After the Fire

Games 4 & 5 - Mets

Mets 11, Braves 1
Braves 5, Mets 3
Record: 4-1

Perspective.

It's not just a dimension of art. It's not just a Peter Gabriel song. It's not even just a Liberian newspaper. It's the element in baseball fandom that is necessary to keep us from getting too jazzed up when the Mets steamroll their opponents in the first four games and ESPN unearths comparative stats from 100 years ago. It's awesome when they're crushing teams -- especially the Cardinals and Braves -- and it's fun to see the crazy stats, but perspective keeps the expectations for the next 158 games from swelling too significantly.

It's also what keeps us from diving off the wagon when our lads turn the corner and become pale imitations of the studs who jettisoned the squad to 4-0. Yesterday's contest in Atlanta began promisingly with a LoDuca smash off John Smoltz . . . and quickly soured. The very first defensive play for the Mets featured a would-be 4-3, one which doinked off Carlos Delgado's glove so oddly and ineptly that it instantly dredged memories of our old Arlington men's league softball team's poor-fielding first baseman, a guy who was good for 1-2 of those agitating drops a game. We silently stewed when his hapless glovework would lead to unearned runs. I was a bit more vocal yesterday when our major leaguer demonstrated the same gack.

And then there's Shawn Green. The Mets Township lynch mob wants him on the next bus to any outposts from Tampa to Seattle. I still, almost stubbornly contend that throwing him to the scrap heap and swearing in Mr. Milledge (again) is another hasty, blind decision. Fortunately, for now it's mostly the fans who want the change, not Omar, Willie & the gang. Then again, if Shawn Green keeps flubbing flies in the sun that lead to big innings that in turn lead to losses . . . yeah, let's treat him like a pork roll sandwich during Passover. He's clearly on notice, despite hitting well in the first week.

I wasn't through the roof at 4-0, ever with Ollie Perez shining in utter defiance of the smirks and smearings in the press . . . but maybe I was close. I wasn't right back to hollering at the flat-screen when they kicked and stumbled through yesterday's game. But I wasn't that far off, either. Prudence dictates that we're not allowed to veer from the cool, calm, and collected at this point in the season. But where's the fun in that?