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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.

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Surrender and Acceptance

So who was betting on “Rafael Montero blows it almost immediately” when pondering how Wednesday’s game was going to end?

And how many of you astute folks were brave enough to put $100 down on that in Vegas?

If you did, I know you’re swaggering around wearing the grin of a person who’s got, say, $105.

This is what things have come to. When the Mets were ahead early I knew they’d give it back. When they were tied late I knew disaster was waiting in the wings. When Montero arrived on the scene I figured the game would be over sooner rather than later.

When the Mets lost — a lot sooner rather than even a little bit later — I wasn’t angry, depressed or particularly surprised. I just turned off the TV and shifted immediately to the non-Mets portion of my day.

Right now a Mets game can be summarized by randomly rearranging the following thought processes, experiences and mental states:

  1. Disgust that this hapless team is somehow even worse than the cruelest mathematics suggest it could be.
  2. Wan flickering hope that someone on the team not named Michael Conforto is not, in fact, completely and irredeemably terrible at baseball.
  3. Weepy gratitude that Conforto is worth watching and cheering for amid this dead-eyed wreckage.
  4. Wondering why some player generally thought of as at least a known quantity has started doing dunderheaded things.
  5. Fantasizing that Amed Rosario, Dom Smith, or some prospect you just heard about would fix things and stewing that they weren’t called up yesterday.
  6. Calming down and surrendering to the near-certainty that everything will soon suck.
  7. Realizing you don’t want Rosario, Smith or any other prospect up here because proximity to this dumpster fire might turn them into Fernando Martinez — or Ryan Jaroncyk.
  8. Witnessing everything suck.
  9. Accepting that you knew everything was going to suck and now that it has, the world is much as it was.

So, yeah, Conforto hit another home run — and off one of those diabolical lefties, no less; Jose Reyes had a decent day except for the play where he short-circuited an inning by imitating serial dipshit Jose Offerman; Matt Harvey left with a lead which the Mets squandered, but don’t feel bad for him because he was basically pretty terrible anyway; Paul Sewald pitched decently again, which probably means his arm will be hamburger by Flag Day (edit: eh, it was the other day — the losses just blur together, don’t they?); Josh Edgin made a nice play which we might as well call our World Series; the Mets slogged directionlessly through a few dreary dull innings; Montero came in and lost.

You can use those things — plus a free token for general dissatisfaction — to fill out your Suck Bingo card if you have nothing better to do. Or you can wait till Friday night’s game, in which the Mets are likely to come up with a vaguely new variation on that theme.

Either way, enjoy your Thursday. It’s guaranteed to be loss-free. Try saying that about any other day of the week.

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