At Last, the Golden Ticket

Ahh.. at last it is glorious spring in DC, probably the most perfect weekend for the Mets to grace my adopted hometown.

I went to the game on Friday night to see Oliver. In knickerbockers-style uniform, he lasted seven innings, but went down 4-3. The Nats scored off him early, which could have led him into disaster, a la his last loss against Philly a couple of weeks ago. But he held it together and in the end, the Mets hitting, which is still warming up to full potency, did not come through.

Oliver knew he was not to blame. After he pitched an uneventful 7th inning, he skipped off the field, hopping over the sideline like an 11-year old boy. The funny thing was, he was on a verge of a loss and he was as elated as Charlie when he found the Golden Ticket. And why? Because he came back from his brink, from his first inning of near disaster and pitched a solid game. Like the big boys do.

Pelfrey, Pitching, Patience

So the meltdown of yesterday is weighing on me. Pitcher Pelfrey’s second collapse against a subpar team (first Washngton, now Colorado) leaves me wondering what happens to our fifth pitching spot. Our bats are only as good as our pitching, after all. And if Maine and Oliver can hold it together and El Duque’s and Tommy’s bodies can hold together, we just might have a shot come the fall.

When I think about how far away September is, I do realize it is a little bit early to be spreading on the melodrama. I mean, what the hell, it is APRIL. APRIL. If I start freaking out now, I will either be in a straight jacket or at least on Lithium by the time the leaves are turning brown.

I guess sometimes you can’t sweat one win or one loss – it can drive you to drink. It might just be more important to find one thing you could have done a little better and try to do it the next time. As goes baseball, so goes life.

So young Mr. Pelfrey, I apologize. When I see you next time, do better.

Who the Hell is Oliver Perez

For those of you that have been living under a rock and not paying a single bit of attention to baseball (shame on you!), Oliver Perez is a cherubic faced pitcher for the New York Mets. In the majors just shy of 5 years, Perez struggled with two other teams (the Padres and the Pirates) before landing with the Mets just last year. You can get all the dish on his record here. http://mlb.mlb.com/team/player.jsp?player_id=424144

Note: I am not that kinda baseball girl, sorry dudes.

The bottom line is the guy bombed in Pittsburgh, came to NYC and held it together when the Mets needed him most – during the NLCS when the veterans were down and it counted. Oliver has battled his confidence, his control and his temper as he tries to be a starting pitcher. And the dude is just 25! Imagine the stress, the examination and cross examination inside your head while everyone points, stares, and blames you for ruining their Sunday afternoon. Not just one person, try 50,000. All yelling you suck!

I have chosen to write about Oliver for a couple of reasons. First, my passion for baseball surfaced around the same time I was struggling to find myself. So in it and all its parts, I have come to sometimes see, but not always fully understand, things about myself and life and the reality, excitement, struggle and disappointment that comes with being truly alive and conscious.

Enough about me. Oliver embodies the everyday struggle for me. And through him and baseball, I hope to understand the journey a little more and win more than I lose. And the same goes for the Mets!