And so am I, as I celebrated my birthday over the weekend–the Mets lost, but they bookended it with two wins in Arizona, so I felt like that was good enough. What isn’t good enough, however, is how they have been playing in Los Angeles. Now, my plan this year was to be in L.A. this week so that I could see the Mets play at Chavez Ravine, where I have not been since I was 14. Due to monetary issues that didn’t happen, but I guess there’s a silver lining here because it means that I’ve been spared witnessing the debacles of the last two nights.
So, Oliver Perez may be looking for a five-year, $60 million contract? Excuse me while I LOfuckingL. Hey Ollie, maybe you could work on making it out of the sixth once in a while first? Sad thing is, he’ll probably get it.
Of all the unbelievable things about last night, I’m not sure which one is the most mind-boggling:
- Moises Alou stealing home. Really? WHAT?!?!? Yes.
- The Mets having bases loaded with no outs in the second and not scoring another run. On second thought, this one is all too believable. Especially considering Ryan Church hit into a 1-2-3 double play. “1 2 3.” Estefan strikes again!!!!!!
- Yet another bafflingly dominant performance by Hong-Chi Kuo. This one reeks of déjà vu. But hey, at least he didn’t homer this time.
So the best we can hope for is a .500 performance on this road trip that started so well. Sorry to say, but that seems like the MO of the 2008 Mets.
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].
Thanks to the generosity of Mets Grrl, I was at the Mets game last night, and also met up with Zoe and Coop. After the Nationals (the freakin’ Nationals) spotted four runs (including YET ANOTHER 3-run bomb by Austin Kearns) in the first inning, well, it kinda killed all joviality I had. But still, it was early. The Mets would try to rally, the Nats would score again. Seemingly before I realized it, the top of the ninth was over, the Nats up 10-3. I looked at the clock. I listened to my grumbling stomach. My eyes were getting heavy, as was my heart. And I decided to leave. I’ve never before left a ballgame before it was over, no matter what the score. I don’t believe in it. But something about the way this team has played for the past week and a half–I guess I just gave up, not wanting to put myself through the agony, through the heartache, even though I sat through 8 and a half innings of Mets mediocrity.
After transferring from the 7 to the G and waiting for what seemed like an hour, a guy in the subway saw me in my hat and asked, “Were you at the game?” I shrugged and said, “Yeah, I left early. They were sucking.” He said, “Did you hear what happened?”
My eyes lit up, my heart started beating again. “NO!” I cried. “What happened?”
He grimaced. I still had hope in my face. “The Mets scored six runs in the bottom of the ninth–”
My face was like this: :-o
“Chavez was running for Alou. Delgado struck out, Chavez stole third.”
“Then Lo Duca flied out. 10-9, Nationals.”
Me: :-( “That is fucking bullshit.”
Cute Jewish guy overhearing conversation: “I left too. We should’ve stayed. Gotten at least some excitement out of that game.”
Me: :-( “That is fucking bullshit.”
My compatriots stayed. You can read their thoughts here and here. So I ask, what’s worse? Is it worse to have left before the bottom of the ninth, your team losing what seems like a blowout, only to hear later that they made a valiant effort and nearly came back to salvage the game? Or is it worse to have stayed there through the nitty-gritty, have gotten your hopes up, only to have them finally, brutally dashed?
I know what I think. I’m never leaving a baseball game again, not until the final bloody out. And I never ever thought I would, not in my life. It is an embarrassing indictment of my constitution as a fan of a team I so desperately love, in spite of how frustrating they are. I shouldn’t have questioned this team’s heart. I shouldn’t have questioned their bats.
The pitching, on the other hand. Well. Last night was certainly not its strong suit.
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.