Last night Emily and I were out with friends and after dinner we all stopped into a bar somewhere in the West Village, picking our watering hole based on the fact that we could see a little lighted square of Mets game up there above the heads of the bartender and the patrons.
On the way to our table I peered at the TV and registered that there was a 4 next to the ATL, it was the fifth inning, and the Mets' score was an ominous-looking round number. Goddamn it, I muttered, then looked more closely, thinking something was off about that 0. Why, it wasn't a zero at all — it was a big, beautiful 8. The Mets had scored eight runs in the fourth and were on their way. Woo-hoo!
Tonight Emily and Joshua and I were out in Dumbo celebrating Joshua's last week of camp and the fact that after eating three years of my life, Star Wars: The Essential Atlas is finally in stores. (Yes, I am a dork of all trades.) We got home around eight and I flipped on the TV in our bedroom. There was a sweat-soaked Bobby Parnell, looking like he'd been hit by a truck. I registered that there was a 9 next to the ATL, it was the third inning, and the Mets' score was an ominous-looking round number. Fool me once, I thought, then looked more closely, hoping something was off about that 0.
Why, it certainly was a zero. The Braves had scored eight runs in the third and boy, were they ever on their way.
Perhaps the lumps taken by Parnell will add up to a learning experience: With garbage time come early, he ought to get as long a look as possible in the rotation, even though that will mean some more poundings like tonight's. And speaking of garbage time, let me ask again: Where the hell is Nick Evans? What is the possible use of getting a longer look at Gary Sheffield, Jeremy Reed and Cory Sullivan?
Perhaps Luis Castillo's latest gaffe will convince the Mets that he should be sent packing, prompting them to look for a team dumb enough to be impressed by .310 worth of little slap hits and whatever veteran experience Luis offers when he can be bothered to cover second base. (Excuse me, some other team dumb enough to be impressed by slap hits and the quality of being fucking old.) Only $14.1 million and 769 days left to go — give yourself a hand, Omar!
Perhaps there will be more games from the circling-the-bowl phase of 2009 that leave you noting some poetry of the box score. For instance, after Parnell crawled away from the wreckage, Tim Redding, Nelson Figueroa and Sean Green combined for an elegant proof of the Pythagorean Theorem of Suck: 2 IP and 2 ER for Figueroa, 3 IP and 3 ER for Redding, 1 IP and 1 ER for Green. Way to go, fellas!
Perhaps … you know what, I can't grasp for any more straws. Perhaps this season will hurry up and end. It's horrible to want that, but then tonight was pretty horrible, too.
AMAZIN' TUESDAY returns to Two Boots Tavern August 25 at 7:00 PM. Join the two of us, Dana Brand and Caryn Rose for a fun night of reading, eating, drinking and all things Mets baseball (Mets baseball optional). Full details here.