Death to the In-Philadels

“Y’know, I’ve worked for your people a long time. They run this town. They run it a helluva lot better than the agents.”
—Artie to Hank Kingsley, “My Name is Asher Kingsley,” The Larry Sanders Show

I don’t like our new worst enemy. And I’m not referring to the Mets bullpen. Or even this crooked umpiring crew.

Come back Braves! Nothing is forgiven, but I liked and respected our rivalry, even before (but especially in) 2006 and 2007. Not so much the Chipper and the Andruw and the Francoeur and the Smoltz and the so forth, but I liked that when you schlepped up here from Georgia, you schlepped few of your supporters in tow. There’s always been a smattering of Braveophiles at Shea, just enough so that you knew we were playing America’s Erstwhile Team. When the Joneses did their damage, there’d be a very light and scattered mist of applause, barely audible amid all our booing. You’d see a Braves fan and you couldn’t really get mad. Mostly you’d get mystified.

I didn’t know there were actually Braves fans.

So we go out and once and for all (for a second year in a row) dispose of the Braves. The king is dead (again), long live the king. That was the other night. Do we get to rest on our laurels? No, two days later we have a new challenger to the throne. And I do not care for them one iota.

Yes, the Phillies have always been on the menu and Philadelphia has always been within easy traveling distance and sometimes Philadelphia has produced a quality baseball product. But none of that ever congealed at once into the big wad of hate that is currently visiting its blight upon Shea Stadium.

Get these people out of my ballpark! I don’t want them around. Visitors inflicting themselves on the home team? That’s our thing! We get to treat Citizens Bank like our summer cottage. They, on the other hand, are permitted no more than the allotted 150 tickets fans that every team should get under my Met Fairness plan (let them enter a lottery like everybody else who wants in). In all my years of attending Phillies @ Mets games, which is more than thirty, I’ve never seen as many Philadelphians appear in Flushing as those who have descended like mosquitoes these last two days.

If they’re going to bring the karma equivalent of West Nile Virus, the least they could do is bring cheesesteaks.

I don’t need their lame chants. I don’t need their lame chats. I don’t need to hear about the Eagles and the Flyers and the traffic on I-295. I don’t need all that woeful crimson. And I don’t need them to be happy.

As for who they’re here to urge on, I don’t need them either. I don’t need Jimmy Rollins’ obnoxious tendency to back up his words. I don’t need Aaron Rowand to perform up to the world championship standards he set only two years ago. I don’t need Brett Myers let out in public — nor does the public.

The Mets don’t need the Phillies anywhere near them. It’s obvious they’re not a good fit for our countdown and tuneup plans. They’re miserable September guests. They’re not welcome here in October. I’m one loss away from believing we may not be either.

Come back Braves and Braves fans. I’ve hated you people a long time, but you held up your end of the rivalry much less annoyingly than the Phillies and their crowd do.

Profuse thanks to CharlieH and PedroM for providing whatever good there was on this particular Saturday at Shea before it all went to Philad-hell…and if anybody tomorrow brings four empty whiskey bottles bearing the names Emmel, Iassogna, Scott and Kulpa, I promise to look the other way.