In fact, I would like my money back, please.
What’s that? I listened to it on the radio, which is free?
Oh. WELL, THEN IT WAS WORTH EXACTLY WHAT I PAID.
/ fumes for a while
What’s that? You want a discussion of significant events? What on earth for?
Yeah, there is that, though I have trouble imagining there ever being a time when I’ll think to myself, “I’d really like to remember that dull, teeth-grinding July 2010 game in Arizona in which the Mets lost by one and it felt like 100.” Perhaps not even if I’d done something really bad and was being fitted for a noose. But OK, posterity. Josh Thole and Angel Pagan hit home runs in the late innings to put a little lipstick on a pig of a loss. You know Josh Thole, right? He’s the young catcher whose roster spot is in the crosshairs, despite the fact that he can hit and get on base without hitting, unlike Rod Barajas who at the moment can’t do the former and has never shown any ability to do the latter. Yeah, so Thole went deep. And so did Pagan — the same Pagan who’s shifted over to right field for Carlos Beltran, despite ominous signs that Beltran is missing at least a step and maybe two or three, and we’d all be better off (at least for the moment) with him not trying to cover all that ground on a knee that isn’t 100% yet.
I am not being a bringdown. A bringdown is watching the Atlanta Braves vanish into a distant point of light against the darkening sky of the NL East. (Yes, the same Braves we once upon a time passed in the standings for a sunny technicality of an afternoon, but suddenly that was a long time ago.) A bringdown is hanging one-handed from the rickety ladder of the wild card while teams scramble past you, stepping on your fingers and head in passing. A bringdown is sighing about Jerry Manuel and wondering if Jason Bay will ever show up and worrying about Mike Pelfrey and bracing yourself for Oliver Perez. Those are bringdowns, not….
Actually you’re right, I am being a bringdown.
We could dissect this one further, but I could also knee you in the kidneys repeatedly if we were crammed into a crowded subway car together. You’d put up with that once, maybe twice, but definitely not a third time. You’d be like, “Dude, that really hurts — cut it out!” So even though we’re not in a crowded subway car together and I haven’t been actually kneeing you in the kidneys, you’re right that friends shouldn’t inflict pain on friends. So I’m going to stop, and we’re going to go our separate ways, and we’ll all meet up here tomorrow night at some horrid West Coast hour, and perhaps things will be better.