A few truths we can declare to be self-evident from the course of baseball events Thursday night:
1) Seven innings of starting pitching, even if not originated from the United Colonies…United States of Santana are a darn effective commodity. Mike Pelfrey, this win's for you. But you knew that when you earned it.
2) The shoulder bone's connected to the arm bone…and the arm bone's connected to the save bone…and the save bone's connected to the win bone…and as long as none of Frankie Rodriguez's bones fall off or out, we'll be all right. Oh hear the word of the Lord!
3) Whoopsie! One just got away from the next Mets pitcher who faces Forearm Freddie, a.k.a. Shane Victorino. Whoopsie! Another one just got away and hit the Human Hemorrhoid where he sits. No, really, ump, it was an accident, like the infertility drug for ladies that somehow got mixed up in Manny Ramirez's babushka. If somebody gets ejected or suspended for taking down Victorino and his obstructionist tactics, that's a message worth sending.
4) A message isn't necessarily sent because of two wins in May or three out of four in a given archrivalry (or four consecutive victories overall), but it beats the fudge out of not winning the three we've taken from Philly in the last week. The Mets still don't feel as if they are a first pitch to last pitch never let down proposition, but — surprise! — neither is anyone else in this division of the dismaying. Thus, after being rather limp and disinterested in the sport until fairly recently, the Mets are almost a first-place club at 14-13. Should we move into the top floor of this particular not-so-high-rise, I'll contain my enthusiasm until it's permanent. I've been excited to have rooted for a first-place club these past two seasons, not so excited when those occupations revealed themselves as short-term sublets. That disclaimer stated, onward and upward.
5) The triple is no longer the most exciting play in baseball, not when it's a daily feature of competition. Although Funhouse Field had made three-baggers the new double (thus unleashing the awesome research fury of Mets Walkoffs toward a whole new destination), we have finally been reminded that nothing beats the Mets hitting home runs at home. Remember home runs at home? Beltran, Wright and Reyes did in the first couple of innings Thursday night, and hey, as John Denver once warbled, it's good to be back home again on one swing of the bat. Maybe Citi Field doesn't carry a three-base limit after all.
6) Every season requires a new soundtrack, filled with songs sensical and otherwise. Last night, as Beltran spoiled Moyer's early bird special, our new home run theme came to me in a rush as I blurted, for no reason I could identify, “Beltran goes 'Wig-Wam Bam'!” For those of you who have somehow lived your lives not under the influence of the Sweet, this is “Wig-Wam Bam,” a track whose magnificent dopiness had eluded me until this past winter. Since May 7, 2009, I blast it every time a Met rounds the bases unaccosted. I wasn't through with the first playing when Wright required it get a second go-round. It sounded even better when Reyes necessitated an unprecedented third playing; fortunately, it is scientifically impossible to grow sick of the Sweet. (Too bad Castro could only go “Wig-Wam”.) The Mets are 1-0 since “Wig-Wam Bam” was adopted for these special circumstances. I look forward to testing its durability with many more home park home runs between now and Wednesday. CitiVision operators take note.
If you throw one copy at Shane Victorino, you're still going to need another to read, so consider buying two copies of Faith and Fear in Flushing: An Intense Personal History of the New York Mets, available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or a bookstore near you. Keep in touch and join the discussion on Facebook.