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Jason Fry and Greg Prince
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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Woke Up, It Was a Pelfrey Morning

The rites of spring are in full swing, everybody kind of having the same story, all our hopes being raised by the same scant evidence, all our lives being ruled by one particular toe.

I'm not going to worry about Pedro's little piggy. Can't do it. It's too big a stumbling block to our well-being. We can't devote a moment to batting orders or who's on second or why the WBC will come crashing down upon the Mets and no one else (as is widely assumed because that's what we as Mets fans do) if we don't take our ace's availability as a given.

Pedro Martinez will be fine.

Pedro Martinez will be fine.

(Excuse me while I chalk that 98 more times on a blackboard.)

Natch, Sunday's papers were peppered with big, young, strapping, impressive Mike Pelfrey looking big, young, strapping and impressive. From his arm to God's ear, or something like that. I have a murky recollection that Philip Humber's first session a year ago was dynamite. So was Tim Leary's. If the kid doesn't get hurt in his first six outings, it will be a victory. Hide him away somewhere in the minors and don't let us obsess on him too much. For now.

I saw a picture of Billy Wagner making his way to camp the other day with a bag from McDonald's. Man, I thought, how can these guys eat that stuff? They're athletes, they should know better. Then I read Billy Wagner left camp with a stomach virus. Never mind facial hair, Willie. Enforce a policy against Quarter Pounders.

My eyes didn't deceive me Saturday night during my six o'clock St. Lucie fliparound (when the local sportscasts suddenly become vital). I did see a Met wearing 42 and it wasn't Ron Hodges. Jose Lima first showed up in 99, which had been retired in honor of Turk Wendell — or common sense — then he slipped on his old Astro number, which was thought to have been worn last first by Butch Huskey and then Mo Vaughn. Should Lima be allowed to wear Jackie Robinson's sacred and otherwise out-of-circulation digits? Frankly, I'm more concerned that he's wearing a uniform that says Mets.

Other unavoidable rite of spring: En masse fussing over of mercenary-turned-Skank For Life who (gasp!) dons striped pins for the first time in our collective presence. This year it was Johnny Damon, getting his “we” and his “our” on, as in “we have a great team” and “our goal is to get to a World Series.” Quite a business, this baseball.

How ya think Pedro's toe is? Really?

1 comment to Woke Up, It Was a Pelfrey Morning

  • Anonymous

    So, it took Nike this long to make Pedro a suitable shoe?
    I'm not buying it. All of Pedro's “I haven't thrown all winter” protestations are part of an ellaborate smoke screen intended to get Pedro out of pitching in the WBC in a manner that he won't be villified at home. If he can credibly say he wanted to pitch but wasn't physically able he'll get away with it.
    The toe's fine.