Well, at least now we know.
John Maine, your time is now. You're only stepping in for one of the most-dominant pitchers of his era, the man whose arrival was a Piazzaesque sign that the Mets mattered again, one of the figures so vital to his sport that you say his first name and everybody knows who you mean. So no pressure or anything.
Our commentors have supplied the stats: We were 11-12 in Pedro starts this year, as an electric April gave way to a frustrating May and then a mostly doleful rest of the season. Yes, Pedro pitched his guts out in May with nary a W to show for it, but the mere fact that you have to dig deep into the stats to defend him tells the story — as many predicted, this was the year that the body (helped along by the floors of the Marlins' vile, OSHA-violation-encrusted, Soilmaster-infested stadium) thoroughly betrayed the artist that is Pedro J. Martinez, creating a deficit that even his legendary brains, grit and guile couldn't make up.
Summing up Pedro through cold empty stats has always been a fool's errand — if there's ever been a pitcher whose intangibles and unquantifiables must be spoken of, it's him. Which is one of the reasons this isn't another invitation to cannonball into the East River. Lead the Mets? He already has. We'll never know how many tete-a-tetes on the dugout bench helped the rest of the staff, or how many clubhouse or team-bus antics helped the young players realize they belonged. Here's devoutly hoping he'll drag his protective boot to Shea next week and then to St. Louis or Los Angeles or San Diego or Houston and then (we even more devoutly hope) to destinations unknown, so that wise counsel can be given or a joke cracked when it really matters to some member of the 2006 postseason squad. 26th man, sixth starter, second pitching coach — as long as I see him there, I'll feel better about things. He taught a lot of his current teammates the things they needed to learn to come this far. Those lessons won't evaporate along with his roster spot.
And, honestly, it's a relief to have a little clarity. There's no arguing with a torn tendon. Anything less definitive, and Pedro would have tried — which is in no way a knock on him, but a tribute to his lionhearted self. He would have tried, and it wouldn't have worked — that did-it-with-mirrors ride to the rescue in Cleveland was seven years and a lot of miles ago. I think we all sensed last night that he had no magic left in the 2006 hat, even if we were reluctant to admit it. I'm not sure Pedro would have admitted it — you don't climb to the pinnacle of sports from where Pedro started without superhuman confidence in your own abilities, without a certainty that you're invulnerable. Unfortunately, there's no off switch — the ineffable, enviable mix of belief and defiance is what makes an athlete the first to believe, but it's the same thing that makes him or her the last to know.
And that would have left Willie and Omar and the Jacket with a terrible dilemma, one that would have had us fretting and fighting and moaning: Should Pedro start Game 4? Pitch in relief? It's a later round, can he give it a go? Now, it's academic. The MRI has spoken, the verdict is in, and it's time to get on with it.
Oh yes, the game: It was like a documentary about a World War I battle, wasn't it? Grim and sloppy and endless, with the sole levity provided by the loopy announcers and David Wright's hasty retreat (with a mouthed “Wow!”) as Country Joe West instructed Brian McCann to take his opinions about the strike zone to the shower.
Anyway, we won. We even hit a little. It doesn't feel like the relief we'd hoped for, not with this news to absorb, but perhaps when we get to Washington we'll win a couple more and hit a bunch more, and remember that, hey, we really are going to the postseason. Now, please tell me we're going there with Pedro, that he'll brandish his toy bat and flash his elfin grin and whisper a word or two. I wish we could have more from him than that. We all do. But if we can bring his intangibles and unquantifiables, let's remember they're Hall of Fameworthy too.
(By the way, did anybody else hide behind the couch when El Duque reached for that ball with his bare hand? Between that, Pedro and Reyes's kamikaze slide I felt vaguely like throwing up all night.)
(Oh yeah — if you want a Faith and Fear shirt, holler.)

Well, at least now we know.

John Maine, your time is now. You're only stepping in for one of the most-dominant pitchers of his era, the man whose arrival was a Piazzaesque sign that the Mets mattered again, one of the figures so vital to his sport that you say his first name and everybody knows who you mean. So no pressure or anything.

Our commentors have supplied the stats: We were 11-12 in Pedro starts this year, as an electric April gave way to a frustrating May and then a mostly doleful rest of the season. Yes, Pedro pitched his guts out in May with nary a W to show for it, but the mere fact that you have to dig deep into the stats to defend him tells the story — as many predicted, this was the year that the body (helped along by the floors of the Marlins' vile, OSHA-violation-encrusted, Soilmaster-infested stadium) thoroughly betrayed the artist that is Pedro J. Martinez, creating a deficit that even his legendary brains, grit and guile couldn't make up.

Summing up Pedro through cold empty stats has always been a fool's errand — if there's ever been a pitcher whose intangibles and unquantifiables must be spoken of, it's him. Which is one of the reasons this isn't another invitation to cannonball into the East River. Lead the Mets? He already has. We'll never know how many tete-a-tetes on the dugout bench helped the rest of the staff, or how many clubhouse or team-bus antics helped the young players realize they belonged. Here's devoutly hoping he'll drag his protective boot to Shea next week and then to St. Louis or Los Angeles or San Diego or Houston and then (we even more devoutly hope) to destinations unknown, so that wise counsel can be given or a joke cracked when it really matters to some member of the 2006 postseason squad. 26th man, sixth starter, second pitching coach — as long as I see him there, I'll feel better about things. He taught a lot of his current teammates the things they needed to learn to come this far. Those lessons won't evaporate along with his roster spot.

And, honestly, it's a relief to have a little clarity. There's no arguing with a torn tendon. Anything less definitive, and Pedro would have tried — which is in no way a knock on him, but a tribute to his lionhearted self. He would have tried, and it wouldn't have worked — that did-it-with-mirrors ride to the rescue in Cleveland was seven years and a lot of miles ago. I think we all sensed last night that he had no magic left in the 2006 hat, even if we were reluctant to admit it. I'm not sure Pedro would have admitted it — you don't climb to the pinnacle of sports from where Pedro started without superhuman confidence in your own abilities, without a certainty that you're invulnerable. Unfortunately, there's no off switch — the ineffable, enviable mix of belief and defiance is what makes an athlete the first to believe, but it's the same thing that makes him or her the last to know.

And that would have left Willie and Omar and the Jacket with a terrible dilemma, one that would have had us fretting and fighting and moaning: Should Pedro start Game 4? Pitch in relief? It's a later round, can he give it a go? Now, it's academic. The MRI has spoken, the verdict is in, and it's time to get on with it.

Oh yes, the game: It was like a documentary about a World War I battle, wasn't it? Grim and sloppy and endless, with the sole levity provided by the loopy announcers and David Wright's hasty retreat (with a mouthed “Wow!”) as Country Joe West instructed Brian McCann to take his opinions about the strike zone to the shower.

Anyway, we won. We even hit a little. It doesn't feel like the relief we'd hoped for, not with this news to absorb, but perhaps when we get to Washington we'll win a couple more and hit a bunch more, and remember that, hey, we really are going to the postseason. Now, please tell me we're going there with Pedro, that he'll brandish his toy bat and flash his elfin grin and whisper a word or two. I wish we could have more from him than that. We all do. But if we can bring his intangibles and unquantifiables, let's remember they're Hall of Fameworthy too.

(By the way, did anybody else hide behind the couch when El Duque reached for that ball with his bare hand? Between that, Pedro and Reyes's kamikaze slide I felt vaguely like throwing up all night.)

(Oh yeah — if you want a Faith and Fear shirt, holler.)

This just in: Gary Cohen's coming back to radio.
Not forever, just for the postseason, not for entire games, just for a couple of innings. He'll work with Howie in the fifth and the other guy in the sixth.
Gary Cohen and Howie Rose back together doing New York Mets baseball for an inning a game. That settles it: We're gonna need to play at least three series in October.
First the shirts, now the voice. If the Mets didn't suck so much, there'd be a lot to get excited about.

This just in: Gary Cohen's coming back to radio.

Not forever, just for the postseason, not for entire games, just for a couple of innings. He'll work with Howie in the fifth and the other guy in the sixth.

Gary Cohen and Howie Rose back together doing New York Mets baseball for an inning a game. That settles it: We're gonna need to play at least three series in October.

First the shirts, now the voice. If the Mets didn't suck so much, there'd be a lot to get excited about.

After 18+ months of this blog thing, we've finally decided to do it: We're offering Faith and Fear in Flushing t-shirts.
See a photo here. This is just a rendering, but I used this particular t-shirt company (CustomInk) for some Mookie Wilson t-shirts I made a couple of years back, and the finished product was slick.
Here's the deal: CustomInk can do any size from Youth Extra Small to XXXL. The shirts are Met blue, with orange and red numbers on the front (we don't have to explain the significance of this set of digits, do we?) and www.faithandfearinflushing.com on the back. Amaze your friends! Baffle the uninitiated! Have something to wear while painting or feeding livestock!
(Credit where credit's due: The guys at ace Padres blog Gaslamp Ball thought of the retired-numbers idea, and were kind enough not to abuse me when I asked if I could, um, totally rip it off.)
What will the shirts cost? Depends on how big our order is. If we don't get many orders, they could cost as much as $25 delivered. If we get lots of orders, they might cost as little as $15 delivered. Oh, we're selling them at cost — or at least as close as my feeble math skills can get to cost. We ain't in it for the money.
Anyway, if you think you want one, shoot us an email and let us know how many and what sizes. When we know how many people are interested, we'll let you know how much they'll cost, and you can give us a final yea or nay — no pressure. Delivery within two or three weeks. Maybe in time for you to wear yours triumphantly through a rain of ticker tape. On the other hand, if the Mets keep playing the way they are right now these babies can probably be fashioned into serviceable nooses.

After 18+ months of this blog thing, we've finally decided to do it: We're offering Faith and Fear in Flushing t-shirts.

See a photo here. This is just a rendering, but I used this particular t-shirt company (CustomInk) for some Mookie Wilson t-shirts I made a couple of years back, and the finished product was slick.

Here's the deal: CustomInk can do any size from Youth Extra Small to XXXL. The shirts are Met blue, with orange and red numbers on the front (we don't have to explain the significance of this set of digits, do we?) and www.faithandfearinflushing.com on the back. Amaze your friends! Baffle the uninitiated! Have something to wear while painting or feeding livestock!

(Credit where credit's due: The guys at ace Padres blog Gaslamp Ball thought of the retired-numbers idea, and were kind enough not to abuse me when I asked if I could, um, totally rip it off.)

What will the shirts cost? Depends on how big our order is. If we don't get many orders, they could cost as much as $25 delivered. If we get lots of orders, they might cost as little as $15 delivered. Oh, we're selling them at cost — or at least as close as my feeble math skills can get to cost. We ain't in it for the money.

Anyway, if you think you want one, shoot us an email and let us know how many and what sizes. When we know how many people are interested, we'll let you know how much they'll cost, and you can give us a final yea or nay — no pressure. Delivery within two or three weeks. Maybe in time for you to wear yours triumphantly through a rain of ticker tape. On the other hand, if the Mets keep playing the way they are right now these babies can probably be fashioned into serviceable nooses.

I live about a quarter of a mile from the Brooklyn Bridge. Which is handy, because I'm heading out to jump off of it.
I mean…crap. Are we sure the Phillies can't catch us?
Oh yeah: Greg, you can have my stuff.

I live about a quarter of a mile from the Brooklyn Bridge. Which is handy, because I'm heading out to jump off of it.

I mean…crap. Are we sure the Phillies can't catch us?

Oh yeah: Greg, you can have my stuff.

Like the Mets, I napped through a good portion of Tuesday night's game with the Braves. Most of the baseball I saw came later in the evening after I (unlike the Mets) shook off my slumber. On a night when a division was clinched, a collapse continued and a couple of resurrections ensued, you know the most amazing thing I saw?
Manny Alexander is on the Padres.
Remember Manny Alexander on the Mets? He was here for two-thirds of a season nine years ago. When we got him in the spring of 1997 from Baltimore — trying to succeed Cal Ripken was wrecking him — I was certain he was going to be an important utilityman. Got into 54 games, hit .248, stole 11 bases in 11 attempts, spent some time on the DL and was shipped to Chicago in the Mel Rojas or Brian McRae or Turk Wendell deal, depending on how you like to define it. That was Steve Phillips' first trade as GM.
I'd say I lost track of Manny Alexander, though that would imply I'd attempted to stay on top of his whereabouts. After the Cubs, where he was buddies with Sammy Sosa, he floated to the Red Sox when they were between playoff appearances and then toured leagues minor and Mexican with several organizations until landing with Texas in 2004. He was with the Padres last year and has been hanging around San Diego since August 20. He seems to be batting .176.
A pennant race brings out the Mets in everybody. When Oakland celebrated in Seattle, two Athletics who seemed pretty happy to be A.L. West champs were Jay Payton and Marco Scutaro. The Astros are being kept alive with a little help from Dan Wheeler. The Phillies have Rick White warming in the pen just about every inning or about as often as David Weathers seems to pitch for the Reds. There's a Marlon Anderson here, a Jason Tyner there, a Vance Wilson of all things somewhere else. Preston Wilson and Jose Vizcaino haven't prevented the Cardinals from crashing — in fact, Braden Looper seems to be facilitating the process. Meanwhile, Mike Cameron and Mike Piazza are propping up the Padres.
Them and Manny Alexander, disappeared from the Metsopotamian consciousness since 1997. He's on a first-place club, for goodness sake, one we might see in the playoffs. Rojas, McRae and Wendell are all long retired.
He's also outlasted Steve Phillips in terms of Major League employment by three seasons.