Game 99 - Mets

Mets 7, Phillies 5
Record: 42-57

There was a whole lot of good to draw from this game:

1. Mets 7, Phillies 5. That's the the score of the game as well as the overall tally of games this season. With seven more to play, seven cases of Golden Anniversary (est. total: $62.93) is probably what I was realistically aiming for at the beginning of the year.

2. Wigginton, Phillips, Reyes, Duncan. Each had a good game, each continues to play solidly. None are bucking for Rookie of the Year, but perhaps that's not a bad thing – the less focus on this team, the more they can work on what matters.

3. Dan Wheeler.
He pitched well again, saving the day when John Franco was off, again, meaning––

4. Whitney was right again. Franco is but a shell of the former stud stopper for the Mets, and before that, the Reds. (Just as an aside, do you think he asked to be traded for Randy Myers so he wouldn't have to be known as one of the "Nasty Boys"?) It looks like a rock and a hard place right now for Art Howe, but it's not. Sure, the masses might squawk if Franco is relegated to mop-up or appears to be ousted from important roles, but Art Howe's focus will always be to win ballgames, even in a terminally ill season where John Franco sauntering off into the sunset might be a welcome distraction. I am hoping Franco can shake off this bad stretch and give the people what they want: their venerable closer closing out the season by saving ballgames for his hometown Mets. It's that easy, right?

The one negative creeping into this season is related to point #1. Koch's Golden Anniversary Beer, and its sister swill, Golden Anniversary Light, do not seem to be in the mass market any more. By mass market I mean pockets of liquor stores on Cape Cod such as Shop Ahoy, which used peddle the nectar at a reasonable (comparitively speaking, of course) rate of $9.69/case. Recent Cape ventures by Mr. Russell and his fellow Sox fan Coby Beck have been fruitless endeavors (though half-hearted, I'm sure) to obtain some of the "good" stuff for me. My competition in the Phils bet Rhys Lloyd thinks he might be able to track the stuff (brewed by High Falls Brewery in Rochester) in PA. I am worried. It would really taint the winnings if I have to resort to Schlitz.

Game 99 - Red Sox

Red Sox 7, Tigers 4
Record: 59-40

Sox close out the season series with the Tigers at a smooth 8-1. I can't imagine what it must be like to be a fan of the Detroit 9. This blog would double as a suicide note if I devoted the same level of passion to that team. And it's not like there's a lot of hope on the horizon. Detroit has some decent young pitching - Maroth and Bonderman will be serviceable to very good major league pitchers, and Wil Ledezma shut out the Sox - but their position players are worthless. Maybe Eric Munson will be useful someday, Dmitri Young has some pop in his bat, and Carlos Pena is highly touted, despite the fact that he hasn't performed all the well yet, but after those three there's not a whole lot. Alan Trammell's gotta be wondering why the hell he signed up for this crap.

The Sox get Tampa for 2 games before 3 in the Fens against the Yankees. I hope that the hometown team doesn't overlook the D-Rays - the same D-Rays who took two of three from them the last time they met. Boston's a season-high 19 games over .500 right now, but they had the exact same record last year at this point, and all it got them was an early off-season. After the D-Rays, the weekend series against the Yankees in Fenway will be a zoo. The Sox send Pedro, Burkett, and Lowe against Wells, Mussina, and Weaver. Lowe faces Weaver on national television on Sunday night. Those two headcases may not get out of the first inning, they'll be wound so tight.

The wheels are starting to turn

The Sox traded Brandon Lyon and minor league pitcher Anastacio Martinez to the Pirates today for lefthander Scott Sauerbeck and minor league lefthander Mike Gonzalez. I thought Lyon did a pretty good job for the Sox, but he was the last man in the pen at present, and I think the Sox sold high. Sauerbeck dominates lefties, and is pretty solid against righties, so they can use him alternately as a lefty specialist or as a setup man.

Speculation is that this trade sets up another, as it gives the Sox three lefties in their bullpen (Embree, Fossum, and Sauerbeck). I'm fantasizing about Fossum, Kevin Youkilis, Trot Nixon, and a prospect to Montreal for Vladimir Guerrero and Javier Vasquez. Hey, a girl can dream.

Game 98 - Red Sox

Red Sox 14, Tigers 5
Record: 58-40

Slump, schmump. The Sox had scored 17 runs in 6 games prior to scoring 23 in their last 2. The doomsayers in Greater Baahston had begun to wonder if the offense was showing signs of wear. Well, not so much, I guess. The Sox hit early and often in this one, clubbing 9 doubles and batting around twice against the relatively defenseless Tigers. Manny Ramirez was 4-for-4 with a homer, double, and 3 ribbies before being lifted for a pinch-hitter.

I haven't spent nearly enough time talking about Manny Ramirez in this space in recent weeks. Hell, I think Casey Fossum's received more cyberink. I think it's because Manny is so utterly dependable, and so consistent in his mastery of his craft that he doesn't stand out. He's been in the top 5 in the American League in OPS for the last 5 years, led the league in batting last season, is on pace for a .320, 38 HR, 124 RBI, .993 OPS season (which would, amazingly, be his worst in 6 years), and I can't remember to talk about him.

Simply put, Manny is a hitting savant. He doesn't talk to the media (or, for that matter, his teammates), he doesn't run all that fast, or field all that well (though his arm is underrated), doesn't do chest bumps or have a signature homerun trot, and appears for all the world that he's playing a pickup game on a sandlot in Brooklyn. But when he gets in the batter's box, he's a maestro. His swing is effortless, but the ball explodes off his bat. He seems to get into two-strike counts on purpose, so he can shorten his swing and drive the ball into the gap in right-center. His understanding of the strike zone is clinical, and his ability to hit the ball to all fields makes him nearly unpitchable. He is the anchor of the best lineup the Sox have fielded in 60 years, but he gets more attention for his personal eccentricities than for his on-field play.

He makes $20 million a year, but newspapers reported in May that he hadn't cashed a paycheck to that point in the season. He's an odd, childlike, silly man, who hits the snot out of everything he sees. Kind of refreshing in a lot of ways, and a great fit with a Red Sox lineup that doesn't seem to have very many me-first sort of guys. Even the superstars, like Pedro and Nomar, seem to be stand-up, team-oriented types - the Boston media's smear campaigns notwithstanding. I hope that Manny keeps standing in there and mashing the ball well into October, but maybe he could put those checks in the bank - the New England economy could use the boost.

Game 98 - Mets

Mets 8, Phillies 6
Record: 41-57

Three weeks, sixteen games, and one team make-over after Armando Benitez snatched Aaron Heilman’s win away for himself, Heilman picks up his first career victory. Of course, if his ERA hangs around its current lofty state (7.18), he isn't likely to win too many more games. Still, thanks to a surprising Metropolitan offense, and despite the threat of another bullpen giveaway, he notched it. Cliff Floyd hit a three-run tater, Jason Phillips added a two-run job, and little Joe McEwing even hit a solo shot in support of Heilman and three relievers.

John Franco posted another scary performance. He relieved David Weathers after one batter (a double) in the ninth, got an out, then gave up a double, then a long fly to right field that Raul Gonzalez snagged with a nifty little play; if Roger Cedeno's playing right field, it’s a triple. He followed with a walk of Pat Burrell on four not-close pitches, making us (Fran Healy, Ted Robinson, and me) wonder if it was semi-intentional. Sure, nobody wants to put the tying run aboard, but Met-eater Pat Burrell – even a .195 hitting Pat Burrell – scares you more than Tyler Houston (or his pinch-hitter, Jason Michaels). Well, it never would have scared Franco a few years back, but he looked like he wanted nothing to do with Burrell and was playing the odds. It worked, as it turned out, when Michaels’ hard grounder to third was scooped by Ty Wigginton and fired to second for the final out.

Not to belabor the Franco issue – again, he made his bones long ago as a top-notch fireman (and a friend to the NYFD), it’s just that he is fresh off a major injury, he’s not getting any younger, and he looks, for the most part, like a shadow of his former self. There are two things wrong with this picture. First, on a selfish note, if he’s costing the Mets wins, he’s affecting the fans’ attempt to salvage some joy from this debacle of a season. The beauty of the 162-game season, as I have stated (and as I recently read, more eloquently put, in a decades-old article by Roger Angell in his latest collection of columns), is that even in the darkest, stormiest season of rain clouds, there are inevitably 40-60 rays of light that shine through and bring back the warm feelings. To watch John Franco threaten more than one of these rays of light is irritating; to witness the formerly dominant closer struggle mightily is downright painful.

John Franco used to be uniquely impressive on the mound, if only for one strange aspect of his pitching game: with rare exception, he never threw a strike. Oh, most of his pitches would pretty damn well look like strikes as they came in; you’d watch batters’ eyes light up as they reared back and let loose a massive swing . . . that missed by several inches as the ball sailed way out of the zone. I was always baffled that hitters wouldn't take more pitches than they did. Then again, the ones who did would stand there and watch him nick the outside corner for a called strike, thereby falling behind and forcing them to be more aggressive, which would inevitably lead to that whole massive swing, miss by inches thing. It was aesthetically pleasing pitching, rather than Benitez-style overpowering. And it worked.

These days Mr. Franco seems to be having two problems. One, his fastball, which used to complement his other pitches impressively, is not scaring anyone. More importantly, though, he’s still not throwing strikes, but they’re missing by wide margins and in all the wrong spots. He’s been missing pitches up, in the middle of the plate, in places where batters catapult them into deep gaps and left-field walls. The onetime tailing away pitches now begin away and end further away. People aren’t scared, people aren’t fooled. And as I mentioned, it goes well beyond the aggravation of adding more losses to the compost heap of this season; it makes you feel sorry for the guy, and I don’t want to feel sorry for John Franco. He’s way too great for my pity.

Games 95-97 - Mets

Braves 11, Mets 4
Braves 7, Mets 4
Braves 11, Mets 8
Record: 40-57

That I downplayed the importance of beating the Braves this year as compared to years past does not mean that I enjoy or can even tolerate the repeated bludgeoning at the hands of those bastards. That they are a veteran team of sluggers having career years and the Mets are a young team of call-ups does not excuse dropping seven in a row to them. That I have eased my obnoxious epithets towards "America's Team," its legions of "fans," and anything to do with the franchise does not mean that witnessing their domination of the Mets is anything less than a boot in the groin. I didn't think I needed to spell this out, but perhaps.

New York took an 8-3 lead into the 8th yesterday afternoon, and it looked like they might salvage a single game in the four-game set. I felt I was going above and beyond the call of duty in the dog days of Met-fandom by having the game on two separate televisions as I worked around the house. Any excuse to slide into the family room or basement and tidy something up would be followed up with a half-inning or so of viewing. I failed to realize that if I abandoned this practice for an inning and half at the end of what should have been an easy wrap-up, the wheels would fly from the cart and the Metwagon would tumble about wildly. Young reliever (you know, the kind I said I wanted to see more of) Edwin Almonte and Mike Stanton retired one batter in the 8th, despite facing ten of them. On the 34th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing, Javy Lopez greeted Stanton with a commemorative moonshot to pull within one run, and then it just got ugly. Errors by Stanton and Rey "At .207, Errors Really Aren't Helping My Cause" Sanchez and a slew of singles helped total eight runs for the Braves. Enter John Smoltz, exit Mets.

To their credit, the New York media (that I have seen) has not started in with the bitter, foolish, gag-reflex talk of how the Yankees dumped Stanton and he's blowing games for the Mets while Benitez has pitched pretty well in his two outings thus far for the Yanks. Either they're wiser than that, knowing Stanton is better than that and Benitez is worse, or they're not clever enough to have pointed it out. Either way, yesterday's new type of disastrous lead-blowing is better than the same old Armando Benitez way. It's still a kick in the groin, but at least it's not with a stiletto heel (raided from Robby Alomar's White Sox locker).

Games 90 - 97 - Red Sox

Red Sox 7, Blue Jays 1
Red Sox 5, Tigers 3
Red Sox 4, Tigers 2 (11)
Tigers 3, Red Sox 0
Blue Jays 5, Red Sox 2
Blue Jays 4, Red Sox 1
Red Sox 5, Blue Jays 4 (10)
Red Sox 9, Blue Jays 4
Record: 57-40

Tanned, rested, and ready after 8 days on Cape Cod, your faithful Red Sox correspondent swings back into action. Despite a maddening three-game skid midweek, the Sox are now three games up on their nearest Wild Card rival, and only 4 games behind the Yankees, even though the New Yorkers have won 5 straight. The offense took a brief snooze sandwiched around the All-Star game, but woke up just in time to save my sanity. A week without a computer was sublime, as was Sox baseball on local television and radio, and the Boston Globe's sports page - by far the best I've ever read.

A variety of semi-Sox related items of interest from the week:

1. The bastards got my grandfather and my father and now they're coming after me.

My father, an otherwise relatively optimistic and rational man, is reduced to muttering expletives and fearing the worst where the Sox are concerned. He and I went to see the Sox play Toronto on Thursday (see more below). Trot Nixon got thrown out at the plate on a bizarre play, and Dad's immediate reaction was, "Typical goddamn Red Sox play". Well, actually, no, it wasn't. It was a random, weird moment not indicative of anything larger, but I couldn't convince him of that.

50+ years of crushing defeats and disappointment must do something to a man's soul. Dad spent the whole week talking about the inevitability of the Sox collapse this season, while I kept trying to convince him and my grandfather that this team was different, that the offense was one of the best ever, and the pitching staff was coming around. Multiply my family by 5 million, and you get some sense of the burden carried by the Red Sox each year. There may not be a curse, but it sure seems like there's a palpable weight on the shoulders of the Sox players.

I was reminded of this on Saturday night, as I went to bed with the Sox trailing 4-3 in the 9th. "They're done", I told myself, "this is a season-killing loss. It's time to throw in the towel." Then, when I woke up in the morning to see that they'd rallied to win, I realized that the burden was catching up to me. My 27 or so years of fandom don't measure up to Dad and Grandpa, but the bastards are wearing on me as inexorably as the tides erode the beaches of Cape Cod.

2. Live in Fenway

As mentioned above, Dad and I caught a game at Fenway during the trip. Outside of the fact that it takes 2 hours and multiple trains to get to Fenway from the Cape, and the fact that the Sox lost the game, it was an evening well spent. We hadn't been to a Sox game in Fenway together since 1976, which was also his last game at Fenway. We sat in the centerfield bleachers - with an excellent view of the strike zone, five rows back from the fence.

Not to wax too maudlin over fathers and sons and baseball, but it really was a bonding experience. I hadn't spent that much time alone with my father in as long as I can remember, and now that I'm a father myself, I've got a much deeper understanding of the pressures, anxieties, and pride a parent feels. This whole week was really about connecting with my family in new ways - for the first time I was an adult in the midst of my aunts, uncles, parents, and grandparents, and accepted as one. It was really remarkable to understand without talking about it that these people saw me as an equal, as a father and a voice of reason.

The game itself was relatively mundane, except for a brief Sox rally in the bottom of the 7th. Roy Halladay really quieted the Sox bats, pitching a complete game to win, 5-2. Fenway is a glorious dump, but it really seems that the new ownership has done a sparkling job of cleaning it up, adding friendly touches like a public concourse outside the park, and putting in enhancements that add revenue while still maintaining the park's unique character (the new Monster seats, for example). I really can't describe the feeling of walking up the ramp and into the stadium, taking in the views of the old ballyard, and seeing the Sox warming up. It swells my chest every time. Really, really, good times.

3. The racist, bitter stylings of the Boston media.

Pedro Martinez asked and received permission to leave the team a day before the All-Star break to fly home to the Dominican Republic. So did John Burkett. Manny Ramirez phoned Grady Little at 5:45 am on the day of the last game before the break and told the manager that his mother was ill and that he felt that he needed to fly to New York to be with her. Little granted this request as well.

These events don't seem terribly important in the scheme of things, and probably wouldn't be in 29 other cities. In Boston, though, with soulless, ranting hacks like Dan Shauhnessy patrolling the town, a Federal case was to be made. Interestingly, though, the case was only made against Martinez and Ramirez, who - gasp! - are both dark-skinned Latinos. Shaughnessy couched his diatribe in the language of the star system, trying to excuse Burkett by dint of his relative lack of standing with the team, but his intent, as always, was clear. Tear down the stars, simply because he has a forum from which to do so. 30 teams in the major leagues treat their star players differently than their role players. It is simply the way of the world. Hell, Shaughnessy's employer, the Globe, almost certainly allows him more leeway than its cub reporters.

The Sox players had no problem with the issue, and said so publicly. Only a handful of white guys with keyboards and microphones made any issue of the situation. Sadly, it's what Sox fans have come to expect, and becomes a self-fulfilling agenda.

4. Old-time baseball on the radio

My grandparents don't get cable at our little beach cottage, which is an issue for a different time. Because of this, I had to listen to the second game of the Sox-Tigers series on the radio, something I haven't done in forever. I'd forgotten how well-suited baseball is for laying on the couch with a good book and a good broadcast on the radio. Outside of Don Orsillo's maddening penchant for overinflection on every fly ball - "IT'S DRIVEN TO LEFT, DEEP...Simon settles under it for the out", lather, rinse, repeat at least 15 times during the game - the rhythms of the game and crowd noise are an underappreciated element in our hyperspeed, gottaseeitgottadoitgottabethere culture.

5. The new and improved Sox bullpen

Shhh. Be very quiet and I'll show you something neat. The Sox bullpen has a 1.99 ERA since July 1. The team's overall ERA is down to 7th in the league. I'm just saying.

Game 94 - Mets

Braves 3, Mets 2
Record: 40-54

Mark DeRosa's piece of garbage check-swing dribbler to second brought home the game-winning run in the bottom of the 9th. Unlucky loss? Not really, as John Franco got one of four batters out in the inning, and walked Rafael Furcal to send Vinny Castilla 90 feet from victory, allowing for all sorts of contact to score the runner. Franco is without a doubt one of the great Mets of the era and should be heralded accordingly; that said, he probably should not be given the reins too many more times with the game on the line. The second half of this season is a very difficult one for Franco to enjoy the twilight of his career, and that is unfortunate, but this is essentially a three-month pre-spring training, for all intents and purposes. It's an even better proving ground for the young players, as, unlike the spring sessions, the other team is really trying to win. And what with a world of talent to evaluate before next April, it's time to give the kids their shot.

Of course, this isn't to say play only rookies; Franco, like the other veterans, has earned the right to play as much as anyone. But with a slew of young relievers in New York, Norfolk, Binghamton, and other locales, I'd like to see if they can shut down the powerhouse Braves in a game like this. Franco, for all of his successes, has found his truncated '03 season to be full of achievements of all the wrong kinds (giving up formerly rare HRs to lefties, a surprising lack of control, etc.).

One of the young players who is starting to impress is outfielder Jeff Duncan. In addition to an early .412 clip at the plate, he has great quickness. Last night he exhibited his wheels in going from first to third on a single to left so quickly that LF Chipper Jones was left to watch and throw meekly to second base behind him. These little moments are the best and brightest spots of dark days.

Guestie from the Road

Headed to Fenway tonight to watch the Sox begin a 69-game stretch that includes 41 at home, where the Good Guys have a .700 mark this season. Down the stretch 2 games back of the Yankees and 1 up in the Wild Card. Fingers crossed, and keeping Hank Blalock in my prayers.

The Hills Are Alive

So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good night
Peter G. says, Benitez, you're a Yankee now, all right
So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, adieu
They'll boo, at you, and boo and boo and boo
So long, farewell, au revoir, auf wiedersehen
No more bitching, at your pitching, get on that subway train
So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, goodbye
You'll leave, I'll heave, if you become a go-to guy
I'm glad, you're going, I cannot tell a lie
You walk, you balk, you give up the big fly
The fun, has gone, away and so must you
When you stink, I think, we'll all say that we knew
So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, goodbye
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye!
Goodbye!

[My apologies for the repeated musical interludes of late; but if you feel like singing, sing out . . .]

In a move that undoubtedly keeps the melodrama alive, the Mets finally sent Armando Benitez away yesterday, trading him to the Yankees for three (mostly) minor league pitchers. Had the Mets shipped him off to oblivion, like, say, the Braves dumping John Rocker on Cleveland a few years ago, it would probably mark the end of a painful chapter. By sending him to the Bronx, however, the Mets have nearly ensured that there will be a great deal of subsequent scrutiny and second-guessing, depending upon how well he performs for the Bombers. Hear me now and believe me later, Benitez will light it up for the Yanks, and all we will hear is what a mistake the Mets made. And then it will happen. He will hurt the Yankees the way he has hurt the Orioles and Mets – in ways far worse than he ever hurt opposing teams down the stretch.

One quote from Yankees GM Brian Cashman that elicited a chuckle from me: "I know in this town some failures get magnified and talked about. I think a change of scenery will do him good." Yeah, it'll be good for him to leave New York City and go to . . . New York City?? Is Queens to the Bronx really a change of scenery? Does it matter that the only tiny change of scenery – Yankee Stadium instead of Shea – is a house of horrors in Benitez's past? Will this change of scenery (a team behind him that isn't lousy, maybe) make up for the significantly heightened pressure to win (which is Benitez's kryptonite, by the way)? Armando Benitez really does need a true change of scenery, like San Diego, or Tampa, or delivering mail. This isn't one. He was just chucked out of the frying pan and into the same fire that's been scorching him for four years. He may well miss the comfort of that frying pan for the next few months.

The Mets received a trio of right-handed relievers for Benitez, and as my fellow Met fan Jeremy pointed out, that's not exactly the area of greatest need for the club. Still, everybody knew he had to be dealt, including other GM's, and what with his hefty salary, no commitment beyond October, and his penchant for gagging in the gravest of games, this may well have been all Jim Duquette could garner for his All-Star closer.

The procession of big names and big contracts out the doors of Shea Stadium continues. The rumor mill has Rob Russell's Red Sox inquiring about what they'd need to pony up for Steve Trachsel. The Mets are saying he's not available, but let's face it, anyone over 30 not named Leiter or Franco is available for the right price. I am rather enjoying this purging process. The likeable guys get a chance to play for a contender, the annoying guys get the hell out here, and there's the possibility of tomorrow's stars in each prospect. Sure, most of these guys probably won't work out, but it's nice to see a last-place team doing something rather than nothing. And just like when Mike Piazza sprints down to first in utter vain as the ball beats him by three steps -- one, you never know what's going to happen; two, it's just good to see a guy trying his read end off.

American League 7, National League 6

Isn't it annoying when the other side is wrong, but they come out looking right? Last night's All-Star game was exciting, even tense, as it came down to late-inning heroics (a pinch-homer by Hank Blalock), and what with the consequences on the line, it was all that much more interesting. The Selig tinkering is still a bad idea, in my opinion -- and most ballplayers who've spoken out share that belief, but the result seems to have supported the change. Annoying indeed. As a fan whose team is completely out of contention -- and whose only representative was a bench-warmer for this contest, I was wavering between rooting for the NL (the natural selection) and the AL, based on whom I felt would make it to the World Series and get the advantage. And it was perpetually a lesser of two evils decision, whether the Yanks or Braves were more likely to make the Series and which team's win would cause less intestinal burn. Ultimately, I came to the conclusion that I could bear to see the Braves win it all just a tad more comfortably than seeing yet another Yankee-purchased trophy. That's when Blalock went yard.

In the noticeably absent Mr. Russell's place, I will simply say that you'd think the 2003 All-Star Game would showcase more of the 55-38 Red Sox than one weak, 8th-inning groundout from Nomar, but clearly the Sox have bigger goals in mind this year. They have a big homestand on the horizon against hit-or-miss Toronto (4), hapless Detroit (2), nearly as hapless Tampa Bay (2), and the possibly Benitez-laden Yankees (3). They should aim for taking 7 of those 11; doing so won’t necessarily guarantee them a first-place tie, as the Yanks' road is equally easy to hoe (featuring ho's like the Tribe, Jays, and O's).

Today marks one of the two days of the year (the other being two days ago) that there are no games played by any of the big four sports. Coincidentally/suspiciously, DirecTV came through for me two days ago. Bastards. Tonight, in place of any real sports, we have the ESPY Awards. Tomorrow night ESPN is airing a mock trial (featuring Alan Dershowitz and Johnnie Cochran) on whether Pete Rose should be allowed into the Baseball Hall of Fame. It just became official; these two shows bookend Jerry and George's pilot in the Top 3 Shows About Nothing. Considering the latter part of the Mets' season begins tomorrow, there's a whole lot of inconsequential bullshit on the tube for me these days. More time to work on the house and watch the kids, I guess.

Like Rats From a Sinking Ship . . .

Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies
Farewell and adieu, you ladies of Spain.
For we received orders for to sail back to Queens town
And soon never more will we see you again.

Not to insult these fine major league ballplayers further by calling them fair Spanish ladies (well, it does seem right for Alomar, doesn't it?), but the "dead in the water" implication Quint gave the tune in Jaws is rightly applied to the Mets. Yesterday new GM Jim Duquette sent Jeromy Burnitz to the Dodgers for a trio of A and AA ballplayers. With Burnitz becoming a free agent after the season, it certainly makes sense, but it's too bad. He was one of the good guys this miserable season, in both spirit and performance. Plus, he swings as hard as he can just about every time, which mirrors my own softball and golf swings. In truth, the fact that he has toned down the monstrous cuts and begun hitting the ball to the opposite field is a large part of why his average has jumped from .215 to .274 and his HRs from 19 all last year to 18 so far this year. What it means is that it made him tradeable, and so he goes. But while I scan the boxes hoping Robby Alomar continues his plummet and didn't just stink for New York, I am hoping Jeromy Burnitz comes through with a good second half and another good contract in the winter. Good dude.

Meanwhile, the Yankees and Red Sox appear to be the latest rumored front-runners in the Armando Benitez booby prize sweepstakes. If he goes to either of those places, there's a chance he'll shine and show us Mets fans up, but I believe there's an even better chance that under an increased spotlight, it will mean bad things, man. Bad things.

Games 91 through 93 - Mets

Phillies 10, Mets 3
Phillies 4, Mets 2
Mets 4, Phillies 3
Record: 40-53

Two years to the weekend after the passing of super-staunch Phils fan Evan Lloyd in a motorcycle accident, this series was a train wreck for the Mets. There was some redemption with a win in Game 4, but it came only after another blown save by Armando Benitez. (He leads the majors with seven of those.) As if his detractors -- especially the ones who say he isn't qualified to pitch in the Mid-Summer Classic on Tuesday -- needed a little more fuel for their case. To their credit, the Mets' hitters came through in the bottom of the ninth with the winning run. I tend to believe that the reason this younger, less acclaimed version of the Mets could pull this out where their predecessors would have surely failed is simply that, as players yet to rake in the millions of dollars, they appreciate the price of a case of beer. And so, because there is no canceling out of cases in this bet, I now owe Evan's younger brother five cases of PBR bottles while he owes me five of Golden Anniversary Light -- if he can track the GALs down. I'll be busy tracking down those Pabst bottles as well. It's even more insult to injury, as my bet used to be with Evan himself, and he liked his Pabst in the can.

The Marlins, meanwhile, have picked up Ugueth Urbina, so Benitez probably won't be headed there after all. While Atlanta has wrapped up the NL East by the break yet again, Florida is just 4.5 games out of the wild card and has decided they're going to make a run, which you have to admire. At this point, the only team in the division really out of it is the Mets, much to my chagrin. How did it come to this?

In some ways, despite the daily (okay, weekly of late) journal entries telling the story of the Mets' season to date, the Mets have been sneaky bad so far. They've clearly been mediocre all the way, as it's been a few moments of putting it all together surrounded by more moments of it all falling apart. But 40-53 is a horrible record, far worse than the way I feel they've played. Perhaps a lot of this is the recent stretch. They were somewhat holding it together at the point I called the apex (33-37); since then, they've gone 7-16 in ugly fashion, and right at the time when I've been able to follow them the least. (DirecTV is absolutely killing me.) After the demoralizing Yankee sweep(s), they seem to have given up the remaining glimmer of hope they had. Hence, the horrid pace of losses piling up, and the 6th-worst record in the majors.

Now we're at the All-Star break, which is something of a bitter pill for us Mets fans. No Met really deserved to be there, but Benitez's inclusion is pretty much a kick in the gut. Others will continue to point to his stats, his stuff, and his potential. We keep pointing to his potential to lose the biggest games on the schedule. So the lone Met in Chicago for the big game tomorrow (which counts!) is a guy who, in all likelihood, won't be a Met in a month; he's also the most regularly booed Met other than Roger Cedeno, who now receives "MVP!" chants upon his home plate appearances. I'd hope to see him blow the National League's home field advantage except that he's still on the trading block and I'd like to see the Mets actually get some talent for him. I fear that too many other teams are catching on to the anti-Armando sermons we've been preaching for several years. At this point he has to go -- anywhere, but preferably to an AL non-contender on the west coast. I just can't bear to watch another running of "Mental Man-child in Metville."

What does it say about the season when the All-Star break's appeal is a guaranteed three-day stint without a Mets loss?

Game 90 - Mets

Phillies 7, Mets 2
Record: 39-51

This one really hurts. Three losses to the Bravos, big deal, but losing to the Philadelphia Phillies will always sting me because it costs me a case of beer. Not only does it mean I am out twelve bucks, but it means I must search the area for a place that sells Pabst in the bottle for my high-fallutin' friend. With Aaron Heilman, Jae Seo, and Jason Roach (!) taking the mound the next three nights against the Phils, I may be making a hefty purchase. For those wondering about the status of the Sox-Mets beer bet, at the halfway point the Sox were just 12 games better, neutralizing the press and keeping my hopes alive for an unlikely comeback. Still, I may be well advised to grab a case of Sam Adams for Rob while I'm buying the PBR.

The lastest from the Mets' camp . . .

- Al Leiter is on the DL
- Armando "All-Star" Benitez is close to being dealt to the in-division Marlins
- The Mets owe $4.5M to NYC in overdue lease payments
- The Mets are now 20 games out of first place

Wow. What with my co-writer on location in Massachusetts for the next 10 days, is it okay if I write about the Red Sox in his stead? It's got to be more uplifting.

I preminisce no return of the salad days . . .

Randall Simon Bludgeoned a Sausage

I mean, do I really need to say anything else?