Marlins 5, Mets 4 (10 inn.)
This morning I learned that the Phillies' AAA club is called the Lehigh Valley IronPigs, a moniker I thought was reserved for the gaggle of women Cal Ripken canoodled with on the road during his playing days. This is a name I expect to get multiple mentions in Nick's posts this summer. They are in the International League with the Norfolk Tides, and I have a share of Tides season tickets, so I may get to see the IronPigs play.
And the mild chuckle I got from this knowledge was what I'd prefer to focus on this morning -- in light of the Mets' loss to the lowly Marlins (Robert Andino -- not just a duo of crooners in Secaucus any more), and especially the injury to Pedro Martinez. IronPigs! (Actually a decent workplace-legal epithet.)
Not only did Pedro get hurt, but he looked as mediocre as we've ever seen him. Utterly hittable, with fastballs topping out at 86 or so and unfazed Marlins knocking balls all over Miami Pro Player Joe Robbie Huizenga Dolphin Marlin Field. It was an eyesore for any Met fan, a chafe for those of us with high hopes for the Metmen this season, and something else for longtime fans of the man. (Rob, of course I mean you.) This was Superman II when the former Man of Steel gets beaten up by the oaf in the diner. Doesn't seem quite right.
Two questions have popped up on the Township radar since last night.
1. Where does losing Pedro -- and it's way too early to count him out, General Zod, but let's consider it a strong possibility that he's not the old Pedro -- leave the Mets' hopes for 2008?
2. Do the Mets regret signing Pedro to an expensive, four-year deal?
Start with the latter -- of course not. His inking was a direct paving of the way for Beltran and a host of successive others. It signified a change in direction for the club. The Mets can afford it. And he's fun. But the Sox weren't wrong in letting him go, either. Those bastards.
Meanwhile, let's get the results of the MRI and maybe a few more starts before we really consider what life with Pelfrey over Pedro is going to entail. It's still early (a phrase bandied about in April here and everywhere else in baseball). It's like tripping over the curb on the way to work in the morning. Sucks, but it's still early.