Here's What I Just Don't Get....

...aside from post-season play, a million dollars a week, a manager who is actually coherent, a GM who is at least a half-wit, rather than a dim-wit, and an owner who actually realizes it's the METS he owns and supposedly loves, and not the Dodgers... *sigh*.....

OK, back to the post. Here's what I don't get - the big push by Mets fans for the return of Bobby Valentine to manage the team. What is it about Met culture and Mets fans that more often than not makes them long, yes, yearn, for a return to the past, the not-so-glorious past - a fact which most, if not all, of them, seem to forget. What is it that makes this so with Mets fans? For the life of me, I can't figure it out. Why don't they want to move forward, rather than in reverse? Why do they long for the return of players previously cast off by the team, retreads and has-beens cast off by other teams, and a general mish-mosh of past loved or long-past-their-prime players? It's not as if we've had some real glory days in the fairly recent past that invoke such nostalgia, such desire... in fact, if I recall correctly, Bobby Valentine was much maligned, somewhat disliked, a little hated and basically driven out of town when he managed here. So tell me, Mets fans, why all the love for B.V., suddenly?

In other words, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU????????????

Aside from the above, there are some very good reasons why Bobby V isn't even CLOSE to being the right manager for this team. For one, there's his ego. He's got to run the show, BE the show, and be basically worshipped by his team. Take a look at the present composition of this team - other than a few marginal guys who probably won't be here next year, identify one player for me that will worship the ground Bobby V walks on. Bobby V needs a young, compliant team - one eager to please, one who will buy into "Bobby Ball;" indeed, one who will buy into BOBBY, period. This ain't that team, folks. And frankly, other than a low payroll, very young team still wet behind the ears, Bobby V has no business managing in MLB at this juncture. He's basically a relic, an anachronism, a has-been who never really was.

Let's move forward, fcol. And if you think moving back is a good idea, I've got two words for you - Bobby Bonilla. Oh, and two more - Steve Phillips.

I Should NEVER Have Changed The Subtitle...

...of this here blog. You know, the SUBTITLE, where it says "Yeah, that's right, it's time for a new year, a return to the old name....hopefully, with better results!" I guess I shouldn't have changed the name back, either. What in Sam's hill could I POSSIBLY HAVE BEEN THINKING???!!!!! So I guess, if you want to blame anybody for this year's woes, I suppose you can blame me, because, frankly, I NEVER SHOUD HAVE DONE IT. Change the subtitle, that is. Or the name. Back.

What I ALSO never should have done is try to make the proverbial silk purse out of the erstwhile-proverbial sow's ear, a/k/a the 2007-2009 New York Mets. I knew, I simply KNEW, the day Carlos Beltran stood there at the plate, watching the ball whiz by, thereby ending the Mets' 2006 postseason hopes, that it was done, kaput, finis, ended, over, or, as my mom always used to say - fa-toot. Whatever fa-toot actually means. So why, oh why, did I try to deny it???? I guess I fell prey to the false bravado, the cockeyed optimism, the never-say-die, rose-colored optimism of the average, typical New York Mets fan. So I sold my soul, like all Mets fans do, soldiered on, and did what Mets fans always do -- swallow it, and continue on.

Until this year, that is. Now, I know it can be said that injuries have deccimated this team beyond all recognition, and some of that is, of course, true. Obviously, the Mets have suffered grave injury to most of their core; grave and incomprensible injury, in some cases (cough, cough Jose Reyes cough, cough). And that injuries alone are enough to account for the piss poor performances of the past few months, and some of that is also true. But what is more true, and more overwhelming, and more upsetting, is the culture of the Mets -- the culture which seems to value personality and media friendliness over actual intelligence and baseball acumen; the culture which allows the franchise to simply continue rather than to flourish and improve; the culture which apparently doesn't care that 99.99% of its team either doesn't know or doesn't know how to execute the most basic of baseball fundamentals; the culture that doesn't seem to mind that on most days, the team is utterly unwatchable; the culture that seems to believe that simply putting nine men on the field at any given time is enough to insure its own perpetuity; the culture that seems to believe it's ok (nay, indeed, totally proper) to charge exorbitant ticket and concession prices to fans of a team that is barely represented anywhere in its own ballpark.

You know, the Wilpon/Minaya, and later, Wilpon/Minaya/Manuel culture.

And I can't even watch anymore. I can't stand the sight of either Wilpon, or Omar, or Jerry. In fact, if I have to look at Jerry's smiling, laughing, bespectacled puss, or Omar's befuddled, confused expression, once again asking me if I know what he means, or Jeffy's half-witted spewing of Met non sequiturs one more fucking time this year, I'll, I'll, I'll....well, I'll turn it off, which I've been doing for most of this season.

So you can blame me for changing the subtitle, or you can consider the above and put the blame where it really belongs -- on a Met culture which has too long existed, and will probably continue to exist for a lot longer.

Dead Fan Walking....

...that's exactly how I feel, and almost exactly how I'd bet MOST of my fellow Mets fans feel at this point in time.

I'm thinking of selling these T-shirts, with, of course, the "m" in "man" changed to "f" for "fan," and putting the word "Mets" in front of it...."Dead Mets Fan Walking;" kinda has a ring to it, dontcha think? For as in the movie of similar name, it's really only a matter of time before it's all over, folks....we're just dead fans walking at this point!

Where Were We....

...when we last left off?

Oh yeah; the Mets sucked.

And they still do.

So I guess what I missed in the interim between blogposts was same old/same old, and more of it.

A bit overly simplistic fer ya? How complicated do you need it to be? Sometimes, it is just that simple. They suck, period, end of story. And what really bugs me isn't so much that they are losing, which is pretty understandable due to the fact that three of our four "stars" are MIA, two of the four MIA for quite some time now. Nay, 'tis not the problem. The problem lies in the shoddy, uninspired, insipid, boring, flat, tired, play of what's left of this team, and I continue to marvel anew each and every day over the lack of execution of even the most basic of baseball fundamentals, which is only surpassed by my daily marvel at how little the team seems to care how badly it sucks.

And David Wright is still mouthing cliches through it all, which is somewhat maddening, head scratching and fairly amusing at the same time. And as far as I'm concerned, so much for Wright As Leader proponents...this guy couldn't lead a squirrel to an acorn. Even if it were an inch from its nose.

Bottom line, kiddies? As Kurtis Blow once said (and boy, do they blow!)...these are the breaks.... BREAK IT UP, BREAK IT UP, BREAK IT UP! Please, oh, please, somebody....ANYbody...dismantle this pathetic mess. They're simply unwatchable, which is why I haven't been. Watching, that is. Or blogging, as my one-half reader has probably noticed.

So in that happy fucking spirit, here's my little rewrite of the Blow ditty:

Clap your hands everybody
If you got what it takes
Cause we all know, that the Mets, they blow,
And these are the breaks...

Brakes on a bus brakes on a car
Breaks don't make Dave a superstar
Mets don't win, Mets just lose
And Mets fans, they just get the blues...

And these are the breaks
Break 'em up, break 'em up, BREAK 'EM UP!

If Delgado don't come back this year
(That's the breaks that's the breaks)
And Jose Reyes, status unclear,
And Jerry Manuel, well, he wants to chat,
And he can't explain why he played that cat...

And Freddie Boy sends you a bill
For tickets that don't give you no thrill
And you borrowed money from your pop
Just so's you could watch this slop

Well, these are the breaks
Break 'em up, BREAK 'EM UP, BREAK 'EM UP!

Throw your hands up in the sky
And wave 'em 'round from side to side
And if you deserve a break tonight
Somebody say alright!

(All right) Say ho-oo!

(Ho-oo!) And you don't stop

Keep on, somebody scream!

(Owwwww!) Break down!

Breaks on a stage, breaks on a screen
The Mets, they make your wallet lean
The Mets run cold, and you run hot
And breaks is something you ain't got

But these are the breaks
Break 'em up, BREAK 'EM UP, BREAK 'EM UP!!!

Break down!

To the boys in blue, what's wrong wit chu?
(Break 'em up, break 'em up)
To the boys in blue, whatcha gonna do?
To the boys in blue, I'm tired a you!
To the boys is blue, a big f*** you!

Break down!

Brakes on a plane, brakes on a train
The Mets just make you go insane
Breaks in love, breaks in war
We got no breaks, we never score!

And these are the breaks
Break 'em up, BREAK 'EM UP, BREAK 'EM UP!!!!

Break down! Yo!

Just do it, just do it, just do it, do it, do it!
Just do it, just do it, just do it, do it, do it!
Just do it, just do it, just do it, do it, do it!
Just do it, just do it, just do it, do it, do it!

You say last week they played so well
(That's the breaks, that's the breaks)
And then it all went straight to hell
They promised us the stars in the sky
And instead, all we got to do is cry

Well, these are the breaks!

Break 'em up, BREAK 'EM UP, BREAK 'EM UP!

Break down.......

Pelfrey Comes Up Small, And Other Stuff

Talk about coming up small, Charlie Brown...we need speak no other name than Mike Pelfrey. After the banged up, hobbled up, crippled up and just plain throwing up version of the Mets lost the first two games of the Pittsburgh series, you would think, YOU WOULD THINK, after an unplanned off-day yesterday, that they might find a way to crawl out of their miserable hole and salvage the final game of the series....

Nada, nope, negatory, good buddy. Instead, Mike Pelfrey comes up way short and the Mets get swept by the Pirates. SWEPT. BY THE PIRATES. BY.THE.PIRATES. One of the worst teams in the league with an organization and management possibly worse than ours.

I say possibly, because lately, that's truly up for debate. In fact, I'm starting to think the Mets' organization has no clue how to manage medical issues, on top of the no clue they already have in the areas of manager, general manager, and owner. And while we're at it, we can throw in player and personnel management, here, if we want.

But back to the subject at hand, which is the piss poor pathetic performance of one Mike Pelfrey on an afternoon when his team really, REALLY needed him.

As Charlie Brown has been wont to say.... *sigh.* Yes, Virginia, today the Mets finally played some "small ball," but in typical Mets fashion, they eschewed the conventional meaning of the term and did what the Mets all-too-often do...they bastardize the meaning of the term into something exquisitely horrible and painful to watch.

And here's something interesting vis-a-vis our erstwhile division nemesis, the Atlanta Braves. As sports fans are now aware, the Braves pulled off a trade with the Pirates yesterday, giving up three prospects for outfielder Nate McLouth, which, when I heard it, caused me to have the following thoughts: (a) it's obvious the Braves had a need in the outfield, more particularly, in center field, since what they were getting out of CF this year was a pathetic interstate batting average; (b) amazingly, the Braves were ABLE TO IDENTIFY this need; and (c) they went out and filled the need with an appropriate player, a young guy with chops and a good track record thus far, not some crippled up old guy, or some cheap marginal guy, or some guy who has no idea how to actually play the position which he'll be asked to play on a daily basis, or some guy that probably can't play the position but they're going to force him into it anyway because they think he can be good, not that he's ever proven it, mind you; and (d) problem solved.

They also released Tom Glavine, thus ridding themselves of an ineffective and oft-injured player, in a decisive manner, understanding that they would have to eat the rest of his contract, but knowing that addition by subtraction is sometimes very wise. Very wise, indeed. Especially when you want to move strongly forward.

I ask you, Mets fans, when's the last time the Mets did something, ANYTHING, as simple and smart as what the Braves have just done?

Don't even answer that. Don't even.

A-HEM....

...not to gloat or anything, but I thought this one was worth a second look.

So much for the opinion of the masses as concerns one Gary Sheffield.

This only proves that every once in a while, even this blind squirrel finds a nut.

P.S. Gawd, I just HATE gloaters, don't you?????

Fra-GI-le

...yep, much like the pictured lamp from the wonderfully charming and heartwarming movie, A Christmas Story, this team is fra-GI-le. Only, unlike the movie, the fragility of this team is anything but wonderful, charming and/or heartwarming. They are fra-GI-le in so many ways, it's almost, well...let's count some of the ways, shall we?

They have a manager who seems to have an overly fra-GI-le ego. He seems to think he's better, smarter, faster than he really is; a manager who can barely put a coherent sentence together, let alone have a coherent thought; a manager who by hocus pocus, sheer affability, likeability and trickery has bamboozled many into thinking he actually knows what the hell he's doing; a manager who has made an art of the schmoozily breezy delivery of his long winded, poorly conceived sentences devoid of originality, any real content or any real coherency...which come to think of it, is probably as good a metaphor as any for this whole entire fucking team we call the New York Mets.

They have players who cannot seem to adapt, EVER, to the usual pratfalls and pitfalls that all teams incur during the long, 162-game marathon that is the baseball season; players who cannot adjust to changing roles, changing habitats, and just plain change; players who cannot seem to stay off the disabled list; players who don't know the first thing about the basics of the game; with a manager who while talking out of one side of his mouth, spouting his partially incoherent gobbledygook about stressing fundamentals, in reality continues to field and tolerate a team that does anything but.

Gee, Jerry, did you think we wouldn't notice... or did you think you could get away with this shit forever?

I guess you did.

And maybe you are.