The Dead Milkmen

Game 152 - Mets

Marlins 8, Mets 7 (10 inn.)
Record: 84-68

How many times can we keep telling ourselves the Cardinals and Tigers reeked this bad down the stretch last year? I think I'm already to the point where I'm thinking, "Well, actually, they weren't this bad."

This just in: two NL West teams have better records than the Mets (and are playing 1000% better baseball). What does that mean? It means that at the current pace, there is no wild card to save the Metropolitans from themselves. "Collapse" will be synonymous with the 2007 New York Mets forever. Ask Jim Bunning. All those elections and he's still the guy that lost three starts in seven days (Gene Mauch, tactician) as the Phillies tattooed their notorious legacy on their own asses by leaving the pennant at Goodwill.

Once Marlon Anderson gave us the clutch heroics that, frankly, we've come to expect from him, we Townshippers all thought this would be the spark game -- the galvanization of this herd into a cohesive unit. You know, the scene towards the end of the screwball comedy where the band of misfits comes together to save the camp, or the house, or the world, or a Washington, D.C. taxicab company. Didn't happen, but it was a moment. And although it was quickly undone, I'll still take a memory from it: when Marlon Anderson is at the plate, it may not be prudent to shout in unison, "Let's Go Marlins!" (Or, just as possibly, when playing the Florida Marlins, it may not be prudent for Mets fans to yell, "Let's Go Marlon!")

At any rate, Marlon took some inspiration and (shouldv'e) won the game. Instead of a galvanization, though, it was more of a coagulation, one quickly melted into gelatinous muck by the humid Miami air and the sweaty pigdogs we call relievers.

Hey, Willie, I'll give you this: you are going against the grain and keeping the other team (and us) guessing. Jorge Sosa threw two splendid innings last night, and with Billy Wagner apparently unavailable to close a pivotal game in this damnable quest not to crap yourselves entirely, you went with (the evidently spent) Sosa in the 9th. Very clever. Can't wait till those rosters expand.

Oh, but you brought in Pedro Feliciano for one batter just so Sosa could start in the stretch. I like the way you "think," sir.

And not walking the bases loaded with one out and the tying run on 2nd base? Très avant-garde, monsieur.

Hey, Dave, I know it's hard to concentrate with all of the "MVP" shouters, but here's a tip I noticed on TV: after each brilliant snag that forces you to spin around, you chuck the ball at Delgado in the dugout. Meet Jeff Conine, former Marlin and your first baseman. I know, hard to argue with what Dee-Dub has been doing at the plate, but if he makes that throw in the 9th . . .

Speaking of Delgado, he was seen lacing up his cleats in the 10th as if he might hit . . . setting him back 7-10 more days in his rehab.

Lastings Milledge took it upon himself to throw the hissy-fit everyone in the New York media has been urging Willie to have. How to Avoid the Postseason Roster: Have your platoon-mate catch fire? Check. Spaz out in a misguided, mis-timed, Lou Piniella wanna-be, head-shakingly embarrassing fashion? Check. Help your team miss the playoffs? Ch-- . . . we'll see.

Whom do you want up with the game on the line in a pressure moment? In June, you'd have put Jose Reyes near the top. Now, he's right behind Mike DiFelice. And from what the guys on the team bus say, you do not want that.

Maybe I've been too busy fast-forwarding over TiVoed Mets disasters, but where's Omar been lately? Camp David? Sure, Willie is Nero, fiddling while Rome burns, but Omar's the council head who thought tiki torches on top of gas trucks would make this toga party rock. Show yourself, sir. You've got some 'splaining to do.

Wheelhouse Jerry noted well the other night that the Duaner Sanchez cab accident has had layered, lingering effects on the bullpen even more than a year after the fact. It's true. I told him that my own late-night quests for grease food have left me lamenting the unwise decision a day later, but never a year later.

People say every movie has a perfect ending, it's just a matter of when you stop the film. I wish someone could advise me in such a capacity on Mets games. Case in point, "September 20: watch 8.5 innings, turn it off. Ending is as you'd assume." My mornings would be so much brighter.

Det. Sipowicz, 15th Precinct, once quipped: "You know how I know I'm evolving towards a higher planetary consciousness?" His answer was that he didn't punch a skell's lights out, mine is that I didn't make a reprehensible joke that somehow equated a certain human tragedy of the early 1980's with a factor in the Mets' plight. Like Keith chides with tongue somewhat in cheek during the tensest moments of the tightest contests, "It's only a game . . ."

Joke woulda worked, though. Really woulda.

Speaking of jokes, I can recycle my ancient one about Willie and his bullpen, the man who brought a knife to a gunfight, blah blah blah, but at this point it's painfully unfunny -- and not in the way my wisecracks normally are. The Mets have surrendered 43 runs in five games; though way too many have been unearned, find me the Mets fan who has confidence in any pitcher on the team and I'll show you a raging dipsomaniac. Pass the hooch down this way, Red, I don't wanna see no more.

Help us, Pedro; you're our only hope.
Help us, Pedro; you're our only hope.
Help us, Pedro; you're our only hope.
Help us, Pedro; you're our only hope.
Help us, Pedro; you're our only hope.