Misery Loves Company: Two Guys Watch Baseball

Check-Up Time: Smiling While I Still Can

A few possible mantras for this season are being kicked around.

Location, Location, Location.
The Mets, at 44-43, are 2 games out and fired up (well, I am). The Astros, at 44-44, are 10.5 games out, in 5th place, just fired their manager, and are talking about dumping talent.

If she's below your standards . . . lower your standards.
Aiming 50 feet below sea level has made the ascent of this molehill mountainlike.

My Other Car is a 40-53 July 15 record.
All I need to do to get excited about these Mets is come here and scroll down.

Whatever the slogan, it's "we're just happy to be here" time in the Met fan household. Sure, there are 75 brutal contests left on the slate, beginning with the Mets going back out through the same gauntlet through which they came into the break. Four against the Phils and a pair against the Marlins, who looked eerily like the 1998 version of the club for a few weeks until taking two of three from the Mets. It's litmus test time once again. Though it has seemed like every time to gauge the Mets' future thus far has ended in a jury-still-out verdict, or lack thereof, this could be yet another chance to prove that they'll be there down the stretch.

What Goes Up

Veteran starting pitching. Tom Glavine. Al Leiter. Steve Trachsel. The Manny, Moe, and Jack of the Mets. We'll overlook Scott Erickson and James Baldwin, who are in another trio featuring a Moe.

Must Come Down

Young starting pitching. From Jae Seo's early woes to Tyler Yates being shown the gate to Matt Ginter's June-July splinter (he didn't have one, he just pitched like it), the young arms have faltered most of the time. Somebody's got to step it up, kids.

What Goes Up

Some of the bullpen. Braden Looper has been surprisingly stellar, Ricky Bottalico has only had one really bad outing (the "Deliverance" of baseball outings, but still), and no-names like Orber Moreno and Jose Parra have put in some quality innings.

Must Come Down

Some of the bullpen. Mike Stanton has been hit-or-miss, Dan Wheeler has been . . . interesting (at least his name lends itself to creative ragging), and John Franco makes me look like a bastard every time I have to write about him. On the plus side, we jettisoned David Weathers after wringing every drop of value from him. And for Richard Hidalgo, who . . . calm down, I'll get to him.

What Goes Up

Oh, hell, I can't wait any more: Richard Hidalgo. In 22 games since being acquired for the aforementioned heap Weathers, Señor Hidalgo has hit .314, slugged .651, and recorded an OPS of 1.024. 8 homers, 16 ribbies, 16 runs scored. He even had a pair of outfield assists! Here's hoping his productivity doesn't rub people wrong in the clubhouse. That just ain't how we do things 'round here, boy. Now is the time for me to rub it in with an "I told you so," quoting myself after the trade: "He's definitely a question mark, but he does fill a void, somewhat . . . Oh, well, what the hell. We'll try anything at this point." It always feels good to know you were one of the first riders on this bandwagon.

Must Come Down

Jason Phillips. .214-5-25 and the like was bad stuff in April, but it's July. On a team that has more catchers than a Chelsea salon, you're just not bucking for innings with those numbers.

What Goes Up

Cliff Floyd's return from injury.

Must Come Down

Jose Reyes's.

What Goes Up

Mike Piazza at 1B.

Must Come Down

Kaz Matsui at SS. E-3 we expected, but there've been more E-6's in the Mets' infield than at a Bingo convention in West Virginia.

What Goes Up

Just 2 games out in the division (though in 4th place).

Must Come Down

8th place in the wild card (though just 4 games out).

And Back Up

4.5 games behind the Red Sox, with 17.5 to spare.

Things That Worry Me

Those veteran arms over the course of a long season; Mike Piazza's slipping average; being the worst-fielding team in the NL; Jose Reyes's hamstring; Jae Seo's fingernail; Cliff Floyd's whole body; that Mr. Met might get a swelled head; that Richard Hidalgo will inevitably have to cool off; that Mike Cameron won't inevitably have to heat up; that a size 40 waistband is looming for me; that Art Howe might have to make some key in-game decisions; that Don Baylor might leave for the Astros job; that Armando Benitez has 30 saves and his head hasn't exploded; that David Wright might be a bust; that the Expos might go somewhere other than D.C.; that, as an organ donor, my liver will be used as a medicine ball someday; that the Yankees will win again, souring my offseason; that the Red Sox won't, souring my offseason time with Rob; that I will never live to discover why it's the Toronto Maple Leafs instead of Maple Leaves; that world peace will elude us for another three months of baseball season.

And oh, yeah, that the Mets will fold in the second half like a pair of dryer-warm boxer shorts. I'm gleeful for now (it's the little things, people), but well aware of the likeliness of a plummet from this summit.

44-43, baby! It's a joy no Yankee fan can ever know!