The Clash

Special MLC Feature: A-Rod versus the Nationals

The Baseball Poets wax rhapsodically about the game’s balanced rhythms and timeless charm, its yin and yang, alpha and omega. Most of the time, though, that poetic effort lauds the alphas far more than the omegas.

Here in the shadows of the Nation’s Capitol, home of the original Omega Dogs, the Washington Senators, history’s ugly lessons are being ignored and repeated on a major league stage. And no, this isn’t another thinly veiled shot at the President. The Washington Nationals took the field in 2007 with one of the least competitive big league franchises in modern memory, a squad that gets sand kicked on it by the 2003 Detroit Tigers. The Washington Generals had a better chance in most of their games than do our Nats, or as Whitney calls them, "The Nots."

Other sites on the intertubes are following the Nationals’ quest for ignominy using more conventional metrics like wins, losses, and runs scored. Here at MLC, we’re going a different route, nodding to those aforementioned Poets and linking the fortunes of the least with those of the greatest. In the spirit of the 2003 Tigers Watch (lauded as the catalyst for Detroit ’s 2006 World Series run) and the 2004 Expos Watch (which led directly to Montreal migrating to DC, according to at least one expert), we bring you the Japanese horror movie, A-Rod vs. the Nationals.

Alex Rodriguez has five home runs in the Yankees’ first six games, many of them prodigious and even timely. While I’m certainly no fan of Slappy, for obvious reasons, I do think he gets a bum rap from both Yankee fans and the national media. The Nationals have one win in their first seven games, and that one was a mad scramble back from a large deficit. They have not led at any point in any of their losses – in fact, they didn’t lead in their win until after the final pitch of the game. And while I am, in fact, partial to the Nats, I think Stan Kasten’s reputation has given them an undeserved pass in the national press, though not necessarily here at home.

It says here that A-Rod will finish the 2007 season with more homers than the Nationals collect wins. And there’s a chance that it won’t really be close. We’ll be watching the Nats closely, so you don’t have to. You're welcome.

The Rollins Band

Game 7 - Mets

Mets 11, Phillies 5
Record: 5-2

Sometimes you just have to walk away before you say something you regret, or far worse, injure your television. After the aforementioned mental face-plant by Skip Willie, I turned off the TV in melodramatic disgust. In truth, it enabled me to get a few things done today; it may have also been the one cosmic alteration necessary for the Mets to regroup and . . . well, do what they did.

(I know, but hell, it worked in 1986.)

A pair of miracles of modern technology permitted me to actually view the crazy, seven-run eighth inning that catapulted the Mets to this win. First, my attentive partner in MLC ownership dropped me a message that registered on my mobile cellular texting thingmajig. Big thanks for that, little buddy; "whatever you did must have worked for the Mets" sent me barreling to the telly, and more importantly to the TiVo. With the prior 30 minutes of the contest automatically accessible (God bless TiVo), I backed it up and hunkered down for the onslaught. It lost some of the moment, since I already knew that good things were on the way, but it was still an enjoyable thing to see.

By "onslaught," of course, I overstate the Mets' role in all of this. I wouldn't want to be labeled an ingrate, so hearty thanks go out to the Philadelphia Phillies, most notably Geoff Geary and Jimmy Rollins. Three walks and a wild pitch by the reliever plus a crucial error by the shortstop certainly aided the Mets along the way. The Metmen did their part, for sure, but the Phils' assistance made a comeback a romp.

And so the crosshairs dart away from Willie Randolph's visage onto two obvious candidates: Rollins and Phillies manager Charlie Manuel. In truth, neither deserves much more finger-wagging than Willie does; Randolph's blatant refusal to acknowledge an obvious threat to the Mets' tenuous lead was far less competent. Alas, in baseball as in life, a whole lot just isn't fair.

Jimmy Rollins booted a grounder with one out, the bases loaded and the Phillies up one, but for anyone thinking that it was an inning-ending double-play ball, all you need to know to have a second think on it is who the batter was: Jose Reyes. (Jose B. Reyes, of course; the much slower Jose A. Reyes was in the opposite corner of the Keystone State, presumably throwing on the tools of ignorance in hopes that the Binghamton Mets would actually get a game in after their entire first series was postponed thanks to Punxsatawney Phil being way, way off his game this year.)

I digress, but the point is that it would have taken a play for the ages to double up Reyes on that ball. Wasn't happening. The run was going to score regardless, and the game would have been tied regardless. Of course, just as in the '86 game I referenced, details hardly matter to the masses. For all intents and purposes, Buckner's gaffe gave away the World Series; on a seriously smaller scale, Rollins' botch is making its way into every headline on Ye Olde Interweb. (See "Rollins' error helps Mets rally past rival Phillies" on ESPN.com, for instance.) While not factually incorrect, it lets Geoff Geary's dismal attempt at a hold off the hook; same with Jon Lieber's clever prank of putting kerosene in the fire hoses. Just to stomp the point to death, if Rollins makes that play and Geary goes ahead and issues that wild pitch, the Mets regain the lead either way. So there.

Since I am already donning the Devil's Advocate horns, I might as well help young Jim out one more time. Even without making my rounds, I can already hear the Metsbloggers unleashing their banal barrage upon Rollins for his pre-season remarks. As I indicated, I neither disagreed with nor found much offense in what he had to say about his team's chances, and so I don't really relish his role in this bad Philly loss . . . nearly so much as I enjoy the mere thought of Joe Six-Pack everywhere from Malvern to Media to Merchantville to McGillin's throwing their half-empty Yuengling against the wall in a rage. Now that's worth stoking the embers for.

And finally, ol' Charlie Manuel will probably also unduly suffer thanks to Jimmy's prediction. If upper management bought into the new era of the Phightin's, 1-6 after a gnarly-looking loss like today's likely ain't sittin' too well with them. By all accounts, and there are many, Manuel is a great person, but he just sort of seems like your grandfather's crazy brother -- the one who was too close to too many shells in WWII and whom you wouldn't trust to bait your hook, much less drive you to town, much, much less manage your hundred million dollar ballclub. He seems to have a bit too much Ernie Pantusso in him, and while it makes for unintended hilarity, that's not really what you're going for with that post. I see Great Uncle Charlie watching the Kentucky Derby somewhere other than the clubhouse at Pac Bell, if you get my convoluted point.

And so goes the Mets' home opener. A wild seesaw affair to induce tantrums and reconciliations within the hour. Kind of a mess, not without its angst-causing moments, and a mighty roar of the crowd in the final act.

Wouldn't have it any other way - would you?

The Call

Mets winning, 3-2, top 6th. Reliever Ambiorix Burgos in the game, Phils have 2nd & 3rd with 2 outs. Burgos had just struck out Chase Utley in a 12-pitch at-bat -- a great showing. But with Ryan Howard coming up and 1st base open, it seems a no-brainer. Willie decides to let the youngster pitch. I alert the TV that I am formally protesting this call. Yeah, let the kid get some exposure to moments like this by going after guys, but don't throw him to the wolves. It's Ryan Friggin' Howard, MVP.

Keith, Ron, & Gary agree.

As the 2-2 pitch enters the bullpen, it really, really bugs me to have been proven right on this. Sometimes the answer is just as easy as it seems.

North Mississippi All-Stars

Game 6 – Red Sox
Red Sox 3, Rangers 2

The 2007 season meandered sleepily along through the first 5 games, easing me slowly into the grind without much drama or angst. The soundtrack, accordingly and fittingly, has been more Sunday at The Masters than AC/DC. Last night, though, baseball roared back into my bloodstream, bringing with it elevated heart rates, late night fist pumps, and the season’s first involuntary “holy shit” utterances.

Nearly all of that physiological stimulus came courtesy of Jonathan Papelbon and his electric stuff. Ranger batsmen were breaking bottles and destroying tables in the saloon when the bullpen doors swung open to let the big right-hander enter, and the Rangers’ partisans were in full throat. To steal from Kenny Rogers, you could’ve heard a pin drop by the time he was done.

The Sox led, 3-2, with 1 out in the bottom of the 8th, and runners on first and third when Terry Francona summoned Papelbon to face Michael Young. Papelbon’s got this glare that would skirt the boundary between silly theatrics and intimidation if it didn’t come as part of a package deal with his exploding fastball and bat-breaking splitter. He fixed Young in his sights and proceeded to summarily dispatch one of the game’s great hitters, blowing 2 fastballs by the Rangers’ shortstop before closing with a wicked knee-high fastball on the outside corner that earned a called third strike. The dangerous Mark Teixeira couldn’t catch up to a high fastball, and the threat was doused when his towering popup settled into Mike Lowell’s glove. Fist pumps all around, in recognition of Papelbon’s dominance and of Francona’s exquisite use of his bullpen in the pivotal 8th inning.

The Sox failed to dent the Ranger bullpen in the 9th – shocker – and Papelbon started with a fresh sheet in the home half of the inning. Sammy Sosa still swings from his heels, but the 2007 model had no chance against Papelbon’s high gas, popping up mightily, but harmlessly to Kevin Youkilis. Hank Blalock and Brad Wilkerson really didn’t need to bring bats to the plate, as helpless as the both were against Papelbon’s momentum. Neither came close to hitting anything Papelbon delivered, as both he and the Sox fans in attendance (and in one living room in Leesburg, VA) got more and more intense. Papelbon’s final delivery was a fastball, low and outside, and the home plate umpire kindly put Wilkerson out of his misery, even though the pitch probably missed by an inch or so – wouldn’t have mattered, as Wilkerson’s chances of reaching base in that situation were lower than the Nationals’ projected winning percentage. (Some portentous foreshadowing, that.)

Papelbon’s 5-batter performance was as epic as the season’s first week could possibly allow. The stakes weren’t particularly high in the season’s grand sweep - had he blown the save (which would have carried no shame whatsoever), the Sox might’ve limped home from a 2-4 road trip. But even then, I really wouldn’t have forecasted any long-term hangover – the soothing balm of Tuesday’s home opener probably would’ve washed away any lingering ill feelings. Even with the win, the Sox still find themselves a mediocre 3-3 with no real offensive spark. Psychologically, though, Papelbon’s staredown of the Rangers finally and irrevocably shuts the door on second-guessing of the rotation/bullpen decision-making process, and reminds the Sox in no uncertain terms that they’ve got one of the league’s elite stoppers at the back of the pen.

The Sox got 2 other boosts from the series finale in Texas, equally important though slightly less dramatic. Curt Schilling served notice that the rumors of his demise may have been slightly exaggerated, shaking off a first-inning homer by Sox-killer Frank Catalanotto and silencing the Rangers to the tune of 7 IP, 1 ER, 4 hits, and 6K. On the offensive side of the ledger, David Ortiz ended his season-opening mini-slump with homers in his first 2 plate appearances to account for all of the Sox’ runs.

And slightly less important, but fortuitous nonetheless, the Sox and Rangers had the courtesy to do absolutely nothing of consequence in the game’s middle innings, meaning that I was able to watch the season premieres of the Sopranos and Entourage in their entirety and still catch every meaningful pitch of the game. I could really stand to see less Janice over the final 8 episodes, Mr. Chase, if that wouldn’t be too much to ask. Entourage seems to be astride the motorcycle, revving the engine, just waiting for the right moment to head skyward over the shark’s seeking jaws.

The Sox head to Boston for tomorrow’s home opener carrying a 3-3 record despite scoring only 19 runs. I expect they feel both a little bit fortunate and a little bit overdue at the plate. I also think they’re all looking over at the kid wearing No. 58 with a mix of awe and gratitude that he’s on their side.

One final note of annoyance that’s building into a full-on rant: I can’t overstate my disdain for Sox fans that go to opposing ballparks and start the “Let’s Go Red Sox” chant. I find it bush league annoying bullshit, like the stereotypical Ugly Americans who go abroad and insist on eating at McDonald’s. I don’t mind that the Sox have a large fanbase – frankly, it’s one of the reasons they can maintain the payroll and exorbitantly high standards they’ve established under this ownership team. I do have a problem with loudmouth obnoxious guests. Cheer as loud as you want for the Sox’ actions on the field, but show a modicum of courtesy otherwise – channel Sam Wyche, only replace Cleveland with the city of your choosing, perhaps the one over there on the island.

The Jam

Game 6 - Mets

Braves 3, Mets 2
Record: 4-2

Conveniently, on Friday, last-minute dinner plans meant I'd miss the game and forget to record it. The result: 11-1 dominance by the Mets over the hated Braves. Saturday and Sunday, however, I'd see the games in their entirety, much to my dismay. Today featured a much better-played contest than yesterday's knee-walking defense and overall eyesore, but it may have been harder to swallow. Saturday's mess could be easily discarded as "one of those games" -- and despite the poor play, a game the Mets were in until the last swing. Today, however, we have our first true "winnable loss," albeit a stat kept only here at Misery Loves Company. And that'll sting a bit more.

In addition to the irritation of losing a lead in the bottom of the eighth, this afternoon's outcome may have highlighted what some amid the Township have feared might be the true Achilles heel of this squad. While the majority of ink disparaging the Mets has fixated on the rotation, the early returns show that aspect of the ballclub to be in fine form. Meanwhile, with Duaner a goner for the foreseeable future, a goodly portion of bridging the gap from starter to Wagner will fall on the shoulders of Aaron Heilman. And that, my friends . . . [gulp] . . .

Aaron Heilman has done plenty of good for the New York Mets during his tenure in royal blue and blaze orange, but he's rarely been "unhittable." He's proven serviceable out of the 'pen with his eye really on the rotation -- a place where he has found success, and where one bad inning can be overcome. As a two-pitch pitcher (he has three, but he'll only use two of them at a time), though, he's probably better suited for relief work. I just can't get too comfortable with him on the hill in crunch time. At least not as comfortable as the Braves got.

Heilman entered with a 2-1 lead, thanks to outstanding work by El Duque. Another solid start from Mets pitching was nearly squandered in the 7th by Scott Schoeneweis. Heilman worked out of that jam with an out in that frame, but was subsequently knocked around in the eighth. The powerhouse trio of Shawn Green (who did homer to keep the wolves at bay for another day), Ramon Castro, and David Newhan went quickly and quietly in the ninth to seal it with a whimper.

I don't know . . . maybe I'm still thinking of last October again, a bad habit that's getting the better of me all too often this April. Maybe it still chafes my charlies to think of Yadier "Two-sixteen" Molina taking Heilman deep to quash our hopes, and maybe I have even more choler built up for his gophering than I do for Beltran's freezing or Dee-Dub's struggling or any other contributing factor. By New York standards, Heilman dodged the usual barrage for such a mistake, and while I am actually glad for that development, perhaps there's some underlying frustration and doubt in me when it comes to the guy. Like I said, I don't know.

All I do know is that while the forecast is still strong to quite strong in MetLand, that twelve-year old Manhattan punk in Yankees garb had better watch whom he heckles if Aaron Heilman coughs up too many more leads or he will definitely be finding himself nostrils-deep in the business end of an NYC trash receptacle. The "just happy to be here" nice guys of 2006 are long gone this year.

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?

Drugstore

Game 5 - Red Sox

Rangers 8, Red Sox 4
Record: 2-3

Found a new side benefit of combining wine and Tylenol Cold & Flu - turns out their interaction causes fairly intense drowsiness, which worked out great last night, as I passed out just in time to miss Sammy Sosa going yard to close the book on an uninspired performance by every facet of the Sox roster.

Mediocre starting pitching - check. Julian Tavarez did very little cockle-warming in his nasty, brutish, and short 4 innings of work. It took him 87 pitches to struggle through those frames, a result of the ne'er good mix of inability to throw strikes and a prediliction for leaving breaking pitches up in the strike zone.

Indifferent defense - yup. J.D. Drew's ole effort on a sharply hit single in the bottom of the 3rd turned Michael Young's single into a Little League homer, as Young circled the bases after Drew whiffed. The Sox' new rightfielder compounded his mistake by airmailing 2 cutoff men, which allowed Young to avoid being cut down at the plate. Instead of having runners on 1st and 3rd and an 0-2 deficit, the Rangers tied the game on the play. Lucky for Drew that didn't happen during his first week at Fenway - the hatahs are locked and loaded, stoked by Boston's moronic talk radio culture.

Lousy relief pitching - you betcha. J.C Romero gave up the aforementioned bomb to the aged Sosa, part of a 5-batter, 5-hit, 3-run effort for the lefthander.

Inconsistent offense - bingo. The Sox did manage 4 runs - matching their second highest total over the season's first week - but came up wanting in way too many circumstances. Shortly before the magic medicine claimed me, David Ortiz left the bases loaded - robbed a little bit by a nice play from Rangers' starter Kevin Millwood. Manny ran the Sox out of more potential runs in the top of the first, getting thrown out trying to go first to third on Drew's 2-out single to left. All told, the Sox reached base 16 times on 11 hits and 5 walks - 4 runs in that scenario is fairly inefficient.

The loss was made the more grumble-inducing after the Orioles (hey - the season's first complaint about the Birds. Just like the salmon of Capitstrano, another harbinger of Spring) gacked up a 7-2 lead in the Bronx, with Alex Rodriguez' walk-off grand slam closing the deal. That's just what the AL East needs, A-Rod building some confidence. Hey - thanks, Chris Ray.

Curt Schilling goes for redemption on national television tonight. The Schilling of old tosses a dominant performance against the Rangers. The question of whether we get that guy or the old Schilling has quickly become one of the season's central and most pressing ones.

The Lemonheads

Game 4 - Red Sox

Texas Rangers 2, Red Sox 0
Record: 2-2

Here's to you...Robinson Tejeda. A Nation turns its lonely eyes to the batter's box, wondering why the Sox didn't bring their vaunted patience to the Ballpark in Arlington or whatever the hell the Rangers' yard is called these days. The Sox made 7 first-pitch outs in 34 plate appearances, with another 8 batters retired on the 2nd pitch of an at-bat. That's a recipe for an easy day for a pitching staff, and Tejeda and a pair of relievers never gave the Sox a chance, allowing a meager 3 basehits.

The blame goes deep for the offense, and while the season still isn't old enough to breed real worry, the Sox have now managed 12 runs in their first 4 contests, with only 1 homerun. David Ortiz' .133 start isn't much cause for concern, but Covelli Crisp's sluggish .154 out of the blocks isn't helping with that part of Sox fandom that's eager to jump grumpy on the centerfielder. The only real offensive bright spot today was that Jason Varitek didn't make any outs. And you think I'm kidding.

Timmy Wake took his turn in continuing to uphold the pitching staff's end of the bargain, allowing 1 earned in 7 innings of 3-hit ball. Last year, in Wake's 11 losses, the Sox plated a total of *6* runs while he was in the game. Wouldn't blame him if he had ugly flashbacks this evening.

Speaking of ugly, the Sox turn to Julian Tavarez tomorrow to keep alive their chances at salvaging a series victory over the Rangers. I'm feeling sick as a dog and we've got an afternoon Easter Egg Hunt scheduled in 45-degree temperatures. If all breaks right, I'll be passed out by 8:30 and miss the whole tilt.

The Vapors

Game 3 – Red Sox

Red Sox 4, Royals 1
Record: 2-1

Yeah, I went there. Figured I’d better get that headline out of the way early. And it’ll never be more appropriate for a game recap than now. To paraphrase Dennis Green, Matsuzaka is what we thought he was. 7 innings, 6 hits, 1 run, 10 strikeouts, 108 pitches, and a handful of deep sighs of relief from the upper floors on Yawkey Way. Matsuzaka became only the 3rd pitcher in modern big league history to give up 1 or fewer runs and strike out 10 or more in his debut. The niggling demands of my employer meant that I was unable to actually watch any of the action, so I’ll have to wait until next week to actually see for myself.

By my reckoning, Matsuzaka’s got 2 more major early-season hurdles to clear before settling in to try to answer the long-term questions. If yesterday was a circus, even in frigid middle America, next Wednesday promises to be P.T. Barnum’s wet dream, as Matsuzaka faces Seattle in his Fenway Park debut. The first batter to greet him in his first start in home whites will be Ichiro. Somewhere, ESPN employees are putting a ball gag in Steve Phillips’ mouth to make sure he doesn’t say anything demeaning to Asians. For the record, P.T. Barnum’s wet dream has nothing to do with Steve Phillips and a ball gag.

In addition to his home debut, Matsuzaka’s first start against the Yankees will also be freighted with drama, manufactured or otherwise. That’ll likely come later this month, as the Sox and Yanks square off 6 times in the season’s first month. I’m going to take a sedative.

For the 3rd time in 3 games, the Sox scored a single in the top of the 1st inning when Manny’s booming double plated Youks. And for the 3rd time in 3 games, the pitching was the story – another solid effort from the bullpen culminated in Jonathan Papelbon’s first save of the season, a 1-2-3 mow-down of the overmatched Royals. The Sox’ pen has now given up 2 runs in 10 innings, and none over the last 8.

Dustin Pedroia kept up his early-season success, going 2-for-4 to conclude a 5-for-10 series. Julio Lugo doubled and generated the Sox’ second run by stealing 3rd and scoring on John Buck’s errant throw. Even Coco Crisp delivered a timely hit to plate the game’s final tally. The offense did just enough to keep most of the heat off of the bullpen in the late innings, but have played second fiddle to the arms in the season’s infant stages. That recipe will cook up quite nicely if those arms maintain something close to their early pace.

------------------

Sweet news from another corner of the Sox' system, courtesy of Surviving Grady: Jon Lester tossed 4 shutout innings against the Yankees' AA farm club, allowing 2 hits and striking out 5 of the 15 batters he faced. Awesome.

April Wine

Game 3 – Mets

Mets 10, Cardinals 0
Record: 3-0

Across the Township last night and into this morning, just above a murmur you could make out one agonizing, rhetorical question . . .

“Where the hell was this in October?”

It’s easy to ponder painfully what might’ve been if just a sliver of this all-around display of domination had been realized six months ago when it mattered much more, but there’s no point in belaboring it beyond a sardonic smile and a shrug. That was then, this is now, and while there’s not that much difference in the rosters that played to a much different finish in the NLCS, it’s still idle speculation and frustration.

It’s a far more pleasing outlook to heed Rob’s advice and look at last fall’s outcome as a necessary stepping stone towards a greater glory. I said early on last year that I thought the ’06 Mets fit the part of their 1985 predecessors, not a championship club but building towards one, and damned if the St. Louis Cardinals didn’t do their part to dash my hopes -- just as they did back in '85 -- when my expectations were exceeded.

In the year of our Lord 1986, the Redbirds exited the gate as if they expected to repeat, notching a 7-1 start while the Mets moseyed out, dropping three of their first five. Despite the early stumble, those Mets had come close to the postseason the year prior – 98 wins couldn’t get them in back in those days – and their determination was never keener. By the end of April, the Mets were 13-3, the Cards were 8-10; a month later the records were 31-12 and 17-27, earning first and last place respectively. Soon enough, Whitey Herzog (even less likable than St. Louis’s current skipper) and the Cards were Judge Smails to the brash Mets’ Al Czervik. (“Hey, Whitey, where’s your hat?”) The Cardinals’ supposed repeat ended in a losing season; the Mets built on the ’85 ire and . . . well, you know.

I’m not presupposing anything. I’m just saying.

In the long, meandering march to October, you can’t get too bogged down or pumped up by early April results. Still, it’s hard to be anything less than optimistic after sweeping through the Cardinals like they weren’t even there. The Mets outscored St. Louis 20-2 over three games, and last night’s 10-0 beatdown – despite Braden Looper sticking it to every foolhardy Metsblogger who’d salivated at seeing him on the docket – stands as a definitive opening remark in the Case of the 2007 New York Mets.

Every team says in springtime that their mission is nothing less than a title, when in actuality only a handful can claim a viable stake in contention. (Leave parity to the NFL; this is baseball, where small market franchises have as much chance of hoisting the trophy as mid-majors in the NCAA tournament.) This Mets team is clearly one of the contenders, a few naysayers (where starting pitching is concerned) be damned.

This weekend the Metropolitans will have a chance to make another statement, visiting Turner Field to take on a resurgent Braves squad. What passed for a rivalry for the last four or five years was really more of a bully & victim scenario, with the Braves beating up on the Mets until the roles were reversed last year. This year, though, expect to see more of a truly adversarial relationship between the two, with Philly hanging around just to annoy everyone.

Ollie Perez, another part of what one member of the think tank that is the Atlanta Journal-Constitution’s sportswriting staff called “a ghastly rotation,” gets to either confirm or refute the masses of skeptics and their puddle-deep insight. To some extent, we still might be in wait-and-see mode on the Peterson Principles where several key arms are concerned, but right about now I can’t wait for each game’s opening pitch. That’s what an opening-series bludgeoning of the defending champs gets you. So far, so good.

Faster Pussycat

Game 2 - Red Sox

Red Sox 7, Royals 1
Record: 1-1

Quick and dirty post this morning to clear the decks for this afternoon's international extravaganza/Matsuzaka debut. Suffice it to say that our long National nightmare is over, the Sox finally ending their 6-game road losing streak to the *gulp* Royals. If that ain't the most damning indictment of the 2006 Sox' underachievments, I don't know what a'is.

Decent, albeit truncated, outing for Ebby Calvin, who required 94 pitches to get through 5 2-hit innings. Matsuzaka scoffs in his general direction and shoots a look at Tito suggesting that it'd be a bad idea to ask him to leave a game after firing only 94 bullets.

Mike Lowell probably cost Beckett an extra frame by gacking consecutive chances in the 3rd inning, then made his miserable fielding day worse by throwing one away in the late innings. The bully was strong to very strong, posting 4 innings of 1-hit ball - if Snyder, Lopez, Romero, and Pineiro can do that consistently, the Sox will waltz away with the AL East. Also, this morning brings us news that if a frog had wings, it wouldn't bump its ass every time it jumped.

Lowell redeemed himself slightly by plating the eventual winning runs with a 2-run, 2-out double in the first. J.D. Drew looked solid at the plate, and Youks belted the Sox' first homer of the season to essentially put the game out of reach in the 7th.

Bummer that the game was broadcast on the Royals network, meaning the Paul Splittorf's ultra-monotone Midwestern cadence supplanted Jerry Remy's dulcet New England accent. I'm looking forward to April 10, when the Sox play their home opener. Can't wait to hear what Wally the Green Monster's been up to.

Television

Game 2 – Mets

Mets 4, Cardinals 1
Record: 2-0

Last I checked in, I closed with yet another declaration of my affinity for this game, but when love becomes pure addiction, there is no greater fix than the one the Extra Innings package provides. A trip to the park can’t be surpassed in many regards, but gluttons for the national pastime can ingest maximum horsehide by flipping through game after game – further enhanced by TiVo. It’s worth admitting you’re a geek just to experience such baseball overload.

Tonight was the first night of the season to offer just that.

The obvious highlight of tonight’s action was the Met game, which became another happy jab to the World Champion St. Louis Cardinals. As an aside, I’ll stop mentioning them as such when Joe Buck stops mentioning it once a half-inning. I accept and endorse his Redbird bias on the St. Louis broadcast (one of the drawbacks of the ticket), but I don’t have to listen to it. After he elevated Yadier Molina’s 2006 NLCS performance to one of all-time heroism each and every time Molina entered the batter’s box, I had to mute Mr. Buck. As this deep, digressing aside sidetracks this post before it even gets started, I mean, honestly – Molina’s numbers going into that series were way, way worse than Dent’s ’78, Boone’s ’03, Mazeroski’s ’60, Hendu’s ’86, any of the guys in the conversation. It’s painful just to think about, and catching the increasingly grating Joe Buck – in his first Cards-cast of the year and on a night when the World Series rings were presented – is not helping. Even when Endy Chavez entered tonight’s game and they aired the clip of the greatest moment of any sporting event I’ve ever attended, Joe quickly turned a tip of the cap toward Endy into yet another reminder of how it all played out. Annoying. Naturally, if the Mets had won and SNY were doing the same thing, you can bet I’d be eating it up. But they didn’t, and I’m not.

Whew. Take a breath, Whit. The Mets won. (Clearly there is still some baggage from last fall.)

Anyway . . . the Mets did win, and in convincing fashion once again. The bats weren’t nearly as dominant, thanks to Kip Wells’ effective wildness, but the defense shone for a second straight night and El Duque was super-sharp. Ignoring a Scott Rolen blast, the Duque threw seven just-about-flawless frames. That there is some music to the Mets fans’ ears, and a staving off of the inevitable “I told you so’s” to come the first time a Mets starter struggles. It has been the insight-less analysis du jour for months to use the expression “question mark” somewhere in regards to the Mets’ 2007 rotation. Here’s hoping for and believing in a solid, critic-quieting delivery from the underrated crew that updates the menu.

Scott Schoeneweis looked intermittently crisp and imprecise in the eighth, mowing down a pair of Cards before issuing a four-pitch walk to the elfin one and allowing a single to Chris Duncan (who normally hits lefties as if wearing an eyepatch). With the three-run lead and Pujols striding plateward, Willie called for Aaron Heilman while I tried to fight off thoughts of how much I’d rather have a healthy Duaner Sanchez in this spot. Heilman got it done, though, inducing an easy fly on a full count. The first deep sigh of the year, the first extended arms fist raise. Nice.

And Wagner was aces in the ninth; a terrific outing. Nicenice.

A few thoughts on the Mets . . .
Echoing ECA Mike, I am hoping Shawn Green gets his bat out of his tuchas before he’s dumped for clubhouse supplies and Lastings Milledge II: Electric Boogaloo hits right field. We the fans instinctively and fallibly believe in whoever isn’t in the lineup far more than the fellow who is. Milledge had a fine spring and still appears to be a stud prospect, but he’s not even a year removed from the rush job that had him .233ing and being the whirling dervish in Fenway. Ease him into the role, don’t fast-track him. Meanwhile, Green is a veteran hitter who deserves a few more benefits of the doubt than anyone seems to be giving him. Granted, he’s been blindly flailing the bat around like Wendy Torrance at the Overlook so far, but all I am saying is give Green a chance before hurrying Milledge back into a pressured position.

And does anyone else not like the way David Wright has looked at the plate – since say, last September?

On the non-Mets front, and back to the beautiful orchestration that was baseball on TV tonight, I managed to pause the Mets action and flip to three separate games’ final at-bats, all with the tying run at the plate or on base. Great stuff. Of comedic note was old MLC punching bag Dan Wheeler blowing a lead and taking the loss against the Pirates – thanks to old friend Xavier Nady. I chuckled way too fervently to maintain my usually balanced karma, and even had to apologize to Mr. Wheeler while doing so. It just seems like every time I watch him, he implodes as if on cue. And it’s so much more amusing now that he does so for another ballclub.

And finally, if you didn’t see former Tide/Met Jason Tyner’s stolen base tonight (one that proved to be critical, as he became the winning run for the Twins), try to find it. He stumbled and dove about eight feet shy of second base, did the worm the rest of the way in, and was somehow safe because the throw was that wide. Highly entertaining.

John Maine versus Braden Looper (!) tomorrow night. Give me a sweep and an SNY broadcast and I’ll be a whirling dervish myself.

Garbage

Game 1 - Red Sox

Kansas City Royals 7, Red Sox 1
Record: 0-1

My youngest daughter just poured a half-gallon of pee on our living room floor. And in the scheme of things, that was a more pleasant experience than watching/following the Sox' season opener in Kansas City. She's in the middle of potty training. I only wish I had as viable an excuse for the Red Sox.

On this beautiful spring afternoon, the worries of the Nation were in full bloom. Curt Schilling looked every bit his advanced age, getting in trouble from the opening frame, ultimately giving up 5 runs on 8 hits in just 4 innings to a middling Royal lineup. The bullpen did slightly better, but only slightly, allowing 2 more Royal tallies over the final 4 frames - with the final run scored on a particularly fat hanging breaking ball courtesy of erstwhile closer Joel Pineiro. And Jason Varitek, he of the .100ish Spring Training batting average, stayed in his - *ahem* - groove, going 0-for-4 and only getting 1 ball out of the infield.

While the fears of the Nation took center stage, the gotta-have hopeful elements of the lineup didn't do much to breed confidence. Julio Lugo debuted in Boston road grays with a 1-for-4, 3 strikeout effort. Coco Crisp, the much-hoped bounceback candidate opened up 0-for-3.

Even the givens kept their powder dry in this one, with Manny and Papi combining for 1 hit in 7 trips, though Ortiz' 1st-inning double plated the Sox' only run. J.D. Drew, Kevin Youkilis, and Dustin Pedroia passed for bright spots in this otherwise bleak effort, turning in a 5-for-9 outing.

And despite all that, as my colleague notes just below, we don't know anything today that we didn't know yesterday. I just hope that my daughter hasn't graduated to tossing her shit around the room by Wednesday, when Josh Beckett makes his first start of the season.

Minor Threat

Let the record show that Julio Lugo opened the 2007 Red Sox season by taking a ball low from Kansas City's Gil Meche. Let the record further note that it's 80 degrees and sunny here in the Nation's Capital and all is very, very well in the world, other than the fact that I'm inside an office while I type those words. Finally, while we're noting things for posterity, let it be publicly declared that ESPN's Gamecast has way too much going on for these aging eyes to adequately assimilate - I just now realized that Lugo struck out and Kevin Youkilis singled, even though those things happened 3 or 4 minutes ago.

Oh, and David Ortiz just doubled in Youkilis. Glad to have you back, pastime.

Genesis

Game 1 – Mets

Mets 6, Cardinals 1
Record: 1-0

The over/under on how many times during the month of April that Rob or I type something that roughly translates into “it’s still too early to make any judgments” is 14, so let’s just get one of them out of the way. Wouldn’t be prudent . . . at this juncture . . . to get ahead of ourselves. Not gonna do it.

That said, there is nothing quite like Opening Day, or in the Mets’ case, Opening Night. And there’s nothing like stomping the World Series Champions in something of a rematch from last fall’s NLCS to kick off the new campaign. It felt good, and there’s nothing wrong with a sliver of revelry after watching it. Most of us in the Township are no dummies; we know that Tom Glavine hitting his spots and the lineup driving in runs is the given (or it had better be), with the rest of the rotation and the bullpen –which bent but did not break last night – presenting significantly more of a variable. But baseball is baseball, and when anything can happen but the expected positive result still does, be pleased.

Glavine becomes more of a Met and less of a Brave all the time; there’s no question which lid he’ll don on the plaque, mind you, but those first couple of shaky years at arm’s length seem a distant memory.

The aforementioned pen made things interesting more than once last night, but man oh man, did the defense come to play. Reyes’s wizardry is the standard; Beltran’s unadvisable but dazzlingly effective gun to the plate was a bonus; Alou’s diving catch and Valentin’s two-turning were absolute gravy, but critical to the outcome. If the Mets can muster that level of play on a regular basis, that kind of D will make any sort of pitching staff seem Grade A.

As an aside, here’s a tip for Hollywood: think about making Miami Vice: The Early Years, featuring David Wright as a raw Sonny Crockett, Jose Reyes as a young Rico Tubbs, and Jose Valentin as a (no matter how young he is, he always looks old) Lt. Castillo. Okay, maybe it's a stretch, but 'Stache’s resemblance to the stoic Lieutenant distracts me a fair bit. At the very least, it’s worth a cheesy Mets promo poster.

Everyone in the starting lineup for New York recorded a hit, including Glavine, but it was the infield’s turning of four double plays – including a spectacular one started by an amazing snare by Valentin – that kept this from being a tighter affair. There was plenty to enjoy, not much to frown about (except perhaps Paul LoDuca taking a foul ball off his hand), and Baseball Season 2007 is underway with a smile.

Sometime during February or early March I thought to myself that the excitement and heartbreak of that October night at Shea seemed like years and years ago, thanks to my burying any off-season thoughts of the Mets into hibernation, like a depressive’s repression. Last night was a letter-perfect Mets awakening for me, and it’s as if that loss in Game 7 happened last week. God, I love baseball.