Properly, we're at the third circle of Met Hell. But the more I think about it, this should really be the second. It's reserved for those whose Met tenure was damaged above all else by poor exits, which now doesn't seem quite as bad as having a perniciously lousy reputation. (Sorry. But hey — you […]

(Before we proceed into the second circle of Met Hell, a word about a special brand of offseason Hell for baseball fans: evaluating a trade without getting to see the principals play ball. My 30-second take on Mike Cameron for Xavier Nady is that it's impossible to size up offseason trades and signings one by […]

Welcome to Met Hell, which you'll find owes a certain something to depictions of the real thing. Now, here's the good news: Compared to that real thing, the Hell that holds a lot more than baseball players, Met Hell isn't really that bad a place. Oh sure, as we descend you'll find some malcontents and […]

The old baseball joke about rooting for laundry means that donning the orange and blue (in its various migrating shades, to say nothing of white and black) absolves players of their former misdeeds against us. Hit Piazza in the wrist at Fenway and get in a war of words with him? We love Pedro now. […]

“Them” referring, in this case, to the Atlanta Braves. The car we're perpetually yap-yap-yapping at as it accelerates and disappears up our street. The football we're constantly watching get snatched away as we aim our latest kick. The perennial kings of our division. The Atlanta Braves.

Much as it pains me, there are two things I've […]

Time has come to no longer be an anonymous Met blogger.

OK, as mysteries go this wasn't exactly what happened to Jimmy Hoffa or even whose fingerprints were on the Kazmir-Zambrano trade, because some people actually care about the answers to those questions. But anyway, here goes: I'm Jason Fry, alias Jason, alias half of […]

Confession time: I was battling the flu and fell asleep, after a valiant effort, in the bottom of the 7th of Game 4. I woke up briefly to see Emily (who'd been trying to sleep for about an hour) come up with the remote and aim it at the set with a gunfighter look in […]

It always happens this way: The season ends, and for a little bit (it might be a few hours, maybe a few days, just maybe two weeks) you don't mind. The pain of a year that didn't quite measure up is no more. No need to mutter about Braden Looper, or what's wrong with Carlos […]