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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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Capital Punishment

Compadre Greg, the most-oft-heard sentence in our house during the last hour has been, “I hope to God poor Stephanie isn't out in this.”

I know, we're not worrying about you, and that's wrong. But, hey, if you are there, you're the guy whose emotional compass just swung the other direction when Cliff sent one through the raindrops and made it a game again. From “Please end this torment” to “We've scored two runs in an inning thousands of times, what's one more?” So there's a separate reason for worrying about you, and the outcome is yet to be determined.

But still, we hope you're not there. We hope last night was the night for checking out RFK (not that that was so great) and tonight was the night for dinner and culture and whatever else D.C. has to offer that doesn't involve a tarp when the weather turns foul.

Last night was one of those games you can fool yourself about if you try hard enough. I kept thinking, man, Valent's drive hits the grass, a bit of luck elsewhere, and we win that game. But then you realize that on any non-April night, Jae Seo would have trudged off the mound having given up five or six home runs, and no, we would not have won that game.

As for tonight, true confessions: We were out to dinner with my parents, and arrived home to find the babysitter watching the game. (She hates the Yankee, which is reason enough to let her care for our child.) “What's going on?” we asked. “Nothing good,” she replied. Indeed. Then the rain came down and we started worrying about Stephanie.

I could go on and on about our starting pitcher, but what would I be telling anyone that they don't know. Victor Zambrano stinks. It's increasingly hard to imagine that he'll ever harness that fabled stuff of his. Meanwhile, memo to the front office: Unless Scott Kazmir's arm flies off tomorrow or it turns out he's a member of Al Qaeda, no serious fan of this team is going to stop being pissed about the trade in the next several years. So whatever decision is made about Zambrano, justifying the Kazmir trade shouldn't be part of it. If Zambrano's released tomorrow (not that I'm advocating that — that would be silly, in fact), Met fans won't be any more ticked than they already are. If Zambrano wins 20, a small but vocal percentage of Met fans won't be any less pissed. How Zambrano got here shouldn't make any difference in what's done with him now that he is here.

Man, now they called it. We lose. That seems vaguely unfair. But I guess if you suck as thoroughly as we just finished sucking (Cliff excepted), you can't complain too much.

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