Thanks to Zoe for the image.
So after going 4-8 against the hated Braves for the entire season, causing everybody to be “tripping,” in the parlance of Willie Randolph and fellow assorted hoodrats across our fair nation, the Mets then went 5-1 in September (when it most counted) to tie the season series at 9-9. I will be glad to not see those bastards till April.
Though I’ll miss booing them. Last night, thanks to the generosity of some dude at work who I have never talked to even once, I got to go to the game for free. Weeooooo! Being the ungrateful dick that I am, I then left him to go sit with Zoe and Coop for the great majority of the game (hey dude at work, I am a total dick and am very sorry). Being with those girls meant lots and lots and lots of heckling. I am not very creative with my heckling, I must say. I called Francouer (who I despise more than any other Brave, imagine that) a pièce de merde (GET IT?! His last name is French LOLZ). I screamed, “Brian McCann you’re fat!” Because he’s fat. And balding. Ew. So yeah, I mean, not my greatest moments of wordplay, but when I’ve got beer in me it’s the best I can do.
I also curse a lot. A LOT. And am very vulgar. The Mets + beer = easy route to vulgarity. Unfortunately, there were children around. One mom had to constantly remind me of that fact. Whoops. And then there was this exchange:
me: DAVEY YOU’RE SO PRRRRRRRREEEEETTTTTTYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!
unfortunate child’s father: You’re beginning to scare me. I was all right with your hand in my lap, but this…
me: That’s the least of your worries.
Ahem. Not that he was hot or anything, but I just like being vulgar I guess.
As for the actual game: John Maine looked great. He was coasting along up until that harmless fly ball that dropped between Beltran and Reyes, and then he took a page from the Ollie Perez Playbook and walked three consecutive batters. After a pow-wow on the mound and possibly some Ritalin administerin’ by Rick Peterson, Maine thankfully regrouped and got Matt Die, Ass! (I think that was another one of my “gems”) to bounce into a fielder’s choice, ending the inning.
Luckily the Mets had scratched out a run prior to this, and later Marlon Anderson hit a booming shot off John Smoltz to give them the lead, prompting me to caterwaul “Marlon I loooooooooooooooooooooooooove you!” Yep. I believe this was captured on tape, which is mortifying. The Mets made it 3-1 in the bottom of the seventh with a Lastings Milledge lead-off pinch-hit triple and a quick follow-up RBI single by Jose “No More Pop-Ups” Reyes.
But then: Bullpen Time! Jorge Sosa continued his stellar play in the top of the seventh, and in the eighth, Aaron Heilman looked to be doing the same, getting the first two out. Then a walk. Then a single. Runners at the corners. Pedro Dos comes in and walks Brian McFatt. Which then gives us our worst possible option in a tight ballgame with the bases loaded: Guillermo Mota, who walks into some loud booing. Again, I don’t condone booing your players, but it’s hard to really get excited about this guy considering how awful he’s been all season long. I did yell “C’mon Mota, you can do this!” a whole mess of times, not quite sure I believed it. To be fair, he seemed to get strike three but it popped out of Lo Duca’s glove, continuing the at-bat (I guess it was a foul tip or something? I don’t know, I was drunk). He also got a ground ball that Wright got and stepped on third, but it was ruled foul. Then, of course, pièce de merde gets a two-run single, tying up the game. Mota gets Andruw Jones to strike out (because that’s all he ever does anymore) to end the inning with a mix of cheers (Thank God We’re Out of This!) and boos (Why The Hell Is Mota Still On This Team?!?!?!?!). I demand the organization start selling “I Survived Guillermo Mota” t-shirts. And I hope to hell that Mota is not on the post-season roster. And I ask yet again: WHY ISN’T JOE SMITH BACK UP?!?!?!?!?!
Well, ho-hum. Like they’ve seemed to do for the past few weeks, the Mets responded. Beltran singled, stole second, moved to third on Alou’s groundout. Shawn Green continued his hot hitting–two hits off Smoltz, and then singling in the go-ahead run off Ron Mahay, prompting us to cheer “Rosh-Ha-shan-ah!” Clap-clap, clapclapclap. Shalom, bitchez.