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Greg Prince and Jason Fry
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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Let Me Up (I've Had Enough)

Maybe I'd just gone numb, but a couple of weeks ago it seemed to me that the Mets at least stopped losing in horrifying ways and began losing in quiet, mundane ways. Not that it ultimately mattered to the bottom line — for we the faithful it was kind of like being a lobster placed in water that was gradually brought to a boil instead of being hurled into something already bubbling and hissing — but it sure felt less traumatic. I'd even come to feel gentler towards this batch of dog-eared, hopeless players. Yeah, they'd been incompetently assembled and stupidly led and made lots of dopey mistakes, but they'd also been hurt and unlucky, and wasn't that a shame.

But then you get games like tonight's, and all you want is for it to hurry up and be Monday already. After games like tonight's, I don't need my final glimpse of green grass on the home field, or a last “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” or baseball that really matters to me. After games like tonight's, I just want the embarrassment and anger to be taken away until I've built up six months of desperately needed emotional callus.

We turned the game on late, vaguely shamefaced about such a basic final-week lapse, and saw to our shock that the Mets had a 1-0 lead, the bases loaded and nobody out. Of course they converted none of those runners, causing to me to emit my first burst of language that's not supposed to be uttered in front of six-year-olds. Of course Mike Pelfrey looked great, surrendered a first hit to the goddamn pitcher on a broken-bat floater, then proceeded to give up the lead on a flurry of genuine hits.

And of course the Mets spat the bit in spectacular fashion. Bases loaded for Brian Schneider, who at least had lined to right for the final out of the first. This time he pops meekly to Ryan Zimmerman in foul territory. Up comes Jeremy Reed, one of the least useful Mets in a season that's seen stiff competition for the title. Reed saws his bat in two on a soft little liner that plops right into the second baseman's glove, giving him just time enough to double off Jeff Francoeur at first. Fantastic. Bottom of the inning, Anderson Hernandez throws away a double-play ball. Luis Castillo is so impressed with this that he tries to turn an impossible double play and throws the ball into the dugout. The Nats lead. The incredible thing, watching the Mets continue to impersonate major-leaguers, is that they ever could have trailed.

Understanding this, the real surprise of the 9th inning is why I wind up surprised. Cory Sullivan strikes out fishing against Mike MacDougal, who's one of those guys whose stuff makes you wonder why he's bad. Angel Pagan singles. Luis Castillo gets called out on a questionable third strike, but — to quote my favorite aphorism not yet shared with Joshua — when you're going horseshit they fuck you. Then it's David Wright, who strikes out haplessly, leaving us to once again worry about what his future holds.

Wait a moment, something's not right there. I think I programmed that last bit as a key combination sometime this summer. Sorry about that! Let me try again!

David Wright rockets a drive up the gap, clearly ticketed for somewhere beyond Elijah Dukes' reach. Dukes races for the fence, flings his glove out desperately, crashes into the edge of the scoreboard, flops on the ground — and lifts up the ball nestled gently in his mitt.

Emily, face down in bed beside me, offers a little sub-covers mutter of woe and pity and bitter amusement. I neither move nor make a sound. Dukes and his teammates frolic in the outfield like puppies. I stare at the TV. The replay shows Wright rounding first, eyes fixed on right-center. He slows to a halt, without expression. In the background of the shot, a National clambering over the dugout rail is overcome by glee and tumbles butt-first to the turf. I shut off the TV and wait to be told this year is finally over and I can go.

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8 comments to Let Me Up (I've Had Enough)

  • Anonymous

    Tonight's game just summed up the frustration of the whole season. Can't score with the bases loaded and throw the ball around in the bottom of the inning.
    METS = Mercifully End The Season

  • Anonymous

    Of course Dukes catches that ball. Of fucking course.
    I'm seriously looking forward to Sunday's game. It's going to be very nice to be able to see 2009 finally end, live and in person. Then it's 6 months of guilt-free Netflix to be followed by, “IT'S FUCKING 2009 ALL OVER AGAIN!!! WHY DO WE WATCH THIS TEAM?!?!?” and “Jerry was never a good fit for the Mets,” and “Acta's fucking worse than Jerry!!!”

  • Anonymous

    HI Jason,
    David Wright admitted the other day that it's no longer fun coming to the ballpark. Understandably, losing can do that. And it shows in the overall play less Jeff Franceour and a few others who are fighting for a job next season. The Nationals, enept as they are,are still busting their chops (unless it only seems that way compared to the Mets).
    What David and most of the others don't realize is that there are still people paying their way into the ballpark and for that reason alone they should put out 100%, it being fun or not. Two consecutive nights there were shots to third that David, with his quick glove, would have normally been able to pick up and throw (maybe away, but throw nevertheless). The week before his jog home cost Franceour a RBI.
    St. John's played the inaugural game at Citifield with a win but once the occupant changed, it was downhill ever since. Might be that the Carlos Delgado influence of being bored still premeates in the clubhouse

  • Anonymous

    Last night would have been excrutiating if I wasn't already dead inside.

  • Anonymous

    Right now David Wright, Luis Castillo and Angel Pagan are all batting over .300. My hope is that somehow all three can manage to get themselves below .300 by Sunday night (will be tough in Luis' case), because I can never remember a trio of “.300 hitters” all having such miserable seasons. None of them this year deserves the distinction of being a .300 hitter.

  • Anonymous

    Last night's desultory “effort” tilted the scales against Stubhubbing for one more game this weekend. Well, that and the weather forecast.
    The Nat pratfall in the background at the end was almost worth sitting through that game, though.

  • Anonymous

    This afternoon's game ended about ten minutes ago. Do you have anything to add to today's blog?

  • Anonymous

    I think we should be contracted.