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Greg Prince and Jason Fry
Faith and Fear in Flushing made its debut on Feb. 16, 2005, the brainchild of two longtime friends and lifelong Met fans.

Greg Prince discovered the Mets when he was 6, during the magical summer of 1969. He is a Long Island-based writer, editor and communications consultant. Contact him here.

Jason Fry is a Brooklyn writer whose first memories include his mom leaping up and down cheering for Rusty Staub. Check out his other writing here.

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Let It Be On My Head

I disagree about Piazza and his performance Saturday. When we look back at this season, this game will be remembered more for an unhappier reason:

It was the day I had a ticket to the game that would've allowed me to start a year 4-0 for the first time, and I didn't go. Whenever my next appearance comes, when it comes with a loss, I'll have no one to blame but myself. Well, myself and my head, which decided to come down with what is actually known as a suicide headache, a dandy little diversion that fells me from time to time. I've got a sweet prescription med for it that works eventually (like Seo) but knocks me out immediately (like Ohka). Somehow, the LIRR, the 7, and another three hours of stiff winds, cold mists and Ameriquest runs-scored bells (even if the bells toll for we) didn't seem like the right holistic alternative.

On the bright side — besides a win being a win from wherever it is observed — I've got a crisp, new $30 LOGE bookmark. Or, if I'm reading the back of it correctly, I could trade the unused ticket in for a buy one-get one free six-inch sub at Subway. It's a lotta meat! (Frighteningly, Willie's commercials are growing on me.)

Sorry to get in the way of a blowout win and the serious subtext of Mike's aging swing, but there is Me in Mets.

As for the Piazza Connection or lack thereof, this is news? He's been steaming downhill for the past three seasons. Nevertheless, if Guzman doesn't make a nice play in the first, we are instead sated with Mike's line-drive RBI single, don't notice him the rest of the way and find something else to bitch about in a 10-5 triumph:

* Damn Seo only pitched six innings of one-run ball after we thought he'd pitch one inning of six-run ball. GINTER! GINTER! GINTER!

* Four of Diaz's plate appearances didn't result in bases on balls. THERE ARE STATISTICS THAT PROVE SINGLES AND DOUBLES KILL RALLIES!

* Heavenly Heath's not pitching in meaningful spots. NO BASERUNNERS IN NORFOLK, DID YOU KNOW THAT?

* Reyes got zero walks — and don't tell me it's because he didn't play. STOP MAKING EXCUSES FOR HIM!

Our erstwhile standard-bearer still gets a decent swing or two every game, not bad considering who he is at the present time. He's Mike, but he's old. He's 36, which is like 45 in catcher years. He shouldn't be batting cleanup, yet he can still do a few things, and Minaya Be Praised that we've got a couple of other bats capable of doing a few things more.

When Frank Robinson came out to unsuccessfully and inaccurately argue that Wilkerson's ninth-inning double should've been called a home run, Gary said he should be used to losing these debates with umpires at Shea. He's been losing them since 1969. Direct historical hit! Several years ago, I was privileged enough to be invited to a Major League Alumni dinner. I walked right by both Frank and Brooks Robinson that night and while, sure, I was awed by their Hall of Fame presence, most of me thought, “Screw you, Orioles! You didn't take us seriously and you lost to us, you overconfident, overcocky, sons of bitches. It still thrills me and it still annoys you.”

In that vein of good guys winning and bad guys losing, we scored 10 runs and won Saturday. The other New York team allowed 10 runs and lost Saturday. Symmetry, symmetry…can't get enough of symmetry, symmetry…the Yankees suck. One advantage of being head-ridden was the opportunity to recline on the couch and push the delightful LAST button on the remote, the one that sent me from Channel 11 to YES. Hey, the LAST button is appropriate for that network's house underachievers since that's where they are, all by their lonesome. LAST.

What a marvelous contrast the two broadcasts presented. Seaver and O'Brien (who doesn't seem so bad when we're up by large margins) kidded each other about calling Washington Montreal, traded “I went to the White House” stories and sized up Victor's chances to go 5-for-5. Over on YES, the ministers of propaganda were presiding over a nine-inning state funeral, one that could give Brezhnev's a run for its dour money:

* “Paul, the Yankees certainly aren't getting it done the way they did when you were playing.”

* “Sooner or later, you can't say 'it's early' anymore.

* “You really can't blame these fans for booing.”

The fun continued into the post-game. On the radio, a straight-voiced Diaz told Eddie he wasn't all that impressed with Beltran's catch because “he makes the 119 and he's gotta earn it.” Howie cracked up Gary by noting the 3:24 time of game was almost long enough to dry out the Passover brisket. Back on YES, three dark-suited men wore grim expressions, shook their heads and spoke in hushed tones about what terrible thing might happen next if we, uh, you know, don't take care of business. It was like watching one of those wakes from The Sopranos.

My head still hurt, but I felt little pain.

2 comments to Let It Be On My Head

  • Anonymous

    And let's not forget… mad, wicked props to the Red Sox, once again doing God's work by coughing one up to the Devil Rays, therefore decisively dropping the Yankees into last place with a resounding thud.
    Yeah, I know it's temporary. But it's still oh-so-satisfying.

  • Anonymous

    My dad gets clusters too. Have you tried Imitrex Injections? It works for him in less than five minutes, with none of the groggy, post headache aftereffects.