This was a great win B.H. A lot of fun B.H. Jorge Sosa was again spectacular B.H. Carlos Gomez showed off his speedy young legs, his compact batting stroke and his veteran's eye at the plate B.H. David Wright showed signs that his revival is becoming a renaissance B.H. Carlos Delgado even flashed a little deceptive speed B.H.
B.H., of course, is the abbrevation used to refer to Before Hamstring — before Jose Reyes, the heart, spark, soul and engine of the Big Orange and Blue Machine, came out of the tail end of the game with a “slightly tight” hamstring.
Funny — by which I of course mean “horrifying” — how quickly everything changed. Sosa's win, first place … whatever. Is Reyes OK? Is he 100% OK? Is he 1,000% OK? Can he play tomorrow? Should he play tomorrow? Can he go against the Yankees? Forget the Yankees! Tell me Jose Reyes is OK!
And suddenly all matter of horrible ghosts and goblins came cackling out of the dark closet. Mackey Shilstone. Exile in St. Lucie. That horrible, broken-legged temporary gait. The whispers — now so obviously shameful and unfair — that our phenom was fragile, couldn't handle pain, wouldn't listen. It all came back, along with the crazy thoughts. Why was he still in the game? Why play him when the field's wet? Who let him out of his hyperbaric chamber where virgins rub his hamstrings with nectar and ambrosia heated to within a tenth of degree of body temperature? What was next? Would I wake up to find Emily pinching me, look at the screen and see Art Howe
cheering on staring blankly at Kaz Matsui?
I had a whole post planned about how much fun rain-delayed games are when you're at home and your schedule's flexible. When the game finally does arrive, whether it's after Mets Classics or Perfect Strangers or whatever, it always has the loose feel of some neighborhood pickup game. I know we were supposed to play three hours ago, but the Carloses had to help their dad in the garage. Anyway, let's go. And watch left field cause it's like a big puddle.
Maybe tomorrow it will feel that way again. Maybe I'll look at this post and laugh at my up-too-late panic. Maybe I'll feel silly. I would love to feel silly. Please let me feel silly.