You Can't Do That on Television

Game 158 - Mets

Cubs 9, Mets 6 (10 inn.)
Record: 87-71

"What doesn't kill us makes us stronger."

-- Nietzsche

"I am, I am, I am Superman."

-- The Clique (as covered by Berry/Buck/Mills/Stipe)

. . . and I'm actually not so sure this isn't killing me. Dale hasn't brewed enough Pale Ales to create a salve for games like last night's, but I tried like hell to wash it away with some of the fine brew, anyway. Alas, here I am on a nasty, rainy, Thursday morning with full recollection of this debacle and a hefty headache.

In Mel Brooks' The Producers, a couple of down-on-their-luck fellows try to come up with a sure-fire Broadway flop, one so hideously terrible that it'll send the audience running for the door immediately, thereby enabling the duo to pocket the investment money. I ask you, the Mets' viewing audience, is there anything in "Springtime for Hitler" more horrifyingly offensive, more purely gut-wrenching, more run-for-the-door-awful than what we're witnessing on a nightly basis???

David Wright. He's the heterosexual Alex Rodriguez. Bottom 9, Daniel Murphy triples (!) to lead off the inning. The game is over. Done. A base hit past the drawn-in infield, an error, a scratch infield single, a wild pitch, a passed ball, even a friggin' medium-deep fly ball ends the game. The David Wright of pre-'06 shortens his swing, goes with a pitch, lines it into right field, and calls it a night. The superstar David Wright with the pull power swing gets a 3-0 count, then rears back and attempts to wallop three straight pitches, pulling a Mighty Casey in the process.

Jose Reyes. He hits for mammoth average in the team's wins and well below the Medoza Line in the team's losses. Yeah, yeah, as Jose goes, so go the Mets. You know what it also means? In just about every one of these grueling, punt-in-the-groin losses, Jose Reyes failed to come through when we desperately needed him. You guys are making Beltran look clutch.

Carlos Delgado seems to be the only guy with a sense of the import of these moments. Well, Carlos and Murphy. (Carlos Murphy's was a popular restaurant in my hometown in the 1980's. The Mexican-Irish restaurant-pub used to be all the rage back then; is this phenomenon still around? . . . Because Carlos Murphy's is not.)

At some point the residents of Mets Township are going to end up like a dog that's been beat too much. There's a breaking point somewhere not too far away, but it's not here yet. Even as I try to will this rainstorm northward so as to wash out Pedro Martinez getting pummeled by the Cubs tonight, I am hanging in there, stoically repeating Kevin Bacon's refrain through watery eyes . . . "Thank you sir, may I have another?"