Optimism in the Face of Impossibility

After the crap that has been going down, I know what you expect from me. Crying. Whining. Bitching. Moaning. Because the Mets are on the verge of doing the worst possible thing they could - repeating last year.

Instead of the usual bitch session, I am going to try something different. No complaints. I am going to do what Jerry Manuel is doing... say it is possible. Say anything is possible. No, the Wilpons are not paying me. I've decided that if we tell them they are no good, they will be no good. Kind of like children.

Besides, it ain't over 'til the fat lady sings and she is still making her way over from the Bronx.

Groundhog Day in September

I went to last night's Mets-Nats game in the lovely new Nats stadium here in DC. Sat in the best seats I had been in this season, courtesy of a good friend/recovering Mets fans.  As we watched the game last night, he told me how his spirit had been broken during the 2000 World Series.

I get his pain circa 2000. Flashback.... The Mets were right there (against the Yankees no less) in the big time. And they screwed up. They let it slip through their gifted little fingers in the 12th inning in Game One, coming back in the 9th in Game Two only to lose, winning the third and crumbling to the end. That was the Mets of 2000.

Fortunately he gave up then. He didn't have to live through 2006 or last year. Instead of feeling like it was Groundhog Day in September, he was yippin' it up with the fans of the lovable losers and yet again Mets spoilers. Hadn't I been to this same game in September already?

Sadly, it wasn't deja vu. It was another Mets loss. In September. Against the lousy Nats. The only consolation is that it wasn't the Yankees.

Oh and those beautiful seats. 

Pitching, Pitching, Pitching

I am back in the comfort of my sprawling apartment in DC, back to the giant TV and every baseball game a girl could want.  So last night I watch the nail biter of a game v. the Brewers. This nail biting thing has become a little too de rigeur these days. While it makes for great baseball, it has been giving me heartburn for the last week or so. As was early in the season, the culprit seems to be pitching. 

Pitching, pitching, pitching.

They got through it last night, by the skin of their pretty little asses. But mostly because of the incredible defensive play of the team. Amazing catches by little Nick, badass throws as fast as gunfire from Endy!, David tackling the ball more like a defensive end then a third baseman. 

Last night was all about saving themselves from a melting bullpen. And they did it. Ten innings, 6-5. As long as the bats are alive, they may survive September.

As for some of the candidates, I am not quite as certain. 

Beat Me, I Can Take It

Alright, I know... you are going to accuse me of being a fair weather fan. Sure, the Mets are hanging on by a thread in June and July. And where was I? Galvanting across a continent, forgetting about where I come from and the important things, right? No, it's not true. In fact, I spent three months in South America, wearing my Mets hat. Consider my time not blogging as being an ambassador for the Mets and for American baseball. Not sure if I recruited anyone, but let's just call it "general awareness".  And I did check the scores when I was anywhere near civilization. 

Ok, so back to it. It's September, crunch time. I am now praying daily for the bullpen. Cause it's nothing short of a miracle that keeps them hanging on. Kinda like how it felt to support Barack Obama or John McCain a year ago, right?

Believe.