Boston in '04?
David Wright: It's easy to start here, because the kid deserves no blame. After a horrible April, he posted a season anyone would sign up for: .325 batting average, 30 homers, 107 RBIs. An leader on the field and off at the tender age of 24, he didn't get bored or mail it in, ever.
Carlos Beltran: Again, almost nothing bad to say here. Had some rough patches, but he was on fire in August and September. Team leader in homers and RBIs. I'll be very depressed if he gets traded this winter, which has already been rumored possibly for Johan Santana.
Moises Alou: Omar, Moises, and all of us knew going into the season that 'lou would miss a significant amount of time. My only regret is that we didn't have a twenty-year younger version of the man.
Shawn Green: Not a bad tail-end of a career. Shalom, Shawnie.
Paul LoDuca: I sincerely hope that my last memory of the Duke is not limping to the plate with two out and the bases loaded, then grounding out to the pitcher. Not a terrific season, but better than most catchers our there. But we need his fire. If you cut the man, he would bleed orange and blue.
Pedro Martinez: What he could have done for us in the post-season, we can only wonder now. At least a full year of St. Pedro Days is something to look forward to next year.
John Maine, Ollie Perez: Gutsy, gutsy, gutsy. They may not have had Cy Young years, but the heart they showed during each and every start spare them any blame or criticism from Mets Nation.
Carlos Delgado: I was never big on the guy. When we got him I said I would have been perfectly fine keeping a young Mike Jacobs. And his aforementioned comment burns me up. Notably, Jacobs was on the winning side of that field yesterday. Delgado left the game with a broken hand.
The bench (Endy Chavez, Carlos Gomez, Marlon Anderson, Ruben Gotay, Ramon Castro): Many days towards the end I would've preferred some of you out there starting. Great job pinch hitting and Alou-subbing, guys.
Lastings Milledge: Gone. Bye. Just go. Omar, trade this immature punk who you've given more than enough chances to for a bullpen arm. We need that a lot more.
Tom Glavine: What a thief. He comes in to fill out a 300-win career in a major media market with a lot of money because Atlanta was done with him. We proceed to give him five years. Besides his 300th win, what highlights has he given us? He bombed in his first Mets start in 2003, and he bombed his last three. And while Mets fans were jumping off the Whitestone Bridge in droves, he says, "It's not devastating, but it's disappointing." GET OUT OF NEW YORK IF YOU THINK OUR FANS DON'T CARE. The next time I see him at Shea, it better in a Braves uniform during a 10-0 Mets' rout.
Bullpen: Wow. I hope some of you thought to ask Tom Glavine for a ride out of Shea permanently. You stay, Joe Smith - Rick Peterson burned you out. Actually, give Heilman a chance in the rotation. And Wagner, I hope your back spasms turn into mouth spasms so you save 35 games next year without saying a damn word.
Jose Reyes: I saved my remaining disappointment for you. (Wow, notice how I've slipped into the second-person as I've gotten more upset). You wanna be a top-line shortstop? I think you have what it takes. I wouldn't put it past you to eclipse Derek Jeter as the greatest New York shortstop by the time you enter the Hall. But Derek's got something you haven't developed yet: maturity. Man has four rings. He deserves to show a little flair. Once you broke the franchise stolen bases record, you became Mo Vaughn. Not running out ground balls? Swinging at the first pitch and popping out all the time? DANCING with Lastings Milledge after you're already up 10-0? You were a huge part of the reason why the rest of the National League hated your team this year, buddy. Hanley Ramirez would've come out in a wheelchair yesterday to see you lose. I don't know if Rickey Henderson gave you this uncalled for arrogance. If he did, listening to him is a mistake and I don't think you have to worry about him as one of your coaches next year anyway. Wake up, kid. Grow up and be who we all thought you would be and who you've shown you're capable of being.
As for Omar and Willie, they have to be back next year. I remember dancing in my room the night in Winter 2004 when I heard on WFAN that Omar Minaya would be named GM. Firing Omar and Willie would send us back to the Jim Duquette/Art (Whowhatwhenwherewhy)Howe era. No one wants to remember that.
Omar: Pull off some crazy stuff like you did in 2005 and 2006. Figure out a way to trade Aaron Sele for Todd Lincecum. Get us a bullpen, and don't give up Wright, Reyes, or Beltran in the process. I assure you, people will piss on your house if you do.
Willie: Man, I can't fault you for not charging an ump Billy Martin style. I know you're Cool Hand Willie and the bite in your words are conveyed to your players in private and not in media tirades. That's how it should be. I don't want antics, I want wins. But you gotta lay into Reyes more. Don't let Omar make your decisions for you, either. Be your own man in your clubhouse and dugout. As mad as we are and as irrational as many are being in calling for your head, Mets fans would love to see you on a World Series parade float. Bottom line is, we love you. Now show us some love back.
Garykeithandron: According to the Sports Pope, the Mets booth is the greatest in baseball. I knew that long before he had that revelation today. Keith Hernandez would be the only man I'd replace Willie Randolph with in a heartbeat. However, he's said that he loves going to the stadium every day, in a suit and not a uniform. Whether it was a seventeen inning nailbiter or a 7-0 pounding by a west coast team at 1am, these three made SNY must-see TV. These three make a strong case for team MVP.
Wait till next year, right?
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Flushing 2032
"Good afternoon, New York Mets? Yes, yes, just a moment." Roberta pressed the intercom button. "Mike, it's Bob Remsen. Shall I put him through?"
"Tell him I'll talk to him tomorrow. Citigroup can wait a day on the team's 401(k). I don't plan on retiring this weekend anyway."
"But what if I do?"
"Then this whole organization might as well fold. I still tell Omar that if it weren't for your pound cake the day Johan Santana brought his kids to see how he felt about the team's atmosphere, then the Phillies would've won the pennant in 2015."
"Oh, yeah right. Mr. Minaya wouldn't have any of that talk."
"I'm gonna head down to the stands, 'Bert. I've been waiting twenty-eight years to see the team retire numbers five and seven. I guess this officially means Jose's done swiping bags. Just when we could use a good shortstop, too."
"Michael, Michael, Michael. Don't worry! I'll get the boys we need, you just make sure we got the dough to pay 'em." The longest reigning general manager in the sport had just walked in, and even at seventy-four, he was still not one to have his baseball acumen questioned.
"I'm not sure if we could ever have enough cash to keep buying out Paul. But you da GM!"
I was one of the few who could get away with teasing Omar about our manager situation. For the past seven years, we'd gone through five managers. Paul LoDuca. Tony Gwynn, Jr. Paul LoDuca. Ed Travers. Paul LoDuca. Paul and Omar have always had a colorful relationship. Ever since the days of Paul saying and doing things to make the front office cringe in 2006 and 2007, it had been a rough road for the two. Everyone agrees that the only unbreakable bond between them is their common obsession with the New York Mets since birth.
"I'm tellin' ya, Mikey. If that little punk pushes down one more umpire over a questionable called strike in the ninth inning of a 12-3 rout, I'll make sure he doesn't manage so much as an ant farm!"
"That little punk's won ya four division titles and a World Series -
"Ay! Shut up already, you coming downstairs or what?"
"To party like it's 2007? Yeah, five minutes. My wife's bringing my David Wright jersey."
"Ay dios mio, Michael, you're our CFO, not our head cheerleader. It's bad enough you can't type with those four World Series rings on all the time. Like Fred always said, if we gave Mr. Met a checkbook and sat him at your desk, no one would ever know the difference. See you behind the plate."
I sat in my office a few more minutes, waiting for Julia to get to the stadium with my jersey and the kids. Being married to the New York City Schools' Chancellor always meant having to be patient while some principal whined to her about class sizes. My cell phone rang and I headed downstairs.
"Daddy! Did Mr. Wright ever hit a home run?" My youngest daughter was just starting to learn the terminology of our family's favorite pasttime.
"Yes, pumpkin. Mr. Wright hit lots of home runs. C'mon, I think he and Uncle Keith wanted to show you something before the game."
I led my wife and our three kids up to the Ralph Kiner Television Booth. The room has carried the same name since I was a teenager, and probably will until Gary Cohen and Keith Hernandez finally decide to hang up their microphones. They each only do a few innings a piece these days, but remain just as incredible as ever. Wright was beginning his second year in the booth, and SNY's ratings were at an all time high. My suspicion is that the population of female Mets fans exploded when they were able to stare at New York's favorite pretty boy every night on TV. I happened to think David was doing a good job, but the critics weren't being as kind. They did have a point though. Few people want to hear a play-by-play man gush about how Mets fans are the greatest fans in the world when the middle reliever has just been booed off the field after giving up yet another home run.
"Hey, Emily! You know what this is?" Keith was already in the booth.
"A babblehead!"
"Nope, Keith's a babblehead," David Wright said as he walked into the room. "This is a bobblehead. A Willie Randolph bobblehead. Has Daddy ever told you about him?"
"He was Daddy's favorite manager!"
"Mr. Wright's favorite manager too, Emily," Keith proclaimed. "I brought it for you."
"Thank you, Uncle Babblehead!"
Keith chuckled. "Stop corrupting Mike's girl, Dave!"
It was a beautiful night at Shea. It felt so liberating to say Shea again. One of my proudest accomplishments was negotiating with Citi to drop their name from the stadium five years ago. Omar wanted to kill me since buying out that contract put a strain on payroll, but Jeff Wilpon backed me all the way.
Nothing could top the gorgeous May evening. I had been working for my number one obsession for the past twenty years. We were in the midst of three straight years of sitting atop the NL East. My two favorite ballplayers of all time, Mets for life until they retired after the 2027 World Series, were about to have their numbers hung from the Jackie Robinson rotunda. With my beautiful family at my side, we took our seats behind the dugout.
"No one will ever touch this man's career record of 1,804 stolen bases!" bellowed Master of Ceremonies Tom Glavine from the field. "With a lifetime .310 average, he helped lead the Mets to six World series titles dating back to 2007. He'll tell you with his trademark smile that it was Pedro Martinez' Game 1 perfect game that did the trick, but that doesn't excuse our shortstop's .512 batting average during the Series. Ladies and gentlemen, as we take his number out of use for the New York Mets, please give it up for the shortstop, number seven, JO-SAYYYYY REYES!"
At the chorus of 45,000 people chanting his old familiar theme, Reyes came running as hard as ever onto the field. Lo Duca could be seen bellowing his name from the field as well.
I leaned over my GM's shoulder. "Omar, I don't care if he goes after the entire opposing team with a bat tonight, you can't fire him now."
"I'll do what I can, but if he lets Vegas win tonight, I might just lose it. Ever since they moved, he can't seem to get it through his fat little head that they're still the Marlins!"
The ceremonies continued. The love for Reyes was omnipotent. The same went for Wright a few minutes later. The old left side of the infield tandem raised each other's arms, reminiscent of all the times they strode down the ticker tape parades together. What a night to be a Mets fan.
"Tell him I'll talk to him tomorrow. Citigroup can wait a day on the team's 401(k). I don't plan on retiring this weekend anyway."
"But what if I do?"
"Then this whole organization might as well fold. I still tell Omar that if it weren't for your pound cake the day Johan Santana brought his kids to see how he felt about the team's atmosphere, then the Phillies would've won the pennant in 2015."
"Oh, yeah right. Mr. Minaya wouldn't have any of that talk."
"I'm gonna head down to the stands, 'Bert. I've been waiting twenty-eight years to see the team retire numbers five and seven. I guess this officially means Jose's done swiping bags. Just when we could use a good shortstop, too."
"Michael, Michael, Michael. Don't worry! I'll get the boys we need, you just make sure we got the dough to pay 'em." The longest reigning general manager in the sport had just walked in, and even at seventy-four, he was still not one to have his baseball acumen questioned.
"I'm not sure if we could ever have enough cash to keep buying out Paul. But you da GM!"
I was one of the few who could get away with teasing Omar about our manager situation. For the past seven years, we'd gone through five managers. Paul LoDuca. Tony Gwynn, Jr. Paul LoDuca. Ed Travers. Paul LoDuca. Paul and Omar have always had a colorful relationship. Ever since the days of Paul saying and doing things to make the front office cringe in 2006 and 2007, it had been a rough road for the two. Everyone agrees that the only unbreakable bond between them is their common obsession with the New York Mets since birth.
"I'm tellin' ya, Mikey. If that little punk pushes down one more umpire over a questionable called strike in the ninth inning of a 12-3 rout, I'll make sure he doesn't manage so much as an ant farm!"
"That little punk's won ya four division titles and a World Series -
"Ay! Shut up already, you coming downstairs or what?"
"To party like it's 2007? Yeah, five minutes. My wife's bringing my David Wright jersey."
"Ay dios mio, Michael, you're our CFO, not our head cheerleader. It's bad enough you can't type with those four World Series rings on all the time. Like Fred always said, if we gave Mr. Met a checkbook and sat him at your desk, no one would ever know the difference. See you behind the plate."
I sat in my office a few more minutes, waiting for Julia to get to the stadium with my jersey and the kids. Being married to the New York City Schools' Chancellor always meant having to be patient while some principal whined to her about class sizes. My cell phone rang and I headed downstairs.
"Daddy! Did Mr. Wright ever hit a home run?" My youngest daughter was just starting to learn the terminology of our family's favorite pasttime.
"Yes, pumpkin. Mr. Wright hit lots of home runs. C'mon, I think he and Uncle Keith wanted to show you something before the game."
I led my wife and our three kids up to the Ralph Kiner Television Booth. The room has carried the same name since I was a teenager, and probably will until Gary Cohen and Keith Hernandez finally decide to hang up their microphones. They each only do a few innings a piece these days, but remain just as incredible as ever. Wright was beginning his second year in the booth, and SNY's ratings were at an all time high. My suspicion is that the population of female Mets fans exploded when they were able to stare at New York's favorite pretty boy every night on TV. I happened to think David was doing a good job, but the critics weren't being as kind. They did have a point though. Few people want to hear a play-by-play man gush about how Mets fans are the greatest fans in the world when the middle reliever has just been booed off the field after giving up yet another home run.
"Hey, Emily! You know what this is?" Keith was already in the booth.
"A babblehead!"
"Nope, Keith's a babblehead," David Wright said as he walked into the room. "This is a bobblehead. A Willie Randolph bobblehead. Has Daddy ever told you about him?"
"He was Daddy's favorite manager!"
"Mr. Wright's favorite manager too, Emily," Keith proclaimed. "I brought it for you."
"Thank you, Uncle Babblehead!"
Keith chuckled. "Stop corrupting Mike's girl, Dave!"
It was a beautiful night at Shea. It felt so liberating to say Shea again. One of my proudest accomplishments was negotiating with Citi to drop their name from the stadium five years ago. Omar wanted to kill me since buying out that contract put a strain on payroll, but Jeff Wilpon backed me all the way.
Nothing could top the gorgeous May evening. I had been working for my number one obsession for the past twenty years. We were in the midst of three straight years of sitting atop the NL East. My two favorite ballplayers of all time, Mets for life until they retired after the 2027 World Series, were about to have their numbers hung from the Jackie Robinson rotunda. With my beautiful family at my side, we took our seats behind the dugout.
"No one will ever touch this man's career record of 1,804 stolen bases!" bellowed Master of Ceremonies Tom Glavine from the field. "With a lifetime .310 average, he helped lead the Mets to six World series titles dating back to 2007. He'll tell you with his trademark smile that it was Pedro Martinez' Game 1 perfect game that did the trick, but that doesn't excuse our shortstop's .512 batting average during the Series. Ladies and gentlemen, as we take his number out of use for the New York Mets, please give it up for the shortstop, number seven, JO-SAYYYYY REYES!"
At the chorus of 45,000 people chanting his old familiar theme, Reyes came running as hard as ever onto the field. Lo Duca could be seen bellowing his name from the field as well.
I leaned over my GM's shoulder. "Omar, I don't care if he goes after the entire opposing team with a bat tonight, you can't fire him now."
"I'll do what I can, but if he lets Vegas win tonight, I might just lose it. Ever since they moved, he can't seem to get it through his fat little head that they're still the Marlins!"
The ceremonies continued. The love for Reyes was omnipotent. The same went for Wright a few minutes later. The old left side of the infield tandem raised each other's arms, reminiscent of all the times they strode down the ticker tape parades together. What a night to be a Mets fan.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Yanks and Cano KAY-oed
If the Yankee secondbaseman's errors from this afternoon played last night's Yankee runs, the defensive gaffes would have it by a score of 3-2. FOX named Endy Chavez as the Mets' player of the game. WFAN gave the honor to David Wright. They both had it wrong. Robinson Cano was the MVP of the day.
Good teams get the breaks. Bad teams' pitchers have their index fingers broken. Now I don't wish injuries upon any player, unless your name is Barry Bonds and you're about to break a hallowed record. But the first of Endy's four hits on the day proved to be the hardest as it felled the Yanks' starter. Mike Myers was not shown mercy by the Kings of Queens and all of New York as David Wright served up a two-run bomb out of Shea and into Citi Field. The rest of the game was a dandy, with some repeat Wright Stuff later on.
The only bit of agida came after Thomas Michael Glavine left the game - love the middle name, Tom. I predicted to my Dad when Schoeneweis came on in relief that an 8-2 Mets' laugher wouldn't stay very funny. I was right as he gave up three runs in the seventh and the start of the eighth, and I sensed a revived Yankee team as their lineup reverted back to the top. For the second straight night though, Captain Jeter went down to end the eighth. Thank you, the better blatantly German-named Mets' pitcher. By the by, his middle name is Michael, too.
To the bottom of the eighth, Cano made it a little more comfortable for us again when he thought his shoe was Josh Phelps' glove. Important to note here was that before Cano's botched throw, Wright and Beltran reached second and third on a double steal after Willie Randolph signaled for it. If Willie doesn't make that call, Cano puts the ball in his back pocket after Julio Franco's infield hit and only one run scores. Dr. Randolph again showed he deserves his new title.
On May 20, 2006, Billy Wagner came into the middle game of a Subway Series and attempted to close out a four run Mets lead to win the Shea half of the Series. This afternoon, Billy Wagner came into the middle game of a Subway Series and attempted to close out a four run Mets lead to win the Shea half of the Series. On May 20, 2006, giddiness turned to worry as Wagner proved shaky. This afternoon, giddiness turned to worry as Wagner proved shaky. On May 20, 2006, worry turned to horror as the Yankees tied the game and went on to beat Jorge Julio in the tenth. This afternoon, worry turned back into giddiness as Wagner baffled Phelps and put that bitch in the books, 10-7.
Tomorrow night I'll be at Shea with my broom to sweep the Yankees into the waiting hot bats of the Boston Red Sox. We then go to Atlanta and attempt to give ourselves some divisional breathing room. It's good to be king.
Good teams get the breaks. Bad teams' pitchers have their index fingers broken. Now I don't wish injuries upon any player, unless your name is Barry Bonds and you're about to break a hallowed record. But the first of Endy's four hits on the day proved to be the hardest as it felled the Yanks' starter. Mike Myers was not shown mercy by the Kings of Queens and all of New York as David Wright served up a two-run bomb out of Shea and into Citi Field. The rest of the game was a dandy, with some repeat Wright Stuff later on.
The only bit of agida came after Thomas Michael Glavine left the game - love the middle name, Tom. I predicted to my Dad when Schoeneweis came on in relief that an 8-2 Mets' laugher wouldn't stay very funny. I was right as he gave up three runs in the seventh and the start of the eighth, and I sensed a revived Yankee team as their lineup reverted back to the top. For the second straight night though, Captain Jeter went down to end the eighth. Thank you, the better blatantly German-named Mets' pitcher. By the by, his middle name is Michael, too.
To the bottom of the eighth, Cano made it a little more comfortable for us again when he thought his shoe was Josh Phelps' glove. Important to note here was that before Cano's botched throw, Wright and Beltran reached second and third on a double steal after Willie Randolph signaled for it. If Willie doesn't make that call, Cano puts the ball in his back pocket after Julio Franco's infield hit and only one run scores. Dr. Randolph again showed he deserves his new title.
On May 20, 2006, Billy Wagner came into the middle game of a Subway Series and attempted to close out a four run Mets lead to win the Shea half of the Series. This afternoon, Billy Wagner came into the middle game of a Subway Series and attempted to close out a four run Mets lead to win the Shea half of the Series. On May 20, 2006, giddiness turned to worry as Wagner proved shaky. This afternoon, giddiness turned to worry as Wagner proved shaky. On May 20, 2006, worry turned to horror as the Yankees tied the game and went on to beat Jorge Julio in the tenth. This afternoon, worry turned back into giddiness as Wagner baffled Phelps and put that bitch in the books, 10-7.
Tomorrow night I'll be at Shea with my broom to sweep the Yankees into the waiting hot bats of the Boston Red Sox. We then go to Atlanta and attempt to give ourselves some divisional breathing room. It's good to be king.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Subway Series, BABY
Awesomeness On A Stick readers, be prepared for a weekend full of New York vs. New York coverage. Upon recommendation from one of my readers, I decided to ramp up the bloggage during what is always one of my favorite weekends of the year.
It all started this morning. The SNY Subway Series Kickoff at 51st Street and 6th Avenue. While I did not win tickets for this weekend (which is OK, because I'm going Sunday night), I fulfilled a long-time dream of mine in meeting the Voice of the Mets. The finest first baseman and most debonair pitcher in team history, now both voices of awesomeness as well, were also in attendance. I chatted with the guys for a good minute, took a picture with them, and got all three to sign my baseball. When I have a desk one day, that ball is gonna sit on it forever.
An abbreviated play-by-play of the game follows:
Top 1:
7:12 - Oh, Endy. Oh, Endy, Endy, Endy. Throwin' the Damon out at second.
7:17 - Perez walks Posada. SETTLE DOWN OLLIE.
7:19 - Easley grabs one out of the air that could've been bad.
Bottom 1:
7:22 - Andy Pettitte, meet Jose Reyes. You do NOT want to let him get on base. Aaaand ya just did.
7:24 - Pettitte just tried to pick off Jose for at least the third time. And we have our first Yankees Suck chant of the night.
7:26 - After Easley walks, El Esta Aqui in the form of Carlos B.
7:28 - One to nothing Mets as Carlos D. sacrifices Legs home. Told ya, Andy.
Top 2:
7:35 - Not much to report as Ollie gets through on eight pitches. Two of them were fly balls to Endy.
Bottom 2:
7:41 - It was a pitcher's second inning.
Top 3:
7:44 - We have our first strikeout of the night as Ollie gets Andy looking.
7:48 - Another 1-2-3 inning despite an error by Carlos G. It was only a missed foul, so no need to get cranky.
Bottom 3:
7:50 - Don't you love it when a pitcher produces as many hits as he's given up?
7:51 - Voice just did a Jeter/Legs stats comparison. Keith said he'd take either. Ron said something about Jeet having more bling bling on his fingers. Best broadcast team ever.
7:53 - Booo 6-4-3 double play grounded into by Easley.
Top 4:
7:55 - Coming back from commercial, Voice did a Jets Nation promo. Keith has a Chad Pennington bobblehead on the desk. Ron asks the bobblehead if he likes the Patriots. Keith makes mini-Chad shake its head.
7:56 - Cut to the booth again. As Voice and Ron have a serious conversation about Subway Series hype, Keith's looking at the camera laughing.
8:00 - Still never a fan of a Matsui in Shea as Hideki launches a two-run bomb. Two to one Yanks.
Bottom 4:
8:10 - Beltran, Delgado, Wright. Strikeout, groundout, groundout.
Top 5:
8:16 - White men can jump if they are from Virginia and named David Wright. Side retired.
Bottom 5:
8:19 - LoDuca doubles down the third base line. Let's get some runs here.
8:20 - And it's outta here! Endy proves once again that he's the Prince of Shea. Mets back on top, 3-2.
8:24 - JOSE JOSE JOSE JOSE, JOSE, JOSE. Mets fans just have more fun.
Top 6:
8:28 - Perez has thrown just seventy-seven pitches and we're in the sixth already. And the game's not even an hour and a half old. Wow.
8:33 - Legs just blatantly tried to drop a fly ball to induce a double play. Hey, where's the ump's wallet?
Bottom 6:
8:42 - Los Mets va uno, dos, tres.
Top 7:
8:45 - Ollie's looking amazing. Some action in the bullpen, though.
8:47 - Some DP action involving Wright, Easley, and Delgado. Shecond Shtanzaaa.
Bottom 7:
8:52 - Harold "I'm ashamed of my real name so I call myself John Sterling" Moskowitz probably would have just proclaimed a DOOKIE DOUBLE if LoDuca played for the Yankees. But he doesn't. Very important.
Top 8:
8:55 - Seriously? We're only an hour and 45 minutes into the game and seven innings are in the books. At this rate, we'll be two games up and they'll be ten games out at 9:18.
8:58 - Bobby Abreu strikes out.
9:08 - After Ollie leaves with two outs in the eighth, Joe Smith comes in and strikes out the ALMIGHTY Captain Jeter. Feelin' good things, good things.
Bottom 8:
9:17 - Scott Proctor gets the Mets out in order. Enter Sandman.
Top 9:
9:19 - A-Rod grounds to Reyes, on to first. In time! Two more to go.
9:22 - STRUCK OUT POSADA. And then there was one.
9:24 - Matsui infield hit. What the hell?
9:25 - Fat Giambi is up.
9:28 - He struck him out swinging. PUT IT IN THE BOOKS!
The Angry Puppy predicted a 9-3 Yankee win. I wish he would predict sudden doom for the human race now as well.
Oliver Perez answered the question of "Which Oliver Perez will the Mets see tonight?" after the fifth and sixth innings, over which stretch he faced only seven batters after temporarily giving up the lead in the fourth. The Oliver Perez the Mets saw tonight was the one who kicks ass and takes names. After hurling a gem over seven and two-thirds, Joe Smith came in to strike out Derek Jeter. Billy Wagner then converted his tenth save out of ten opportunities, lowering his ERA to a nearly flawless 0.50. The New York Mets are now two games ahead of the Atlanta Braves in the National League Eastern Division. It's good to be king.
See you all tomorrow night. Sans the exhaustive play-by-play.
It all started this morning. The SNY Subway Series Kickoff at 51st Street and 6th Avenue. While I did not win tickets for this weekend (which is OK, because I'm going Sunday night), I fulfilled a long-time dream of mine in meeting the Voice of the Mets. The finest first baseman and most debonair pitcher in team history, now both voices of awesomeness as well, were also in attendance. I chatted with the guys for a good minute, took a picture with them, and got all three to sign my baseball. When I have a desk one day, that ball is gonna sit on it forever.
An abbreviated play-by-play of the game follows:
Top 1:
7:12 - Oh, Endy. Oh, Endy, Endy, Endy. Throwin' the Damon out at second.
7:17 - Perez walks Posada. SETTLE DOWN OLLIE.
7:19 - Easley grabs one out of the air that could've been bad.
Bottom 1:
7:22 - Andy Pettitte, meet Jose Reyes. You do NOT want to let him get on base. Aaaand ya just did.
7:24 - Pettitte just tried to pick off Jose for at least the third time. And we have our first Yankees Suck chant of the night.
7:26 - After Easley walks, El Esta Aqui in the form of Carlos B.
7:28 - One to nothing Mets as Carlos D. sacrifices Legs home. Told ya, Andy.
Top 2:
7:35 - Not much to report as Ollie gets through on eight pitches. Two of them were fly balls to Endy.
Bottom 2:
7:41 - It was a pitcher's second inning.
Top 3:
7:44 - We have our first strikeout of the night as Ollie gets Andy looking.
7:48 - Another 1-2-3 inning despite an error by Carlos G. It was only a missed foul, so no need to get cranky.
Bottom 3:
7:50 - Don't you love it when a pitcher produces as many hits as he's given up?
7:51 - Voice just did a Jeter/Legs stats comparison. Keith said he'd take either. Ron said something about Jeet having more bling bling on his fingers. Best broadcast team ever.
7:53 - Booo 6-4-3 double play grounded into by Easley.
Top 4:
7:55 - Coming back from commercial, Voice did a Jets Nation promo. Keith has a Chad Pennington bobblehead on the desk. Ron asks the bobblehead if he likes the Patriots. Keith makes mini-Chad shake its head.
7:56 - Cut to the booth again. As Voice and Ron have a serious conversation about Subway Series hype, Keith's looking at the camera laughing.
8:00 - Still never a fan of a Matsui in Shea as Hideki launches a two-run bomb. Two to one Yanks.
Bottom 4:
8:10 - Beltran, Delgado, Wright. Strikeout, groundout, groundout.
Top 5:
8:16 - White men can jump if they are from Virginia and named David Wright. Side retired.
Bottom 5:
8:19 - LoDuca doubles down the third base line. Let's get some runs here.
8:20 - And it's outta here! Endy proves once again that he's the Prince of Shea. Mets back on top, 3-2.
8:24 - JOSE JOSE JOSE JOSE, JOSE, JOSE. Mets fans just have more fun.
Top 6:
8:28 - Perez has thrown just seventy-seven pitches and we're in the sixth already. And the game's not even an hour and a half old. Wow.
8:33 - Legs just blatantly tried to drop a fly ball to induce a double play. Hey, where's the ump's wallet?
Bottom 6:
8:42 - Los Mets va uno, dos, tres.
Top 7:
8:45 - Ollie's looking amazing. Some action in the bullpen, though.
8:47 - Some DP action involving Wright, Easley, and Delgado. Shecond Shtanzaaa.
Bottom 7:
8:52 - Harold "I'm ashamed of my real name so I call myself John Sterling" Moskowitz probably would have just proclaimed a DOOKIE DOUBLE if LoDuca played for the Yankees. But he doesn't. Very important.
Top 8:
8:55 - Seriously? We're only an hour and 45 minutes into the game and seven innings are in the books. At this rate, we'll be two games up and they'll be ten games out at 9:18.
8:58 - Bobby Abreu strikes out.
9:08 - After Ollie leaves with two outs in the eighth, Joe Smith comes in and strikes out the ALMIGHTY Captain Jeter. Feelin' good things, good things.
Bottom 8:
9:17 - Scott Proctor gets the Mets out in order. Enter Sandman.
Top 9:
9:19 - A-Rod grounds to Reyes, on to first. In time! Two more to go.
9:22 - STRUCK OUT POSADA. And then there was one.
9:24 - Matsui infield hit. What the hell?
9:25 - Fat Giambi is up.
9:28 - He struck him out swinging. PUT IT IN THE BOOKS!
The Angry Puppy predicted a 9-3 Yankee win. I wish he would predict sudden doom for the human race now as well.
Oliver Perez answered the question of "Which Oliver Perez will the Mets see tonight?" after the fifth and sixth innings, over which stretch he faced only seven batters after temporarily giving up the lead in the fourth. The Oliver Perez the Mets saw tonight was the one who kicks ass and takes names. After hurling a gem over seven and two-thirds, Joe Smith came in to strike out Derek Jeter. Billy Wagner then converted his tenth save out of ten opportunities, lowering his ERA to a nearly flawless 0.50. The New York Mets are now two games ahead of the Atlanta Braves in the National League Eastern Division. It's good to be king.
See you all tomorrow night. Sans the exhaustive play-by-play.
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