Thursday, June 16, 2005


Games 64 through 66 - Mets

Athletics 5, Mets 0
Athletics 3, Mets 2
Mets 8, Athletics 3 (in progress)
Record: 32-33 and falling

See, Mets, when I give you a pass for a losing weekend, a pair of consecutive series losses, a middling 6-6 homestand, and a general lack of firepower, you're supposed to reward me with a level of effort that doesn't drive me to break stuff. Instead, you chose to operate at a level a few notches below "going through the motions." Honestly, the Mets look bored with this whole 162-game thing, as if they might actually have somewhere else they'd rather be. This is wholly unacceptable.

Tuesday night's game was the kind that drives a man to drink. I sat through inning after inning of eyesore baseball, waiting in vain for the Mets to shake off the extended nap they were taking at the Coliseum, but it never happened. The Mets scratched AA off Joe Blanton's itinerary and wrote in "Cooperstown." I kept thinking that I myself probably could've held the Mets to seven or eight runs Tuesday night. Just one game, though, right?

I'll repeat: Tuesday night's game was the kind that drives a man to drink. And drink I did last night, out and about with the minds behind Jerry's Wheelhouse. Fortunately, I paid little attention to the Mets' loss while it happened, and whatever memories I might've had of another bad loss to a bad team were washed away with cold draught beer. There was one lovely kick in the gut to the game: Marco Scutaro delivered the game-winning hit. Marco Scutaro, the former Met. The same Marco Scutaro who etched .213/.333/.347 numbers into the New York Mets record book two years ago. Nice.

Speaking of old acquaintances, Rob surely remembers old Sox 1B Brian Daubach, who was just called up from Norfolk with Miguel Cairo heading to the DL. Daubach was a former Met draft pick who spent a few solid seasons with the Red Sox, as I recall. I have fleeting memories of three-day-old stubble, a cockeyed stance, and a big plug of chew in his cheek. A better than occasional long ball, but not the lofty BA. Never great, never terrible. Welcome, Brian. I hope your stay aboard the baseball equivalent of the Titanic is enjoyable.

The latest contestant on "Whose Career Can We Resurrect Today?" is Ryan Glynn, starting pitcher for the Oakland A's. He's just made his way through four innings of one-run, one-hit (that's all we got, one goddamn hit?) ball against the Mets, whose new team mantra is "My Mama Always Told Me Not to Hit." Glynn, who hasn't had such an easy two trips through the lineup since his college days down the road at VMI, did walk the bases loaded last inning, but a groundball off the bat of Ramon Castro quickly ended that threat. Apparently the pitching coach came out and instructed Glynn, "You basically just walked three pitchers. Throw a strike."

Matsui is batting ninth in the AL park to get him fewer AB's. Willie's toying with doing this back in the NL parks as well. David Wright is finally batting second after every blog in Mets Township decried the idiocy of batting him sixth for the first two and a half months. (He's 0-for-2 today. Way to sell it, Dee-Dub.)

Wow. In the time I was writing the last paragraph (I type slowly, I guess), Kaz Matsui doubled, Jose Reyes singled him to third, and David Wright singled him in. Knowing full well how the Wheel of Inversely Proportional Blogging And Result (WIPBAR) works, if I simply log on and bash my boys all game long, is there a chance they'll never make an out? Carlos Beltran just homered to give the Mets the lead and I hadn't even gotten to berating him yet! Holy freakin' premonitions, Batman. I have to run, though, (getting ready for the beach trip Rob mentioned) so let me get this all out of the way quickly.

You are all really terrible baseball players without a prayer of competing on a major league level.

[Bases are loaded.]

32-33. How'd we ever win 32? It's a miracle.

[Bases-clearing double! 8-3! Seven runs in one extended rant!]

You lollygag the ball around the infield, you lollygag your way down to first, you lollygag in and out of the dugout. Do you know what that makes you? Rob?

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