The blog for Mets fans
who like to read

ABOUT US

Jason Fry and Greg Prince
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.

Got something to say? Leave a comment, or email us at faithandfear@gmail.com.

Need our RSS feed? It's here.

Visit our Facebook page, or drop by the personal pages for Greg and Jason.

Or follow us on Twitter: Here's Greg, and here's Jason.

Portrait of a Screwed-Up Evening

So I met a friend for drinks around 7. Then, well, it was time to eat, so we did that. Since I was on recap duty, I peeked guiltily at the game a couple of times during dinner. The Mets were up 2-0, which mollified me slightly. Then they were behind. Walking home, I turned on Howie and Josh and the first thing I heard was a reference to how sloppily they were playing. Oh, and by then they were behind.

I got home, watched Met batters club a couple of balls to the warning track to be caught, watched Ike Davis mess up a double play, and though I felt myself getting madder and madder, I was also getting more and more tired. I arranged myself more comfortably, blinked a bit, blinked in a more leisurely fashion, looked up and there were Chris Carlin and Bobby Ojeda.

Had the Mets rallied for a win? Carlin sounded grim. Bobby O. sounded madder than usual. No, they had not.

If you’re thinking, “That was a pretty half-assed evening of duty, Mr. Fry,” well, I just didn’t want to make the actual Mets feel upstaged. Because they were bad. Again. Against the Cubs, who are habitually bad. Not to go all Francesa on you, but losing two out of three to the Cubs isn’t something you can do, at least not if you want to be taken seriously as a playoff contender. And losing three out of three to the Cubs … well, ask me again in six hours or so. Let’s just say that today would not be a good time for Jon Niese to be caught being casual about scouting reports.

If the Mets manage to lose again, something tells me they’re going to be wearing the buffet. Simmering before a bank of microphones after last night’s game, Terry Collins did not sound pleased — not with Lucas Duda’s baserunning, not with the fielding, not with Ike’s deportment, not with Dillon Gee’s pitching, not with anything.

I think we all know how he feels.

5 comments to Portrait of a Screwed-Up Evening

  • Dave

    I envy anyone who missed most of that game. I sat there staring at the TV until the Mets’ collective coma started becoming contagious and I decided they weren’t doing anything worth watching.

    • mikeL

      i crashed just after the mets tied it at 3-all.
      i crashed the night before as well.
      sitting on a couch watching uninspiring baseball is a fine sedative.

      as for the buffet table, as much as i *hate* to see food go to waste (or for the mets to lose another for that matter) the team is in need of some kind of shake-up, jolt, discontinuity.
      present trajectory is pointing towards another “it was nice for a while but…” sort of summer.

  • mikeL

    haha…that said, i’d gladly settle for a blowout and let those hungry mets enjoy dinner before the flight west.

    there are months to go and i’d hate to see the buffet table flip wasted before it’s really needed – as i imagine they’re only effective once.

    …and like the clubhouse manager really needs more things to do to get the place ready for the next visitors.

  • Andee

    Just for S’s and G’s (cuz I needed some), I checked back at the Cubs’ schedule to see which other teams have lost series to them this year. I count White Sox, Padres (their only sweep), Dodgers, Braves, Cardinals, Phillies. Other than the Padres, and let’s hope the Phillies, pretty much any of those teams could be in the postseason. So that in itself doesn’t mean much. Now, this beating-themselves-in-the-field thing, that’s gotta stop. Losing is one thing, beating yourself is another. Let’s hope the laugher today will clear the cobwebs out of their heads.