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ABOUT US
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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by Greg Prince on 10 February 2006 10:46 am Welcome to Flashback Friday, a weekly feature devoted to the 20th anniversary of the 1986 World Champion New York Mets.
Twenty years, 43 Fridays. This is one of them.
Shame on me for listening to WFAN, particularly when it’s before 5 but after 4 in the morning. Shame on me for retaining anything any caller says, especially the guy last night who, while guaranteeing the Mets would win the N.L. East, predicted Cliff Floyd was ripe for an injury.
Putting aside the dual and departing tracks of those projections (2006 MVP Endy Chavez?), I’m suddenly besotted by visions of what could go wrong going wrong. Gosh, Cliff was awfully healthy last year…so was Jose…and that toe of Pedro’s…
Stop! There’s no sense delving into the miseries of the potentially awful. They’ll reveal themselves in due course if they are destined. It’s a good slap in the face for someone who’s spent this endless winter on the upbeat. I don’t believe much good comes from feeling too good. Didn’t last year, don’t now, doubt I’ll change (but it is comforting to know I’m getting my head in its proper precautionary space; play ball already yet).
This is unlike 1986. There was nothing but optimism then. Second thoughts were for second place. Perspective was for Pirates. I knew we were going to smack the living daylights out of the National League. Spring training was welcome as always, but why couldn’t we just get to the business of throttling all comers?
We were loaded.
We were healthy.
We were invincible.
What could go wrong?
Seriously — name one red flag that could have slowed us down.
How about hearing “batting third, the first baseman, No. 29, Tim Corcoran” on a regular basis?
When the possibility unexpectedly reared its mediocre head, the sound you might recall echoing up and down the eastern seaboard was my head meeting the nearest available wall. If you didn’t catch it, maybe it was because it was drowned out by your own mix of cabeza and concrete.
No offense to Tim Corcoran. No offense from Tim Corcoran either. His name was familiar from his two previous seasons in Philadelphia, one mildly impressive (.341 in 208 ABs, albeit with next to no power), one decidedly dismal (.214 and absolutely no power in 182 trips to the plate). It was after the latter that the Mets picked him up in February of ’86.
The Mets — all teams — make a habit of signing fringe 4-A players in advance of spring. So what if the Mets were giving this lefty first baseman, this 33-year-old veteran of eight big league campaigns a look-see?
Because Tim Corcoran represented something far worse than Tim Corcoran. Tim Corcoran was brought in to replace Keith Hernandez in the event that Keith Hernandez would require replacing.
Shudder.
There was a moment in spring training 1986 when the chance that Mex would not be playing in the season ahead appeared all too real.
Shudder. Shudder again.
On a team that won 98 games a year earlier and was a universal pick to win more than that in the coming year, there was one indispensable man. He swung lefty, he played first base, he batted third and he was most definitely not Tim Corcoran.
Tom Seaver’s the greatest Met that’s ever been, end of discussion. Given baseball’s tendency to view pitchers as something different from players, there’s never been quite the consensus on who is the greatest “position” or “everyday” player in Mets history…as a Met, that is.
• In the wash of sentimentality that greeted Mike Piazza’s bon voyage, he received not a few of those accolades. No doubt he was the headline player around here for a pretty long time.
• When Darryl Strawberry left the Mets after finally reaching his potential, it was not uncommon to refer to him in that manner. He was certainly the most talented player to develop as a Met and he owns the two glamour spots in the team record books, most HRs and most RBI.
• Among Mets non-pitchers (including Ashburn, Snider, Berra, Mays, Murray and throw in Rickey Henderson if you like) who have made the Hall of Fame, only Gary Carter truly burnished his Cooperstown credentials during his Met tenure. That makes him, technically, the only everyday player on the Mets to perform at Hall of Fame standards.
But if you were around to watch the Mets on a consistent basis while he put the full repertoire of his abilities and soul on display, you understand that this is Keith Hernandez’s gig. He’s the greatest Met position player that’s ever been.
End of discussion? No way. Considering Keith Hernandez was one of the privileges of having been a Mets fan from 1983 to 1989, particularly ’84, ’85 and ’86 when Keith was in full Mex, we could discuss Keith Hernandez all day and it wouldn’t do him nearly enough justice. Just a couple of thoughts from a couple of contemporary eyewitnesses to tide us over for now:
I have often written that Hernandez is the best everyday player the Mets ever had. Hernandez is also one of the most compelling athletes I have ever covered, a superb defensive player, a skillful hitter. It is like getting a master’s degree in baseball to stop by Hernandez’s locker after he has relaxed with a beer.
—George Vecsey
Keith Hernandez…is all edges and angles. He is a favorite topic of conversation and a source of fascination among the reporters who cover the team — at once prickly and cooperative, eloquent and saturnine, guarded about everything in his life except baseball, which he can discuss with rare insight.
—Joe Klein
I never played with anyone like Mex before. I mean, the guy’s been around the league a few times, he makes lots of money and all — you just don’t expect someone like him to be so fresh and exuberant and intense all the time, especially out on the field.
—Bobby Ojeda
Hernandez is dark, reflective, analytical, urban. Throughout the winter, you see him around the saloons of the city, sometimes with friends like Phil McConkey of the Giants, other times with beautiful women. His clothes are carefully cut. He reads books, loves history, buys art for his apartment on the East Side. Carter is the king of the triumphant high-fives; Hernandez seems embarrassed by them. In a crisis, Carter might get down on one knee and have a prayer meeting; Hernandez advocates a good drunk.
—Pete Hamill
It wasn’t his reluctance to be a holla back guy or his fondness for designer suits that made Keith Hernandez the best everyday player the Mets have ever had, but it added to the character and the legend that he created on the field. We could figure out from watching him hit .311 in ’84 and .309 in ’85 and drive in 94 and 91 in those respective years that he wasn’t one of those marquee types who misplaced his talent when he was traded to us. We could divine that he was clutch even without the meaningless Game Winning Run Batted In statistic (rendered meaningful when he led the world in it). We could see, even on the radio, that he defend field in a league of his own. And we couldn’t help but notice, especially in ’84 when the catcher was rookie Mike Fitzgerald, that he took it upon himself to nurse the kid pitching staff to maturity in the midst of a wholly unexpected pennant race.
His on-field persona was awesome. His postgame personality was brilliant. In an era when we were really beginning to be told what made athletes tick, nobody presented a more intricate or intriguing package to the beat writers day by day. Columnists like Mike Lupica built a cottage industry out of Hernandez envy. Tim McCarver, who was sold by St. Louis two days after Keith was first called up, spoke about him night after night with a reverence one reserves exclusively for a player you consider a true peer. The cumulative effect of the Keith coverage — not only could he play, but boy could he think — made those of us who were consumers of every word we could read about our team treasure him. Hernandez wasn’t the stud Darryl was, didn’t have quite the All-Star credentials Gary did and couldn’t match the phenomenon of Doc, but he was why those Mets were those Mets.
Keith Hernandez made us special, made us stand out, made us The Mets when that meant something entirely different from what it’s usually taken to mean. Other teams could have their superstars. Other teams could have Mike Schmidt and Dale Murphy and Andre Dawson. As long as we got to have Keith Hernandez, we’d win.
And without him?
Shudder. Shudder. Shudder.
Yet we were faced with at least the prospect of a Mexless 1986 at the end of that February when Commissioner Peter Ueberroth announced the penalties for a group of players who testified they had been drug users at the infamous Pittsburgh baseball drug trials the previous September.
Most significantly, a suspension of one year.
Shud…
But wait! There was an out! Ubie was no fool. Big names were involved in Pittsburgh. The commissioner, having assumed office during the “Just Say No” phase of this country’s ultrasuccessful War On Drugs (you can tell it’s successful by the way it’s gone on so long), needed to show he could be as tough as Nancy Reagan on the subject. Pete Hamill believed there was “something inherently unfair about punishing a man who came clean,” which is what the players in question — Keith Hernandez among them for his Cardinal sins — had done in ’85 in exchange for immunity, but the commish was lord of his own realm. He was going to make a statement and an example at the same time.
On the other hand, guys like Hernandez and the Reds’ Dave Parker were big players and star attractions. Had Ueberroth been serious, it would have been the one-year suspension he had meted out, good luck appealing, see you in court. Instead, it was a one-year suspended suspension with a hefty fine, a large dose of community service and mandatory, random drug testing. In other words, if you wanted to play ball, you’d have to play ball.
The Mets fan heard only this: “Keith Hernandez…suspended…one year…” The Mets fan then thought this: “Tim Corcoran…” And finally: “AAUUGGHH!!!!”
I’ve never used illegal drugs in my life. That’s not a boast, just a fact. I roomed with two guys in college, when I was a sophomore and when I was a senior, who smoked a little of this, snorted a little of that, maybe made a transaction or two on the side. It was around me, it just never appealed to me. I preferred liters of TaB over lines of coke. I mention this to indicate I had no tangible personal fallout from the evils of drugs except for the time the second roommate and his racist customer from down the hall woke me up with their high (on, uh, life) cackles and I responded by spraying something from an aerosol can that I thought was filled with Lysol but wasn’t, thus making the room stink worse than it had from just their smoke. I didn’t much care that Keith Hernandez had indulged a darker side as a Redbird. Hey, if it was drugs that moved Whitey Herzog to trade him to us for the paltry sum of Neil Allen and Rick Ownbey, then maybe drugs weren’t all bad.
I wasn’t at the game in September of ’85 that followed Keith’s testimony in Pittsburgh, but if I had been, I would’ve joined in the standing ovation he received. Not for his bearing witness, not for his personal rehabilitation but because he was the best player on my favorite team, one who by all indications had kicked the habit…and did I mention that he was the best player on my favorite team? Dick Young and others said those who thought like that were immoral. We were in the middle of a battle royale with the Cardinals. Nothing could have been more moral than wanting to defeat such evil.
When spring training rolled around and Ueberroth was pounding us over the head with Corc’d bats, I thought I might be hitting the pipe by the All-Star break. But there was more to this suspension. There was the out, and when we heard that, we breathed a Metropolitan sigh of relief.
Until we heard that Keith Hernandez was the one player offered the deal who wasn’t sure he was going to take it. Mex objected to being lumped in with the group of players saddled with this particular penalty. It was for those who “in some fashion facilitated the distribution of drugs in baseball”. That’s not me, Mex wrote in If At First: “I never sold or dealt drugs and didn’t want that incorrect label for the rest of my life.” He was willing to accept the punishment handed out to another group of players who had copped to drugs, players more lightly sentenced because Ueberroth couldn’t link them to dealing.
Hernandez didn’t like having to ante up $100,000 to pay the proscribed fine (1986 salary: $1.65 million), didn’t relish committing to 200 hours of community service — presumably anti-drug speeches — over two years on account of shyness, and wasn’t crazy about the invasion of his privacy when it came to peeing on demand; yes, Virginia, there was a time Americans objected to infringements on their civil liberties. But mostly, Keith said, he didn’t feel he warranted inclusion in the dealt-drugs bunch.
Ueberroth announced his decision on a Friday. Keith left the Mets complex in St. Pete to go home and think about what to do. On Saturday he issued a statement allowing he was “not pleased with the decision of the commissioner”. During the ensuing week, Hernandez continued to think and while he did, he was vilified in most corners. You mean they’ll lift the suspension as long as you pay a fine and talk to kids and whiz now and then? For the kinda money you make? Why you rotten druggie, what’s wrong with you? Go be our hero, ya bum.
I sort of admired Keith’s refusal to immediately give in, especially on the drug testing, It’s an accepted part of sports and other employment now, but then not everybody was on the side of invasiveness. If Keith Hernandez did anything else for a living or played for another team, I’d have urged him take that principled stand and sit out the year.
Especially if he played for another team
But my principles ran approximately the length of .095 points in batting average, the base difference between Keith Hernandez and Tim Corcoran in 1985.
On March 8, eight days after they were offered, Keith Hernandez accepted Peter Ueberroth’s terms. He publicly objected to his classification as a dealer, but acknowledged he had made a mistake when he took drugs and emphasized that he felt “an obligation to my team, the fans and to baseball to play this year”.
Keith Hernandez played 149 games in the 108-win season that followed, batting .310, finishing fourth in league MVP voting, starting the All-Star game in Houston and collecting his ninth consecutive Gold Glove.
Tim Corcoran was purchased from Tidewater right after the season opened. His first appearance came in the Mets’ eleventh game. He was announced as a pinch-hitter in St. Louis but then removed in favor of Kevin Mitchell when Whitey brought on a lefty. Five days later, he grounded out in Atlanta. Ten days after that, he was outrighted to the Tides. He returned more than three weeks later. Pinch-hit three times (no hits, one walk) and was given a start at first in the second game of a doubleheader in Pittsburgh. Went 0-for-4 with a walk and a run scored. Three days after that, he was put on waivers and never played in the Major Leagues again.
Final totals: 6 games, 7 at-bats, 0 hits, .000 batting average.
Tim Corcoran, sparest of 1986 spare parts?
Like, whatever.
Tim Corcoran, Plan B first baseman in lieu of Keith Hernandez?
Just say no.
Schedule advisory: Saturday night, August 19, Mets vs. Rockies. Wait! Don’t yawn! It’s Old Timers Night! Or whatever they’re calling it this year. Surprisingly, the Mets will be devoting it to the 20th anniversary of the 1986 Mets. Seemed too obvious for them to get it right, didn’t it? Club says everybody’s been invited back. Wanna bet they lost Tim Corcoran’s address?
by Jason Fry on 9 February 2006 4:02 pm On my bookshelves you'll find a fairly random assortment of Met media guides from various years. (I don't bother with them much anymore because all this stuff is now online.) The other night I was looking through an old one in search of biographical information about the immortal Brian Ostrosser (don't ask) and was surprised by how thoroughly the tone of these things has changed.
Sure, recent media guides still have some of the goofy features of media guides since time immemorial: And the Name Is…, Mets/Shea Stadium Firsts, Road Hotels, Last Time That X Happened, For the Cycle, Mets Triple Plays, Last Trade With, Mets Who Played for Yankees, etc. But the bios? Well, they're a bit different.
Here are some musings about Roger Cedeno, from the 2002 media guide: His wife is named Thais, his daughter is Michele. In 2001 he led the Tigers with 41 multi-hit games and registered a career-high 48 RBIs. In 1999 he led the Mets with nine outfield assists. In 1997 he hit in a then career-best 10 consecutive games. In 1994 his .321 average was the fifth-highest in the Dodger organization. In 1993 he was the youngest player to play in the Texas League since Bobby Tolan. His brother Nolys Solarte played in the Pirates' organization. He donated $10,000 to charity after 9/11.
Yawn. You get the idea — cherrypicked positives. The only hint of something less than ideal is a mysterious note from 2001: Did not play the final 19 games of the season (manager's decision).
Now, let's look at the much-thinner, not-so-glossy 1975 Press-Radio-TV Guide. It's impossible to miss the generational oddities, like the eight scheduled doubleheaders or the need to note on the schedule that certain games are televised (TV) and others are night games (N). But just wait.
There's the rather odd-sounding biography of Yogi Berra, described at various points as “the fire-pluggish open-faced son of Italian immigrants,” “the piano-legged paisan” and “the shy recruit whose face has been likened to a fallen souffle”. Oh, and that bio opens with this: “The fortunes of Yogi Berra represented a series of emotional peaks and valleys in fateful 1972. There was January's joy, generated by Destiny's touch of immortality, and April's anguish and appreciation, stoked alternately by the hands of tragedy and opportunity.” Whew! (Apparently that's the work of Harold Weissman and Matt Winick, who seem to have been paid by the eye-roll.)
Now, some tidbits that the media guide saw fit to include in scouting reports on the players who wanted to be Mets in 1975:
Bob Apodaca: “Completely ignored in 1968 draft following conversion from third baseman at Cerritos Junior College (where coach decided he 'couldn't hit or run good enough to be an infielder'); subsequently transferred to California State.”
Benny Ayala: “after hitting safely in first four games he steadily lost ground and confidence; and powerful, compact swing that fascinated Yogi Berra and Rube Walker during winter tour had vanished.”
Gene Clines: ” 'Super Sub' label failed to placate one-time Bay Area wunderkind who openly voiced displeasure over frustrating inability to win full time status … Brightest stat of 1974 campaign, dimmed by request to be traded, was 14 steals in 16 attempts”
Wayne Garrett: “One of few positives of negative 1970 that followed Met Miracle”
Bud Harrelson: “1974 wasn't a total loss. … One of few bright spots to penetrate gloom of 1970” (Jeez, you can't win every year!)
Felix Millan: “Soft-spoken Beau Brummel of Mets”
Rich Puig: “Personable youngster has yet to live up to billing as 'one of the organization's better hitting prospects,' or to develop in manner that attracted the attention of pro scouts when he was 14 … accompanied Mets to Japan, but limited to three pinch-hit appearances because of intestinal infection which was cleared up before tour's end.”
Rusty Staub: “Spent most disciplined culinary winter of career in determined effort to regain heralded form”
Joe Torre: “Swarthy local product”
Hank Webb: “Opportunity, afforded by fascination with 'one of organization's liveliest arms,' has been there for three years, but indifference last season continued to represent the distance separating free-spirited local product from predicted major league stardom; hopes are renewed now that responsibility of post-season marriage will help close tantalizing gap”
They don't make 'em like they used to. Sometimes that's not a bad thing.
by Greg Prince on 7 February 2006 12:52 pm It occurs to me that for all the references I make to the One Hundred Greatest Mets of the First Forty Years, they have never been presented all at once in one handy-dandy post.
So let’s do that today.
For those of you who weren’t with us last March and April when we counted ’em down, you can read up on what makes a Met one of the One Hundred Greatest here and you can check out the official assessment of each of them, ten at a time, by using the helpfully reinstated links down the sidebar.
In the meantime, look who’s No. 100-1.
100-91
100. Marv Throneberry
99. Lenny Harris
98. Rico Brogna
97. Duke Snider
96. Carl Everett
95. Joe McEwing
94. Jason Isringhausen
93. Rod Gaspar
92. Joel Youngblood
91. Bernard Gilkey
90-81
90. Ken Boswell
89. Jay Payton
88. Timo Perez
87. Shawon Dunston
86. Dave Mlicki
85. Matt Franco
84. Melvin Mora
83. Eddie Murray
82. J.C. Martin
81. Kevin Elster
80-71
80. Bret Saberhagen
79. Ron Hodges
78. Bobby Bonilla
77. Roger Cedeño
76. Frank Thomas
75. Gregg Jefferies
74. Terry Leach
73. Tim Teufel
72. Steve Henderson
71. Roger Craig
70-61
70. Dave Magadan
69. Rickey Henderson
68. Al Jackson
67. Ed Charles
66. Gary Gentry
65. Lance Johnson
64. Kevin Mitchell
63. Dennis Cook
62. Art Shamsky
61. Rafael Santana
60-51
60. Hubie Brooks
59. Todd Zeile
58. Nolan Ryan
57. Frank Viola
56. Richie Ashburn
55. Willie Mays
54. Ron Hunt
53. Craig Swan
52. Mike Hampton
51. Todd Pratt
50-41
50. John Milner
49. Al Weis
48. Kevin McReynolds
47. Doug Flynn
46. Bobby Ojeda
45. Benny Agbayani
44. Randy Myers
43. Donn Clendenon
42. John Stearns
41. Turk Wendell
40-31
40. Bobby Jones
39. Jon Matlack
38. Todd Hundley
37. Rick Reed
36. Rey Ordoñez
35. Lee Mazzilli
34. Armando Benitez
33. Ron Darling
32. Ron Swoboda
31. Sid Fernandez
30-21
30. Ray Knight
29. Wayne Garrett
28. Al Leiter
27. Dave Kingman
26. Roger McDowell
25. Lenny Dykstra
24. David Cone
23. Felix Millan
22. Robin Ventura
21. Wally Backman
20-11
20. John Olerud
19. Rusty Staub
18. Jesse Orosco
17. Howard Johnson
16. Tommie Agee
15. Cleon Jones
14. Jerry Grote
13. Jerry Koosman
12. John Franco
11. Mookie Wilson
10-1
10. Ed Kranepool
9. Edgardo Alfonzo
8. Bud Harrelson
7. Tug McGraw
6. Gary Carter
5. Dwight Gooden
4. Darryl Strawberry
3. Mike Piazza
2. Keith Hernandez
1. Tom Seaver
Can the ’06 Mets take a lesson from the — gasp! — ’96 Yankees? If it means winning, why the bleep not? Consider it further at Gotham Baseball.
by Greg Prince on 6 February 2006 12:13 pm This afternoon Minnesota beat Oakland ten to four, Scott Baker bested Joe Kennedy, Michael Cuddyer homered for Minnesota, Mark Ellis for Oakland, so at the moment, the A’s two games behind the Angels in the American League West. Angels play tonight at home against Texas with John Lackey against Kameron Loe after Bartolo Colon picked up his twentieth win last night.
First Angel since Nolan Ryan thirty-one years ago to win twenty games.
Now the three-two to Pierre, hit in the air to centerfield, back a few strides goes Beltran, he’s got it lined up, backpedaling, and he makes the catch and the inning is over.
So Pierre flies to center and Seo works around the one-out double by Andino.
No runs, one hit, one left. Middle of the second now at Shea, Mets one, Marlins one on the WFAN Mets radio network.
Would’ve finished the entire half-inning yesterday, but I was suffering from transcribing fatigue, to say nothing of every other kind of fatigue, and had to quit. Say what you will against trading Jae Seo, but he did not work quickly.
As has been noted several times (like here, here and by implication here), the broadcasting of Gary Cohen via radio will be sorely missed, but I’m going to put the torch away for now. I heard Tom McCarthy interviewed during the Caravan and he seems like a decent sort, so I’m going to focus my aural energies on getting to know him and wishing him well…for our sake as well as his.
And Mr. Cohen, well, maybe Snigh will surprise and show up on Cablevision sometime between now and the rapture. Someday we’ll be together.
by Greg Prince on 5 February 2006 2:23 pm I had planned to let you know to listen to Jonathan Schwartz’s show on WNYC-FM this afternoon. For 36 consecutive Super Bowl Sundays, Schwartz ran what he called a Salute to Baseball. Before there was sportstalk radio and downloadable files and Rhino Records, there was Schwartz spending one hour in the middle of football overload on broadcasting baseball.
If you’re not familiar with Jonathan Schwartz, he’s more or less a disc jockey, a Sinatra guy. He’s also written books and has been described as a raconteur. For our purposes, he’s a crazy (mellow voice, but crazy) Red Sox fan in New York and that mattered because he would salute baseball. He’d play old baseball songs and tell old baseball stories and, my favorite part, run random clips of play-by-play. It didn’t matter what game it was or who had played. It was the authentic sound of baseball in January or early February. It was always great.
And I was going to hype it for all of us to enjoy ahead of Super Bowl Sunday. I was so anxious to do it that I got in touch with XM Radio (where he spends most of his time programming the Frank’s Place channel) to confirm that he would be saluting baseball as he always did. I figured it was a formality.
I figured wrong.
Sorry, but Jonathan will not conduct his Salute To Baseball this year. His XM-73 program for Sunday, February 5, will be pre-recorded and not consist of the usual hour-long Salute.
The Daily News elaborated on Saturday. WNYC is in the midst of one of its fund drives and Schwartz won’t have the hour locally to do his baseball show. So he’s apparently not doing it all. He won’t be playing a random bit of baseball play-by-play to get us through the onslaught of football and the declining mercury and the miles to go before we sleep and eat spring training.
He won’t. But I will.
GARY: Mets baseball is brought to you by Re/Max. If you’re looking to buy or sell a home, call 800-REMAXNY or click remaxny.com. Nobody in the world sells more real estate than Re/Max.
Second inning in a one-one game, Mike Lowell leads off against Jae Seo. And Jae’s first pitch is a curveball, taken low, one ball, no strikes.
Seo gave up three hits in the first inning and then survived when Paul Lo Duca hit a long fly ball to left that Cliff Floyd was able to track down.
Lowell hitting just .233 in a lost season, and he pops it foul back and out of play, one ball, one strike.
Lowell with just seven home runs and fifty-six runs batted in. This is a guy you count on for thirty homers and a hundred RBIs or somewhere in that neighborhood, but he has been in a very different part of town.
Now Seo with the one-one to Lowell, taken outside two and one. And Lowell was only in the lineup tonight because the Marlins were in desperate need of a second baseman. And yet he never played one pitch at second base, moving to third when Cabrera left the game after fouling a ball off his knee.
Here’s the two-one to Lowell, changeup hit high into the air to left field, routine play for Floyd as he ambles in. Cliff is under it, makes the catch to retire Lowell, one away.
So one out and nobody on, Robert Andino the rookie shortstop will bat. The out-of-town scoreboard is brought to you by Foxwoods Resort Casino, the wonder of it all in Mystic Country, Connecticut.
In Pittsburgh tonight, the Astros scored four runs in the first inning off Kip Wells who is seven and sixteen this year, and the Astros lead the Pirates four-nothing in the second, Roy Oswalt trying for his eighteenth win, Lance Berkman a three-run homer, his twentieth.
Here’s Andino, a right-hand batter, and he takes a strike, nothing and one.
Andino went oh-for-five last night, starting his fourth game in the big leagues. Alex Gonzalez can’t throw because of a bad elbow, Damion Easley sprained an ankle, so Andino is the shortstop.
Swing and a miss at a changeup, nothing and two.
Andino not only went oh-for-five last night, but he also made a key error, uh, a ball hit by Jose Reyes, a terrible throw that led to the Mets’ first run.
Andino is considered a whiz with the glove. We’ve certainly seen that from him back during spring training.
Just three-for-eighteen at the plate in the big leagues. And Seo winds, the oh-two pitch, fastball hit sharply OVER the first base bag and down the line. He swung late and got it right down the line! Andino heads for second, Diaz tracks it down and Robert Andino stands at second base with a double.
Well, Andino swung late on a fastball and was just able to keep it fair over the first base bag and down the line.
That’s the kind of hit you see a pitcher get.
As he reached for a pitch up and away, and now the actual pitcher, Jason Vargas, is a pretty good hitter will come up.
Vargas was a two-way player in college, a first baseman and pitcher and he had a very good college career with the bat.
He’s a left-hand hitter, he has six-for-twenty-two, so he’s hitting .273 with a couple of RBIs.
And Seo’s pitch, golfed foul back into the crowd, and he had a good cut at that, nothing and one.
The Phillies got a two-run homer from David Bell off Horacio Ramirez in the second inning, and the Phillies lead the Braves three-nothing in the third.
Brett Myers pitching for the Phillies after Jorge Sosa threw another gem for the Braves against Philadelphia last night. Sosa’s now thirteen and three. He’s been one of the real unsung heroes of the Braves’ season.
HOWIE: When you look at the injuries they’ve had between Hampton and Thomson in particular, he’s been a lifesaver for that team.
GARY: And Sosa with that effort last night might well have nailed down a spot for himself in the Braves’ postseason rotation.
Here’s the oh-one to Vargas, swing and a miss at a changeup, nothing and two.
Braves go into the night with a magic number of six for clinching the National League East and winning their fourteenth straight division title.
The Giants lead the Nationals two to one, bottom of the second. Now they go to the top of third in that game, two-one San Francisco, Brad Hennessy against John Patterson, Barry Bonds a two-run homer.
And a changeup just outside to Vargas, one and two.
For Bonds, his second in two nights, it’s his fourth of the year and number seven oh seven a lifetime.
Cincinnati and St. Louis go to the third, Cardinals with a four-nothing lead. Jason Marquis against Ramon Ortiz, David Eckstein a two-run homer.
Now Seo looks back at second, the one-two to Vargas, swing and a miss, he got him with the changeup, second strikeout for Jae Seo as he fans his opposite number, now there are two away, Andino still at second and Juan Pierre coming up.
In Pittsburgh, Mike Lamb has just added a three-run homer for the Astros and they lead the Pirates eight to nothing in the second inning. So, the, uh, Marlins will know in short order as soon as that gets posted, and it just did on the right field scoreboard that they need to win tonight just to keep pace, with the Astros out to an early eight-nothing lead.
Here’s Pierre with a runner at second and two out. Pierre laid down a bunt single in the first, then stole second, took third on a sacrifice and scored on Carlos Delgado’s two-out hit.
One to one game, we’re in the second. Andino leads at second, the pitch, fastball taken outside, one ball, no strikes.
Pierre the fifteenth batter of the game and GEICO wants you to know that a fifteen-minute phone call could save you fifteen percent or more on your car insurance. Call 1-800-947-A-U-T-O.
Wright playing even with the bag at third this time against Pierre, not a bunting situation. The one-oh pitch, and a called strike on the outside corner, one and one.
This is one of those spots where even if you are one of the best in the world at bunting for basehits, you’re doing your team a disservice if you try it. With a runner at second and two out, your job is to drive in the run, not move the runner to third base, even if you’re successful in beating it out.
Because all you’re doing is leaving it up to the next guy.
Here’s the one-one to Pierre, fastball up and away, two balls and a strike.
Later games in the National League, Cubs and Brewers, actually they’re just underway, no score bottom of the first, Mark Prior against Tomo Ohka. San Diego at Colorado after the Rockies’ record-setting twenty-to-one win last night. Matt Holiday had eight RBIs in that game for the Rockies. Tonight they face Jake Peavey.
The two-one pitch and a changeup outside, and now Seo behind on Pierre three and one.
Mike Esposito will make his Major League debut for Colorado.
Dodgers at Diamondbacks tonight, Brad Penny against Brandon Webb.
In the American League, Matt Lawton a two-run homer off Rodrigo Lopez, the Yankees lead Baltimore two-nothing, bottom of the third. Randy Johnson pitching for the Yankees and, let’s see, he’s already pitched three innings and he’s still in the game, so he’s way ahead of it tonight.
HOWIE: Either that or he’s wearing some tape over his mouth…
GARY: [Laughs]
HOWIE: …or a muzzle.
GARY:: Whatever works.
Red Sox have three home in the second against Scott Kazmir and lead Tampa Bay three-nothing, Tim Wakefield going for Boston. The Red Sox a half-game ahead of the Yankees.
Here’s the three-one to Pierre, and it’s on the outside corner, a strike, three and two.
The Indians and White Sox conclude their series after the White Sox’ dramatic victory in ten innings last night on Joe Crede’s walkoff home run. The Indians a half-game up on the Yankees, three-and-a-half behind the White Sox. Scott Elarton against Jon Garland in Chicago tonight.
Andino leads at second, three-two to Pierre. Changeup fouled to the left side out of play, still three and two.
by Greg Prince on 3 February 2006 10:01 am Welcome to Flashback Friday, a weekly feature devoted to the 20th anniversary of the 1986 World Champion New York Mets.
Twenty years, 43 Fridays. This is one of them.
If your team were vying for the world championship in a few hours, you wouldn’t be completely responsible for the crazy thoughts running through your head. It would be at least a little understandable if you thought something strange and then stepped back twenty years later and wondered, “was that me?”
So it was on the afternoon of October 27, 1986. Monday afternoon, the preamble, as it were, to Game Seven of the World Series. You know — the one the Mets were in.
I had a lot of thoughts in me, most of them presumably dealing with the ability of the Mets to handle Bruce Hurst (they hadn’t) and Ron Darling’s ability to step up (he hadn’t always). But one stands out, mainly because it was a Monday afternoon in autumn.
I wonder if I’m going to get distracted by the Giants game on Monday Night Football. I might. I shouldn’t, but I might.
Blasphemous, eh? Unthinkable to think such thoughts, right? But there it was. Because the Mets and Red Sox had been rained out on Sunday night, the seventh game was moved to Monday night. What had looked like the first night of the offseason was now a New York vs. New York, sport vs. sport showdown.
Of course there was no choice to be made. The Giants had a big game on tap, first place on the line against their bitter rivals, but come on. This was the World Series, the seventh game, the Mets. Need I say more?
Yet I somehow worried that I, not Ron Darling, wouldn’t come up big. That I’d fall for that business about football being so great to watch on television, that my slow-burn affection for the NFL, smoldering since about 1978, would blow smoke in my direction and I wouldn’t be able to stay focused on Channel 4.
It’s the craziest thought I’ve ever thunk. It seems ridiculous today, two days from this particular Super Bowl between uh…wait…I know this…one of them took a bus or something…I’ll have to get back to you… and it seemed ridiculous to contemplate even as I contemplated it.
But in 1986, as much as I was a Mets fan, I was still a small-c catholic sports fan, certainly pro-pro football. Back then, it didn’t bother me that the Giants and Jets encroached on the baseball season’s final month. I saw it as bonus sports. What can I tell you? I was younger then. The local gridders each taking their best simultaneous shot at winning division titles in ’86, while a good, solid notch below any Met concerns, was nevertheless on my radar.
The two Super Bowls that sandwiched the 1986 World Series are at least a little relevant to what the Mets achieved. Super Bowl XX, the Bears’ win, provided a template of sorts for our guys — too much so, it would turn out. The Bears romped through their season. So did the Mets. The Bears made no bones about going to the championship (they weren’t there to start no trouble, you may have heard). When the Mets preened and posed in their own team-authorized in-season video, it was therefore not without precedent. The Bears were larger than life, probably the last football team to capture the public’s fancy based on personality as much as performance. At one place I worked after their 15-1 rampage, I noticed a particular appliance had been adorned with a sticker that featured a cartoonish football player wearing No. 72 and identified as The Fridge. Somebody thought it was hilarious and/or relevant enough to stick William “The Refrigerator” Perry’s likeness on an actual refrigerator. Unlicensed to be sure, but indicative that Bearsmania had drifted far enough afield to grab the attention of a Long Island office manager.
And what baseball team ever dripped more personality than our own 1986 New York Mets?
I didn’t much stress over whether the Bears would win their game against the New England Patriots. They did and that was fine with me. The next day I didn’t start staring out the window waiting for fall to start. It was right back to counting down to spring training. Football went back into Binkley’s closet of anxieties.
What I didn’t care about or couldn’t know was that this would be the mighty Bears’ only Super Bowl. They were so overwhelming, but they never put it together again in the quite the same way. Their one tremendous year, capped by a championship secured in 1986, would be it for them and their era.
Sound familiar?
A year later it was my Giants going to the Super Bowl. By then, it felt preordained. First the Mets, now the Giants. We won and now the other we were going to win. From 1974 through 1983, my two favorite sports teams shared seven common losing seasons. That is to say that there was virtually no joy in Gregville for a decade.
Having been present at the creation of the Miracle Mets, I always knew in my heart that there would be another World Series victory in my lifetime. There would have to be more than my scant memories of ’69 to get me through, there would just have to be. I had no such presumptions about the Giants and the Super Bowl. It seemed laughable to even think they could make the playoffs through the ’70s. But here we were, in January of ’87, the Mets having made my gut feeling come true and the Giants heavy favorites to do what I had judged undoable.
My baseball team was the world champion. My football team was about to be world champion. The strangest part is it felt perfectly normal. And great.
The only quibble I had with the runup to Super Bowl XXI was the coverage. “This is even bigger than the Mets being in the World Series,” I heard some clueless TV reporter say. I believe the evidence was that a Herman’s Sporting Goods was selling more Giants stuff in January than it had Mets stuff in October. Well, duh, I thought. This Giant thing, its perpetuity season-ticket waiting list notwithstanding, was a bandwagon matter. Everybody had already bought their Mets stuff way ahead of October ’86. A writer in Newsday got caught up in the January hype as well, suggesting that a Giants win might wind up converting 1986 in our memories from The Year of The Mets to The Year of The Giants.
That annoyed me. The Giants didn’t play Denver until January 25, or 25 days since 1986 ended. Joe Morris could run for 200 yards but he couldn’t turn the calendar back. Nor could one Sunday afternoon trump the three weeks that Metsmerized October.
Otherwise, I was immersed in Gigantism. How immersed? I penned my own idiotic Super Bowl song parody, “Giant Steps To Pasadena”. Composed to the tune of “Walk Like An Egyptian,” it was no better than the claptrap that the various morning zoos were churning out, but I’m under the lingering impression that it was no worse. “All the fans in the Rose Bowl stands say LT…LT…” OK, it was much worse, but I’d come down with the Super Bowl fever. I was delirious.
All those Super Sundays watching teams from somewhere else and adopting nominal rooting interests for three or four hours had fired me up for this day. My big moment was when my father and I went out to pick up pizza and salad from the Capri. We weren’t just getting Italian takeout for the Super Bowl. We were getting Italian takeout for the Giants in the Super Bowl. Wow.
Nevertheless, the second the game began, I was too nervous to eat. I treated my lettuce like it was pizza, grabbing it with my hands as John Elway marched Denver downfield and mindlessly shoving it between my lips. I had to wait ’til halftime to eat in earnest (and believe me, I like to eat in earnest).
Phil Simms completely outgunned Elway and the Giants won and it was lovely — very warm, even if the pizza had grown cold by the time I could settle down to enjoy it. In the week that followed, I couldn’t wait for one of those quickie souvenir shops to open so I could buy a t-shirt that confirmed that Giants 39 Broncos 20 had really happened.
The shirt I purchased had two logos. One was a Giants helmet. The other was the Mets skyline. On this fabric, they shared 1986. City of Champions, baby! The Mets and the…uh…wait, let me look at my shirt…
If I couldn’t be completely carried away by the Giants winning their first Super Bowl enough to devote one lousy shirt to their accomplishment alone, then do you think I was really distracted on the night of October 27, 1986?
I wasn’t. I was a Mets fan and only a Mets fan as long as there was baseball. I may have checked in during a World Series commercial or two, but that was it. I can’t believe I even thought it would be a conflict.
After Jesse Orosco struck out Marty Barrett (Swing and a miss! Swing and a miss!) and the Princes hugged and phones were answered, I wandered around the house in a state so unfamiliar that I was back to not knowing what to think. Amid all my euphoria, I somehow managed to remember that the Giants and Redskins were probably still playing on Channel 7. I sat down in the kitchen to watch the end. It was sort of like Will Smith in Six Degrees of Separation being caught by Stockard Channing after having brought home a guy he picked up:
I was so happy I wanted to add sex to it. Don’t you do that?
Nothing could tarnish the Commissioner’s Trophy, but it would have been a teensy bit disappointing not to make it a perfect night. With one eye replaying the final out and one eye on the screen, I got the icing on top of the star on top of the angel on top of the tree on top of the cake. The Giants held off the Redskins, 27-20 and were tied, halfway through their season, for first.
Who cared? Not that many people, apparently. While close to 90 million Americans tuned into Game Seven, making it the most-watched baseball game ever, Monday Night Football scored the lowest rating in its history. Man, that felt good! Here ABC had one of the glamour matchups of the year and not one in ten televisions bothered with it. It was karmic payback for two weeks earlier when the Mets…
a) had been screwed out of their NLCS home-field advantage (then determined by rotation) because the Astrodome was reserved for the Oilers on the Sunday that Game Four would be played;
b) and were forced by ABC into scheduling Game Five on the Monday afternoon (Yom Kippur, no less) that followed because the network didn’t want to disturb MNF. The Mets and Astros got rained out that day, but it was perfectly dry that night.
In New York, the World Series rating for the seventh game was 56, the share was 71. New York loved the Mets and knew what counted. So did a whole lot of Giants fans. An official in East Rutherford estimated there were some 5,000 portable TV sets lugged to the Meadowlands that Monday night (hey, whatever happened to the Watchman anyway?). There were presumably many, many radios on hand as well. Though Giants Stadium was sold out and almost all its seats were filled, the Giants were not the main attraction. When the Mets rallied, the Giants fans cheered — even if the Redskins were on the move.
The Giants did not find this charming. “I really thought the fans should have gone to the baseball game,” offensive lineman Brad Benson said afterwards, none too happy that the crowd noise for the Mets caused him to jump offside. “I’m not joking. It really was a distraction. It really got me upset.”
As another New Jerseyite would say more than a decade later, oh, poor you. A broader view of the occasion came from tackle Karl Nelson, who noted that the Redskins were also unnerved by the Mets a couple of times.
But not as often as Calvin Schiraldi was.
That’s about all the football we need this weekend. Come back Sunday for a special salute to baseball.
In the meantime, two more 1986 bits:
• March 28 has become the most important day of our lives. That’s the day MLB releases a…brace yourself…NINE-DISC DVD SET celebrating the 1986 World Series! That’s all seven games, the 16-inning game in Houston and one bonus disc of this, that and the other thing. I don’t doubt it won’t be enough (because there can be never too much), but it’s about frigging time, no?
• The coolest Mets blog EVER recently debuted. It’s by Bob Sikes. Yes, that Bob Sikes! He was, of course, assistant trainer to the ’86 Mets, one of the men charged with keeping our fellas game-ready (and he did a phenomenal job). Bob is now in Florida teaching and coaching and blogging. He calls his online effort Getting Paid to Watch. You won’t be sorry you clicked through.
by Greg Prince on 31 January 2006 10:56 am Following a full year and most of a second offseason on the job, I think I have detected a bias to Omar Minaya's player procurement. It's not about where you're from — it's about how far you've come, how much farther you're likely to go and how much you're due.
We've seen the man has no problem doling out megabucks to megastars or those players who are the closest available to that level. He expects them to perform at a high plane, so he doesn't mind the high prices they command and, as we've seen, he isn't shy about letting go of unproven youngsters (Mike Jacobs among them) in whom he's not fully invested.
It's the guys who have likely maxed out for whom he seems to have little use, particularly if he has to pay them for what they have done rather than what he believes they will actually do.
That may sound like GM 101, but think about how Minaya's predecessors let various bundles of, to use an unkind term, dead wood lie around and gather dust. A Lenny Harris here, a Joe McEwing there, that kind of player. They both did lovely things in 2000 but were rewarded beyond their usefulness in the coming year or years with contracts that were longer than necessary. Omar seems to understand that certain cogs are more replaceable than others and he isn't shy about replacing them.
It's not exactly Moneyball, but it's at least a second cousin.
The roster decisions that have been made in the Minaya regime reflect a fairly cool (you might say cold) approach in such matters, particularly if the players in question weren't acquired on his watch.
Mike Cameron? Several factors (recovery and position most prominently) at work, but the bottom line was he was overpriced at $7 million-plus owed for '06. Omar decided he could make right field work much cheaper and not all that much less efficiently between Xavier Nady, Victor Diaz and whoever else he might pick up along the way.
Kris Benson? Ditto on there being extenuating circumstances, but double-ditto on the price tag. Yes, Benson was one of Omar's first pieces of business in the fall of 2004, but think about the corner the Mets were in. They were still taking flak for Kazmir, sent away the same day Kris showed up. To be left with nothing but Victor Zambrano following what some think of as the July 30 Massacre wasn't going to cut it. Benson had the Mets over a barrel and got a moderately ridiculous $22.5 million three-year deal. One so-so year in, he wasn't showing scads of progress. Omar cut his losses, not to mention a spousal headache. Benson was by no means worthless (I certainly didn't think so when this trade was made), but I doubt he's the difference-maker for 2006.
Roberto Hernandez and Marlon Anderson? Two very pleasant surprises from spring training 2005. Also two journeymen who aren't getting any younger and could be judged to have peaked. Based on what they did last year, they were within their rights to seek multiple years and nice increases. Omar was within his rights to think if you can pull a middle relief lifesaver and a utility wiz out of your cap in '05, why not try it again in '06?
Miguel Cairo? He didn't rate a return, but when did that stop the Mets in the past? We would've heard about his versatility and his good character and he'd have been signed for two more years for more than a million per. Omar saw through that. Same for all those other not-offered-arbitration fringies who dare not speak their names.
Jae Seo? The money thing doesn't work here. Seo's been up and down between here and Norfolk since 2002, accumulating only one full MLB season in '03. The fact that Seo was as down as up in '05 is the tipoff that Omar didn't trust him from start to start. The GM certainly knew of him from his first stint in the Met front office and from his time with Montreal (I recall an abominable meltdown versus the Expos on Fireworks Night three years ago). Remember that Seo had a beautiful start in May and couldn't displace Kaz Ishii until August. There's an obvious disconnect between this general manager and this pitcher. The Mets have fallen head over heels for marginal players who have impressed for a spell only to take the fall themselves when those players were penciled in the following spring. Jason Phillips, anyone?
Mike Piazza? Perfect world, he finishes here and gets an authentic sendoff, not the juryrigged “yeah, he's leaving, but…” halfassery to which we were party last October 2. But this isn't the A.L. where a deteriorating Bernie Williams can bat four times a game and stand around in the outfield once a week while praying no one hits it to him. Mike Piazza's downslide was too apparent to pretend he's a force at or behind the plate and Mike Piazza's presence is too heavy to imagine he could just recede into the woodwork as a part-time catcher/pinch-hitter deluxe and that everybody concerned would be happy. If he really wanted to stay a Met, a way (a relatively inexpensive one) would've been found. I don't think he did. Let him go, as Omar did.
What's the net on all these deletions?
• A realpolitik worldview that says starters who were (in his estimation) never going to break through beyond their current state are worth the price of a fortified bullpen. Duaner Sanchez every other day is hence judged more valuable than Jae Seo every fifth.
• A bench that will reflect the disposability of bench players (save for Chris Woodward and Ramon Castro who earned their raises) and the idea that there are bargains (perhaps Bret Boone) to be had and even kids (perhaps Jeff Keppinger) to be played. Roberto Hernandez exits, Chad Bradford enters. It could work.
• A budget that digs out the change between the proverbial couch cushions to put toward big-ticket items like Delgado, Wagner and Lo Duca, buying quality in the quest to win now, his fairly obvious charge from the Wilpons.
• A healthy impatience that doesn't cross its fingers that a Cameron or Benson or Cairo will perform at his best instead of his more likely mediocre.
• An unsentimental manner of building a ballclub.
Not everything fits the model. Omar liked the cut of Julio Franco's jib enough to give him two years that will leave the ageful wonder one year shy of his 50th birthday. It was probably excessive, but let's allow the general manager one or two whims. Rules need exceptions.
Matsui's still here, but that's the market at work. Zambrano's still here, but there's talent there and it's worth another shot at tapping. Jorge Julio bears some definite scars, but those are what they pay Rick Peterson to remove.
Meanwhile, until further notice, Aaron Heilman remains. Lastings Milledge remains. Mike Pelfrey is in the fold. Jose Reyes wasn't packaged for Miguel Tejada. Sammy Sosa's nowhere in sight.
Putting aside the downright silly Hispanic Quotient stuff (yes, it's a bummer having a GM who might see in certain players what other GMs may be prone to overlook), what I think we have working on our behalf is a very confident baseball executive. He has put himself on the line and he doesn't mind operating out there.
Omar has seemed bent on quickly remaking the Mets to his own specifications in the best tradition of Leo Durocher when he took over the Giants and Whitey Herzog after gaining control of the Cardinals. Everybody wants to bring in his own guys, but Omar's been particularly diligent about purging every non-core Met — and a few who were core — brought in by Steve Phillips or Jim Duquette. Even with MLB turnover being what it is, Minaya's Mets have run through existing personnel like Reyes sprints from home to third.
Granted, the pre-Omar regime wasn't in the midst of a dynasty, but his actions indicate to me a GM who is sure of what it will take to compete and win. He doesn't seem to have much use for the vast swath of players who play at a level between useful part and star attraction. Benson, Cameron and Seo (taken as a whole) had revealed themselves to be, at best, pretty good, and Omar has no patience for pretty good players who make very good money. I sense he'd rather get by with those who project a notch below, like Nady, until he can do something more (the elusive Manny, et al) rather than hope that he'll get an abnormally good year from a Cameron, a guy who wasn't his signing.
Omar, I'm thinking, doesn't trust anybody's judgment other than Omar's. That's a good thing if you don't like management by committee and particularly if Omar has spectacular judgment.
We shall see.
On the off chance anybody out there is thinking about the Super Bowl, evidence that football isn't that big a deal is offered at Gotham Baseball.
by Greg Prince on 31 January 2006 12:33 am To our affiliates along the New York Mets blogging network:
If you were kind enough to post a link or a save a bookmark to Faith and Fear in Flushing before December 2005, chances are you have an outdated URL that won't get you here. Two months ago, our blog host compelled us to change addresses but notified us we had an unspecified transition period in which the old one would work.
That transition period apparently ran out today. D'oh!
To ensure that you and/or your readers can find us, please update your Faith and Fear in Flushing link/bookmark to this:
http://www.faithandfearinflushing.com
We apologize for the inconvenience and thank you for your support.
(And please don't ask the perfectly logical question, “How am I reading this if I don't already have the new URL?” One miracle at a time, folks.)
A note to our fellow Mets bloggers who aren't yet listed among our links: You will be up there very shortly. The way we do things here is one of us holds the blog links while the other one turns the ladder. If you've notified us of your existence, we have made note and we are planning on adding you. If we don't know that you are a Mets blogger, please let us know you are by e-mailing us at faithandfear@gmail.com and you will be part of the listings.
Naturally, if any of you have changed your URLs since you went live, please drop us a line and we'll update.
Thanks everybody.
by Greg Prince on 30 January 2006 10:13 am It's dangerous to attempt to piece together a 25-man roster even at this late stage of the winter, but I'm going to give it a try.
The catcher will be a Metropolitan-American.
Around the infield we'll see four Metropolitan-Americans.
Each of the three outfield spots will be occupied by a Metropolitan-American.
The bench? All Metropolitan-Americans.
Five Metropolitan-Americans will fill out the rotation. The bullpen, from the long man to the closer, will have nothing but Metropolitan-Americans.
You can really root for a team that's made up of Metropolitan-Americans. Taken as a unit, it should be a pretty good group we can all get behind.
And the man who put it together? I think we'll eventually look at him as a credit to his race.
The pennant race.
by Greg Prince on 30 January 2006 10:11 am One more curtain call for Mike Piazza! He signed with the Padres. Last week's rumors about him and the Skanks proved hollow. For that alone, he rates a standing ovation.
One now, two later. He's scheduled to compete against us in seven separate games, four in April in San Diego, three in August at Shea. I will go clap-happy in front of the television when the Mets are at Petco and have just now made plans to do it again from a seat in Queens.
Not that I'll be using the seat when he comes to bat. Never had much use for it before, why start now?
Mike could have done us some real good by going to the Blue Jays and exterminating certain A.L. East bacteria, but then we wouldn't get to see him in his old house. By August 8, I may not be terribly enthused at the prospect of watching him take one of his old batterymates deep, but right now I wouldn't forsake him that pleasure.
Mets 10 Padres 1 — yeah, that's doable.
As for the rest of the time, Mike Piazza will be up too late to be included in this edition. Something like half of his games will merit the ol' (n) in the next morning's papers. Damn you San Diego for your inconsiderate choice of time zone. Yes, the Internet is the Denny's of communications vehicles, open at all hours, but nobody Back Here really has much idea of what goes on Out There. As far as we know, Barry Bonds is six homers shy of 500 and two hat sizes short of gargantuan.
Distance notwithstanding, I'll do my best to keep tabs on our erstwhile catcher and heroic figure. I did the same for Fonzie when he crossed the continent. It took me a couple of years to not pay attention to Giants games for his performances. I don't know that Mike has a couple of years, but whatever he does, I hope he does it well and, if he can help it, not at our expense too much.
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