it’s nice that they’re so supportive of each other

August 11, 2008

L-R: Mets bullpen members Duaner Sanchez, Joe Smith, Pedro Feliciano, Aaron Heilman, and Scott Schoeneweis embrace after giving up a 5-1 lead in an eventual loss to the Pittsburgh Pirates.

Awww, how cute.


amateur improv night at shea!

July 23, 2008

There was a whole lot of impersonation going on last night. First, Carlos Delgado continuing to imitate his old form. Then, Johan Santana begins to look like the dominant pitcher we hoped for and expected when we traded the farm for him. Ramon Castro impersonating an honest-to-God starter, rendering Brian Schneider completely irrelevant (he seems like a nice guy?). Those three had this guy laughing in the aisles.

Not as funny, though, was everything else. Making up for Send ‘Em Sandy’s lack of windmilling as third base coach was Luis Aguayo, sending Endy Chavez home TWICE where he would record the first out of the inning. TWICE. Two times. Those two non-runs, we’d find out, would prove to be important. And considering Billy Wagner’s lack of availability, Duaner Sanchez and Pedro Feliciano (I’ll give Joe Smith a pass, since he got a needed ground ball with which Jose Reyes did absolutely nothing) decided to pretend to be the All Star closer, except they based their impressions on Wagner completely blowing it against the Phillies as opposed to dominating teams like the Reds. And then of course there were the Phillies, resembling the Mets team that scored five runs in the top of the ninth to beat Cincinnati on Friday, or maybe we should more accurately say that that Mets team resembled the Phillies.

That stuff? Not as funny. But more true, somehow.

I don’t recall the last easy game against the Phillies. I don’t remember the last no-doubter; that last game in Philly where they lead 10-1 seemed like one, only then it reverted to form and the Mets held on for a 10-9 win. It always seems like every game is a knock-down drag-out fight, which is fun in its way, but I like crisp wins. Last night seemed like a crisp win. Almost too crisp. Because from the time Johan gave up back-to-back-to-back two-out singles in the first inning through Shane Victorino’s home run, Santana looked dominant, getting quick outs and pop-ups and boring old lazy grounders to third, ho hum. Truly spectacular. And Delgado and Castro’s joint two-run blasts looked like the sufficient offensive production they’d need. But through that whole duration of glorious easy middle innings, a current of dread began to sink me further into my couch.

It seems like the Phillies are always coming back. It always seems like the Mets have a lead, or are tied, and the Phillies somehow are able to wake up late (in the game or season), their backs to the wall, and break out for the win. Usually it’s Wagner who blows it. This time we can look at Sanchez and Feliciano. I know everyone today is going to jump on Wagner for being unavailable, which is fairly understandable considering this fanbase’s love of expletives and hyperbole, but deal with the fact that his shoulder wasn’t up to snuff and he needed a day (and again, he always blows it against the Phillies anyway…see what I did there?!). Deal with what you’ve got. Funnily, I felt queasy with the decision to pitch Sanchez. I know it makes sense, considering he’s your set-up man, but as Howie Rose said last night, there’s a difference between pitching the eighth inning and pitching in a save situation. I would have rather seen Smith, who’d thrown two and a third scoreless against this very team two weeks ago, gone out for the ninth, matchups be damned. Because not only did he get some lefties out last time, but part of closer is not just stuff, but gumption. That kid has ice water in his veins. Sanchez, considering how soon he’s been thrust into these situations after being away for so long, maybe doesn’t have it yet. And let’s not talk about Feliciano. I’ve gone on record as saying he’s been shaky all season, and last night was just another example.

It wouldn’t be a Mets-Phillies game without trauma and drama. Last night’s impersonations attempted a bit of comedy, but I didn’t feel too much like laughing at the end of it.


IT’S A CONSPIRACY!

April 30, 2008

That’s the only possible excuse for this game. LOOK!!!!:

Let’s take a closer look:

Stay with me while I explain my theory:

WFAN has been airing those infernal Gloria Estefan ads during Mets games, and I decree that she has pressured WFAN into creating even more advertising for her upcoming shows at MGM Grand Theatre at Foxwoods, her only appearance in the tri-state area! Apparently!

What was the title of a certain top 5 Estefan (along with the Miami Sound Machine) song?

“1 2 3.”

So there you have it. Gloria Estefan is RUINING this team. She is a blustering she-devil prognosticator of bad games and worse music. This game was fixed! Worse than Paula Abdul and American Idol! Or something!

My prediction: once Estefan has finished her run at MGM Grand Theatre at Foxwoods and WFAN stops playing those awful awful commercials full of Latin flavor (no, ma’am, I refuse to get on my feet, no matter how many times you implore me to do so), this team will get back on track. When will that be?

Oh, fuck.


HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH

April 22, 2008

If you don’t laugh you’ll cry.

While watching the Mets get shat on via espn.com’s scoreboard, I saw the following as the Brewers and Cards went into the tenth inning:

“G Mota relieved E Gagne.”

So see you guys? It could be a lot worse!

Could it? *looks at Jorge Sosa* Ah. There it is.

Cubs fan Michael texted “Ruh roh” and then “Do i get extra prizes for slaughters?” before and after Sosa did whatever the hell he does. MY BROKEN HEART ISN’T ENOUGH?!?!!? Name your terms, Mike.

Oh, and a nice big fuck you to every Mets player who participated in these two games, Maine and Figgy grudgingly excepted.


template for further losses to statistically bad-to-mediocre teams

September 27, 2007

The Mets jumped out to an early lead thanks to [home run/RBIs] from [the middle of the order]. It’s nice to see the boys jumping on the lowly [statistically bad-to-mediocre team] early, giving the Mets an early burst of confidence and the [statistically bad-to-mediocre team] a reason to phone it in.

[Mets starting pitcher], afforded a big lead, came out looking brilliant, keeping the ball down, throwing strikes, making the [statistically bad-to-mediocre team] swing at junk and look silly. He ran into a bit of trouble in subsequent innings, lost a bit of control, but was generally able to get out of some jams. Meanwhile, the Mets were able to tack on runs and add on to their lead.

But then the fifth inning happened. Oh the fifth inning. Why does it seem like it’s always the fifth inning? The previous innings almost seemed like foreshadowing for the fifth. [Mets starting pitcher] allowed a leadoff [walk/hit] and, instead of bearing down, then allowed another [walk/hit]. He was immediately taken out in favor of [hapless bullpen reliever], who, faced with a jam, allowed an RBI [single/double]. Everything started to spiral out of control, as [yet another hapless bullpen reliever] allowed more runners to score, and just like that, the Mets found themselves down [some score that seemed implausible an hour before].

Faced with such turmoil, the Mets bats decided to take a nap. [Strikeout/groundout] followed by [walk/single] followed by inning-ending [strikeout/groundout/Jose Reyes pop-out/David Wright or Carlos Delgado or Paul Lo Duca GIDP].

Fortunately, [formerly hapless bullpen reliever] pitched a shockingly clean inning, followed by another scoreless one by [sometimes hapless sometimes nasty bullpen reliever]. But [headcase closer], faced with a tight game, allowed it to be blown wide open with a leadoff [walk/single/homerun] and then an RBI [single/double] before finally closing out the ninth after something like [crazily hyperbolic number] pitches.

The Mets went a meek 1-2-3 in the ninth, their comeback magic clearly depleted from [that one recent game where a furious rally got them a miraculous win or a “moral victory” of only losing by one run after it being a blowout].


the metsox desperation pact

September 21, 2007

So not to get too personal or anything, but a few weeks ago I started dating a Red Sox fan. As we started dating, both the Sox and the Mets seemed to be in some trouble, being swept by their closest competitors (the Yanks and Phils, respectively). As we kept dating, both of our teams then seemed to pick it up and start playing better, and everything seemed to be going swell.

Then some crap happened and we stopped seeing each other. This coincided with some abominable play by both teams which saw their respective division leads dwindle to astonishingly similar numbers. In the midst of this, I got the following text a few days ago after yet another frustrating loss by both: “My team lost. Your team lost. Can we put aside our differences and have sex again for the sake of our playoff chances?”

Which, in spite of me not talking to him, I thought was really funny.

Well, after last night’s ridiculously awful loss by the Mets, I called him up to drunkenly whine. He had been watching as well. Long story short, I went over.

Both of our teams have been in first for almost the entire season. Both of our teams held comfortable leads. Both of our teams are full of talented players who have been playing absolute dogshit. Both of our teams have a magic number of 9 and a flimsy 1.5 lead, hoping to fend off two talented, hungry teams that don’t seem to be able to lose.

The similarities are eerie, no? I propose to all Mets and Red Sox fans: Find each other and fuck. At least for the next week. For the sake of our playoff chances, please dear God.

So: The MetSox Desperation Pact. Motto: Let’s fuck so our teams don’t suck.


i just…i can’t even…

September 20, 2007

With the Mets up 3-0, I was all set to say, “It’s so great having Glavine on the mound. He gives you so much stability that you’re confident things will turn out fine.”

Oops.

With the Mets down 4-3, I was all set to say, “Well at least the bullpen looked decent tonight. Even Mota!”

WELL.

With BIG FUCKING PIMP Marlon Anderson’s HUGE HUGE CLUTCH three-run triple in the bottom of the ninth to put the Mets up 7-4, I was all set to reiterate my drunken dedication of love, and thought “Okay Wags, let’s close this fucker out.”

Um…Wags? Where are you going?!

Nice error, MVP. Goddammit, Sosa. Yet another blown lead. Yet another all-for-naught comeback. Yet another Phillies win. Yet another measly 1.5 game lead.

COME THE FUCK ON, TEAM. PLEASE.