- Faith and Fear in Flushing - http://www.faithandfearinflushing.com -

The Hits Just Keep On Coming

Congratulations go out to David Wright for extending his two-season hitting streak to 25 games and Met opponents for extending their 46-season hitting streak to 7,163 games
Both are Mets records.
There are, however, figurative asterisks attached to both marks. Wright, who has hit safely in the first 13 games of 2007, has 12 games to go to break the more widely acknowledged single-season Met hitting streak record, which still belongs jointly to Hubie Brooks and Mike Piazza [1]. The opponents' streak, meanwhile, is even longer if its definition is stretched to encompass 74 postseason contests along with eight regular-season affairs that ended in ties.
That's 7,245 official games in which the Mets have competed and somebody has gotten a hit against them. Somebody. Anybody.
For the Marlins Wednesday night, that was Miguel Cabrera, whose leadoff single in the seventh inning — after a check-swing on a one-and-two pitch that was ruled a ball by first base umpire Laz “Angel” Diaz — kept the streak alive for another game.
Or another week of games.
Or month of games.
Or lifetime of games.
Oh for fuck's sake, I give up. We're never getting a goddamn no-hitter, are we?
9-2 romp [2] over Dontrelle Willis and the Miami chapter of the Phillies is a heckuva consolation prize. Wright's single in the first was mostly a footnote by the time it was over, but so were Jose's four hits, Other Jose's three hits and the first Carlos's three ribbies. The lead was secure enough to get greedy, if indeed one can be greedy to have one, just one, of those shiny objects in the window, the one we can never, ever, ever fucking have.
Can we?
I was willing to settle for a big ol' win and feel pretty, pretty good about John Maine on eight cold nights' rest. He walked some guys, but he had the high heat cooking and the Fish flailing and even with two hits surrendered in the seventh, a performance that bodes well for the back end of the rotation (if, in fact, he's not already at the front end).
But then Mark Buehrle [3] no-hits the Rangers. It was the White Sox' 16th no-hitter.
Some teams have 16 no-hitters. The Mets have none.
What do I have to do to get one of these? Not want one? I tried that! That was my on-the-fly strategy. By the fourth inning when it appeared history was within the grasp of a few dozen fastballs, I drowned out the voices in my head with one prevailing thought.
C'mon Marlins. Get a hit.
What the hell? Hoping the other way hadn't worked. So let's try this. Stephanie happened to enter the living room as the bottom of the seventh was commencing. She heard the word “no-hitter” and asked if she should go back on the computer which, after all, is where she was for the first six innings. I appreciated her assessment of the situation, but no, I told her. Don't worry about it. I don't want a no-hitter anyway.
Maybe, just maybe, if I could convince myself and the gods that what I wanted was a blemish under the H, then maybe, just maybe, they'd work against me in this matter as they always do. I thought articulating that desire would help the cause.
My mind is more useless than I suspected.
I've heard a Mets fan or two claim — without a game in front of them that would test their stance — that they sort of don't want a no-hitter. They seem to be serious. With a no-hitter, they argue, we're like everybody else (save for the Padres, the Rockies and the Devil Rays). Right now we're special. We get to ride a small bus and everything.
I'm not buying it, but I see it. Just this afternoon, I found myself responding to an e-mail from a guy I haven't known a week. He had written me about Leron Lee. Leron Lee [4] is code for Mets fans, just like Jimmy Qualls [5] and Joe Wallis [6] and everybody from Antonio Perez [7] on back.
Not long after Miguel Cabrera had his club membership [8] stamped, I thought about that exchange. Me and Rich met last Thursday and in no time we're speaking the language. Other people say hi and ask how do you do? Mets fans say Leron Lee and ask one out in the ninth off Seaver in '72?
This is how we communicate. This is our native tongue. We are fluent in no no-hitters. Such is the language of yuck.
Being 9-4, winning 9-2…what a crappy night.