Perhaps it’s this miserable cold I’ve contracted and can’t divest myself of, or it’s the impending winter solstice (you mean it’s still fall?) but something overwhelming has occurred to me this evening:
I don’t care what the Mets are doing at the moment.
I will care. Of course I’ll care, but for now, I’ve run out of care. I don’t care who they’re looking at to fill out the rotation or to play second. I don’t care about trade rumors or how much budget they have to tinker with. I don’t care how poorly they frame  themselves or present  themselves or what kind of ticket deals they’re offering.
I’ve OD’d on year-round Mets coverage, my own included. It used to be if you came across a baseball brief in the fourth week of December, no matter how brief, no matter what it was about (but especially if it was about your team), you felt blessed. “They’ve extended their affiliate agreement with Visalia? WOW!” Now we grow antsy if there’s “no news” about the Mets on a given day.
Of course there’s no news. It’s the fourth week of December. If it was news, it would have happened by now. Or if it’s going to be news, it will happen eventually. Either way, the season will begin when it’s supposed to begin, not a tick sooner. Maybe if a boffo free agent were still prowling the open market, I could buy into the chronic curiosity, but there’s nobody out there worth losing a minute’s thought over on December 21 or December 22. You’re going to hit refresh for the latest word or lack thereof on Chris Young? Or Jeff Francis? Or Freddy Garcia?
Don’t. Winter is nature’s way of telling you not to give a fig sometimes.