“It gets late early out here.” - Yogi Berra
In recent years it has become clearer and clearer that no one figure – not even Casey Stengel – is as passionately loved by both Mets and Yankees fans the way Yogi Berra is. There are times when I myself become convinced that nobody “gets” the Mets like Yogi does.
Think about that for a second: Yogi Berra, a Champion Yankee if there ever was, is just as much an embodiment of Metsdom as he is of Yankeedom.
After all, the Yogi-ism to end all Yogi-isms was authored in the late summer of 1973: “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over.” Yogi uttered that timeless phrase as manager of those miraculous 1973 New York Mets. The Mets that stormed from last-place on August 30th to a stunning division title, a shocking upset of the Big Red Machine in the League Championship Series, and a very-near upset of the three-peating Oakland Athletics in the World Series. The “Ya Gotta Believe” Mets. Yogi nailed it.
But back to the original quote. “It gets late early out here.” Now take that quote and couple it with the words of John Smoltz (amongst others): “You can’t win a pennant in May. But you sure can lose one.” Now match the two quotes with a 4-8 stretch in which each and every one of the losses was excruciating in its own right: 5 decided in the opponent’s last or second-to-last at-bat, 2 gut-wrenching blowouts at the hands of the sign-stealing archrival, and 1 in which the Mets had endless chances in a game that ended in a 3-2 defeat.
Welcome to crisis mode, Mets fans. You know, the mode Mets fans go into when they lose one heartbreaking game, let alone eight in a twelve-game stretch.
“It gets late early out here.”
Can you think of six words that better express the sentiment Mets fans have about their club right now? The wit and wisdom of Yogi Berra hits the State of Metsdom right on the head. Again.
--
What can we objectively say about these 2010 New York Mets? They’re definitely interesting and they seem to care a lot more than they have in recent campaigns.
The most accurate read on the 2010 Mets to this point is this: streaky. They’re streaky in terms of wins-and-losses and also in terms of personnel. The lineup is chock-full of more-than-capable hitters who, historically, are all prone to drastic streakiness. Jason Bay, Jeff Francoeur, David Wright, Jeff Francoeur, and Rod Barajas are all boom-or-bust hitters. None of the five has a batting average over .280. All of them are prone to strikeouts, none more so than Wright who is on a horrifying strikeout pace (38% of his at-bats). The trio at the top of the order hasn’t been particularly special either. “Leadoff” hitter Angel Pagan has an on-base percentage of .326. Obviously the goal is to get Jose Reyes going, but he’s hitting .221 with a horrifyingly low on-base percentage of .275. These Mets have no place to turn for any consistency in their lineup. At this point, the Mets’ most reliable hitter is a first baseman who is just now in his fourth week in the Majors.
The rotation is also quite streaky. As we’ve known for a long time, they need another reliable innings-eater to go with Johan and Pelfrey. The fact that Jon Niese and Oliver Perez in particular struggle to get through even a very modest 5 innings is scary. The bullpen is pitching way too much. Fernando Nieve has appeared in 22 of the Mets’ 35 games. He’s thrown 20 1/3 innings and his effectiveness is clearly beginning to wear off. Hisanori Takahashi has logged 23 innings of relief. (For some perspective on that, starting pitcher Oliver Perez has hurled a grand total of 30 innings to this point without missing a start.) The bullpen as a whole has been outstanding all year, but their workload is a concern.
I believe this lineup has underachieved so far – at least numbers-wise. For Castillo, Reyes, Wright, Bay, and Francoeur, I believe that there is definitely room for improvement with each. But there needs to be a driving force that can be consistent and not as prone to the streakiness that has dominated this bunch so far. The force, of course, goes by the name of Carlos Beltran. He could be the piece that puts a talented lineup over the top. He’d restore Reyes to the leadoff spot. If Reyes gets on base, Luis Castillo is a very reliable second-place hitter. Some combination of Beltran, Bay, and Wright goes 3-4-5. Ike Davis could settle in at sixth, with Francoeur and Barajas at 7-8. The bench has great potential with Blanco, Cora, Carter, Pagan, and Tatis. That team can score runs.
But nobody knows if or when Beltran will return. If he doesn’t, where do the Mets turn?
And how do they address the gaping hole in their rotation, which affects their bullpen and drags down a whole ballclub twice every fifth day?
Let’s face the facts: the New York Mets, as currently constructed, are a slightly above-average ballclub. That’s certainly what their 18-17 record suggests. Their bullpen is outstanding, and they have a tendency to fight that they’ve lacked for awhile now. But they have a pair of obvious shortcomings that will be very difficult to overcome. We can only hope Omar Minaya can make the move(s) that can make the Mets a legitimate contender.
Showing posts with label Mets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mets. Show all posts
Friday, May 14, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
Breakfast with the Mets
There might be just one person in all of Northern California who is THRILLED that the San Francisco Giants are playing a pair of 10 AM games this weekend. And that person is yours truly.
I’ve been in Richmond, a dirt-poor, crime-ridden city (think: Camden, NJ) just north of Oakland on the eastern shore of San Francisco Bay, for the past four months. I took a semester off from my studies at Seton Hall to do volunteer work at a high school and Boys & Girls Club out here. It’s probably been the best thing I’ve ever done; I’ve had some very necessary time and space to grow and mature and help young people, my passion. There are really only a handful of things I miss from New York: my family and friends, my car, and, of course, the New York Mets.
But the last part ends at 4:10 this afternoon my time. The Mets are on the TV and the radio again.
Sure, they’ve had more than their share of national broadcasts already. But national broadcasts are really made-for-TV events, not baseball games. They’re placed in awkward time slots (even more awkward times out west than back east), filled with extra-long commercials, and fail to capture the flow and the feel of a “normal” baseball game.
Sure, I did get to watch a couple of “normal” Mets games on TV the first week of the season: DirecTV was showing their free preview of the out-of-town baseball package. But since I don’t get paid and I don’t have the cajones to ask the poor community I live in for $200 so I could watch a few baseball games for a couple months (I come home June 29th, just before the season’s midway point ), one week was all I got. (Not to mention it was the first week of the season, against less-than-stellar competition, and they went 2-4 anyway.)
Finally, the Mets are playing three “normal” ballgames. And I get to watch all three. Not on ESPN or FOX or TBS (aka The Braves Station), but on a normal local network. All is Wright with my world. Another perfect day in NorCal is punctuated with Reyes of sunshine. I can leave all my worries on the Pelf once more.
The Mets can get swept, I can lose a lunch bet, and I will still be the happiest man in America on Monday morning. Pelfrey can have yet another disastrous inning and make us all believe his spectacular April was an aberration. Johan can serve up 5 more home runs (not likely if you’ve seen this Giants offense in recent years, but with the Mets one never knows), and Bad Ollie can make yet another short and unproductive outing. Nieve can be overused and ineffective, Jerry can double-switch Wright out of the game three more times, and Jason Bay can go 0-for-15. And it won’t matter at all.
You see, it’s never been about wins and losses with me. All I’ve ever asked for from the Mets was for them to be there, 162 times over the course of six months. All I need from the Mets is three hours where everything going on in my life can take a back seat to a simple activity that I have no control over: a ballgame. And finally, that ballgame is coming to me in living color.
You can bet that I will schedule my weekend around 10 AM baseball games. Tell me, when was the last time you could say that?
I’ve been in Richmond, a dirt-poor, crime-ridden city (think: Camden, NJ) just north of Oakland on the eastern shore of San Francisco Bay, for the past four months. I took a semester off from my studies at Seton Hall to do volunteer work at a high school and Boys & Girls Club out here. It’s probably been the best thing I’ve ever done; I’ve had some very necessary time and space to grow and mature and help young people, my passion. There are really only a handful of things I miss from New York: my family and friends, my car, and, of course, the New York Mets.
But the last part ends at 4:10 this afternoon my time. The Mets are on the TV and the radio again.
Sure, they’ve had more than their share of national broadcasts already. But national broadcasts are really made-for-TV events, not baseball games. They’re placed in awkward time slots (even more awkward times out west than back east), filled with extra-long commercials, and fail to capture the flow and the feel of a “normal” baseball game.
Sure, I did get to watch a couple of “normal” Mets games on TV the first week of the season: DirecTV was showing their free preview of the out-of-town baseball package. But since I don’t get paid and I don’t have the cajones to ask the poor community I live in for $200 so I could watch a few baseball games for a couple months (I come home June 29th, just before the season’s midway point ), one week was all I got. (Not to mention it was the first week of the season, against less-than-stellar competition, and they went 2-4 anyway.)
Finally, the Mets are playing three “normal” ballgames. And I get to watch all three. Not on ESPN or FOX or TBS (aka The Braves Station), but on a normal local network. All is Wright with my world. Another perfect day in NorCal is punctuated with Reyes of sunshine. I can leave all my worries on the Pelf once more.
The Mets can get swept, I can lose a lunch bet, and I will still be the happiest man in America on Monday morning. Pelfrey can have yet another disastrous inning and make us all believe his spectacular April was an aberration. Johan can serve up 5 more home runs (not likely if you’ve seen this Giants offense in recent years, but with the Mets one never knows), and Bad Ollie can make yet another short and unproductive outing. Nieve can be overused and ineffective, Jerry can double-switch Wright out of the game three more times, and Jason Bay can go 0-for-15. And it won’t matter at all.
You see, it’s never been about wins and losses with me. All I’ve ever asked for from the Mets was for them to be there, 162 times over the course of six months. All I need from the Mets is three hours where everything going on in my life can take a back seat to a simple activity that I have no control over: a ballgame. And finally, that ballgame is coming to me in living color.
You can bet that I will schedule my weekend around 10 AM baseball games. Tell me, when was the last time you could say that?
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Back Off the Ledge!!!
Bases-loaded walks. In some sick sense, they’re the type of back-breaking events that define a 20-year-old’s life as a Mets fan. There was the Kenny Rogers one that ended the Mets’ epic first postseason run of my life. This past Sunday night, there was the two-out, bases-loaded walk to the opposing pitcher that launched a 9-run-rally against Johan Santana – and, for that matter, this blog.
Mets fans are an interesting type. We’re unique, knowledgeable (perhaps to a fault?), and always waiting for the other shoe to drop. We desperately want to have some reason to believe – after all, Tug McGraw gave us a moral imperative to believe some 37 years ago. Mets fans long to make their voices heard. These are all undisputed facts.
However, this blog seeks to argue that, above, all, New York Mets fans are the most emotionally-charged mood swingers in all of American sport. We, as a fan base, despite our acute sense of reason with regards to baseball in general, refuse to let anybody look at the Mets as “just another baseball team”. We are at the point in our history where we can tolerate losing – just not irrelevance. (We remember, after all, what the late 1970s and early-to-mid 1990s looked like, and we refuse to let that happen again.)
Perhaps this natural defensiveness and overpowering emotion (fans on the other side of town might call this an “inferiority complex”) is why the Mets are so popular in talk radio and the blogosphere. These mediums certainly seem like they were created for and are without question sustained by this hungry fan base. When the Mets are winning, there is nothing but peace, joy, and love in Metsdom. Mets fans take New York by storm. When the Mets are losing, panic and fear take to the streets. Mets fans live only in extremes. Mediocrity is simply not available in the colors of orange-and-blue.
This blog seeks to find the cure to the bipolar nature of Mets fandom. It wants to keep things simple – it is about the simple game of baseball at the end of the day, you know. It seeks to keep people humble when the Mets go 9-1 on a homestand and demolish the Phillies on a Friday night by that same score. It also tries (perhaps futilely) to stop people from doing harmful things to themselves when the Phillies put up two huge innings against the Mets’ two best pitchers the next two days and take an early May series (hence the title of the blog, “Back Off the Ledge!!!”).
Slowly, you’ll get to know me as a Mets fan and as a human being. I consider myself to be a reasonable thinker who can watch each pitch yet still be immune to the emotional roller-coaster of every single 9-inning (20-inning?) baseball game every single day from April to October. I will try to use this blog as an effective way to combat that roller-coaster. But I think for now there’s only one place to start: Shea Stadium, May 26, 1996.
--
I was born in October of 1989, the month that directly followed the final curtain falling on the should-have-been Mets dynasty of the 1980s. The Mets would go on to win 91 games in 1990, but the winter of 1989-90 saw the departure of Keith Hernandez and Gary Carter, two men who represented the heart-and-soul of the Mets’ transformation from laughingstock to world-beaters. The following season, Davey Johnson was canned and Darryl Strawberry suited up in orange-and-blue for the final time. It was clear that this once-great organization was solidly moving in the wrong direction. In 1991, they slipped to 5th place in the NL East, losing 84 games. In 1992, they were a 90-game loser, despite the additions of Bobby Bonilla and Eddie Murray. And then they reached their nadir in 1993 with an early-‘60s-esque 103 losses. By May 26, 1996, the Mets as a baseball club were irrelevant in New York.
There was, of course, one baseball team in New York who wore blue pinstripes on their home uniforms and would reign as champions of the baseball world five months later. A long drought would be ended and joy and ticker-tape would fill the streets of Lower Manhattan. They were a team that would capture the hearts of young baseball fans for years to come. It was the perfect fairy tale beginning for a young boy’s life as a baseball fan.
That fairy tale, of course, does not belong to this young boy. On that damp and dreary Sunday at a dark, dingy, and mostly empty stadium at the north end of Flushing Meadows Park, a young boy experienced the moment of a lifetime. It’s the defining moment so eloquently described by J.R. Moehringher in his 2008 tribute to Shea Stadium:
“You walk through the long dark tunnel, you burst forth into that vista of sunlight and cool grass -- that's the moment you become a fan. It's as irrevocable, as seminal, as when you come through that other long dark tunnel, into the arms of a doctor who grabs your ankles and slaps your ass. And you have just as much choice in the matter.”
In that moment and on that day, as I emerged through the tunnel on the first-base side of the Shea Stadium mezzanine, I was born into it. And I still haven’t forgiven my mother and grandfather for that.
Those 1996 Mets did something that day they did only 70 other times that year – they won. Bobby Jones pitched 8 strong innings backed only by a first-inning Bernard Gilkey home run, which I actually missed because we were stuck in traffic on the Grand Central Parkway. What we didn’t miss was my first true ninth inning as a Mets fan. Immediately I understood what Bob Murphy meant every time he implored us, “Buckle your seatbelts, folks, we go to the ninth… on the WFAN Mets radio network.”
Two words: John Franco. Every Mets fan knows where I’m going with this one. He simply found a way to make every ninth inning interesting. In some ways, he was a master magician – he actually found a way to escape most of them. Somehow, this day would join the ranks of Johnny Franco's Great Escapes.
With two outs and a runner on first, Franco yielded a base hit and a walk. The tying and go-ahead runs were in scoring position for San Diego. The lefty was about to blow my first game. Yet, ever-so-miraculously, Franco escaped, striking out the final batter, and eliciting a sigh of relief from the 20,000 patrons who bothered to show. I had my 1-0 win. I had a team to call my own. I was officially born into Metsdom.
--
In the blogosphere (if not on the field), Mets fans have proven very effective. Even when the Mets shouldn’t matter (70-92 a year ago), they matter. There are a half-a-million Mets blogs out there, and each and every Mets fan has a different perspective on the team we all can’t seem to stop rooting for no matter how hard they (and Mike Francesca) try to get us to go away. I hope this blog can capture the feel of a franchise and its loving fan base, while also staying within the Light of Reason over the course of the long draw that is a 162 game season.
It is so easy to be cynical nowadays, especially as hungry, young baseball fans who have never seen their beloved ballclub win it all. But to give oneself the title of “New York Mets fan”, one must remember to always believe. Let’s Go Mets.
Mets fans are an interesting type. We’re unique, knowledgeable (perhaps to a fault?), and always waiting for the other shoe to drop. We desperately want to have some reason to believe – after all, Tug McGraw gave us a moral imperative to believe some 37 years ago. Mets fans long to make their voices heard. These are all undisputed facts.
However, this blog seeks to argue that, above, all, New York Mets fans are the most emotionally-charged mood swingers in all of American sport. We, as a fan base, despite our acute sense of reason with regards to baseball in general, refuse to let anybody look at the Mets as “just another baseball team”. We are at the point in our history where we can tolerate losing – just not irrelevance. (We remember, after all, what the late 1970s and early-to-mid 1990s looked like, and we refuse to let that happen again.)
Perhaps this natural defensiveness and overpowering emotion (fans on the other side of town might call this an “inferiority complex”) is why the Mets are so popular in talk radio and the blogosphere. These mediums certainly seem like they were created for and are without question sustained by this hungry fan base. When the Mets are winning, there is nothing but peace, joy, and love in Metsdom. Mets fans take New York by storm. When the Mets are losing, panic and fear take to the streets. Mets fans live only in extremes. Mediocrity is simply not available in the colors of orange-and-blue.
This blog seeks to find the cure to the bipolar nature of Mets fandom. It wants to keep things simple – it is about the simple game of baseball at the end of the day, you know. It seeks to keep people humble when the Mets go 9-1 on a homestand and demolish the Phillies on a Friday night by that same score. It also tries (perhaps futilely) to stop people from doing harmful things to themselves when the Phillies put up two huge innings against the Mets’ two best pitchers the next two days and take an early May series (hence the title of the blog, “Back Off the Ledge!!!”).
Slowly, you’ll get to know me as a Mets fan and as a human being. I consider myself to be a reasonable thinker who can watch each pitch yet still be immune to the emotional roller-coaster of every single 9-inning (20-inning?) baseball game every single day from April to October. I will try to use this blog as an effective way to combat that roller-coaster. But I think for now there’s only one place to start: Shea Stadium, May 26, 1996.
--
I was born in October of 1989, the month that directly followed the final curtain falling on the should-have-been Mets dynasty of the 1980s. The Mets would go on to win 91 games in 1990, but the winter of 1989-90 saw the departure of Keith Hernandez and Gary Carter, two men who represented the heart-and-soul of the Mets’ transformation from laughingstock to world-beaters. The following season, Davey Johnson was canned and Darryl Strawberry suited up in orange-and-blue for the final time. It was clear that this once-great organization was solidly moving in the wrong direction. In 1991, they slipped to 5th place in the NL East, losing 84 games. In 1992, they were a 90-game loser, despite the additions of Bobby Bonilla and Eddie Murray. And then they reached their nadir in 1993 with an early-‘60s-esque 103 losses. By May 26, 1996, the Mets as a baseball club were irrelevant in New York.
There was, of course, one baseball team in New York who wore blue pinstripes on their home uniforms and would reign as champions of the baseball world five months later. A long drought would be ended and joy and ticker-tape would fill the streets of Lower Manhattan. They were a team that would capture the hearts of young baseball fans for years to come. It was the perfect fairy tale beginning for a young boy’s life as a baseball fan.
That fairy tale, of course, does not belong to this young boy. On that damp and dreary Sunday at a dark, dingy, and mostly empty stadium at the north end of Flushing Meadows Park, a young boy experienced the moment of a lifetime. It’s the defining moment so eloquently described by J.R. Moehringher in his 2008 tribute to Shea Stadium:
“You walk through the long dark tunnel, you burst forth into that vista of sunlight and cool grass -- that's the moment you become a fan. It's as irrevocable, as seminal, as when you come through that other long dark tunnel, into the arms of a doctor who grabs your ankles and slaps your ass. And you have just as much choice in the matter.”
In that moment and on that day, as I emerged through the tunnel on the first-base side of the Shea Stadium mezzanine, I was born into it. And I still haven’t forgiven my mother and grandfather for that.
Those 1996 Mets did something that day they did only 70 other times that year – they won. Bobby Jones pitched 8 strong innings backed only by a first-inning Bernard Gilkey home run, which I actually missed because we were stuck in traffic on the Grand Central Parkway. What we didn’t miss was my first true ninth inning as a Mets fan. Immediately I understood what Bob Murphy meant every time he implored us, “Buckle your seatbelts, folks, we go to the ninth… on the WFAN Mets radio network.”
Two words: John Franco. Every Mets fan knows where I’m going with this one. He simply found a way to make every ninth inning interesting. In some ways, he was a master magician – he actually found a way to escape most of them. Somehow, this day would join the ranks of Johnny Franco's Great Escapes.
With two outs and a runner on first, Franco yielded a base hit and a walk. The tying and go-ahead runs were in scoring position for San Diego. The lefty was about to blow my first game. Yet, ever-so-miraculously, Franco escaped, striking out the final batter, and eliciting a sigh of relief from the 20,000 patrons who bothered to show. I had my 1-0 win. I had a team to call my own. I was officially born into Metsdom.
--
In the blogosphere (if not on the field), Mets fans have proven very effective. Even when the Mets shouldn’t matter (70-92 a year ago), they matter. There are a half-a-million Mets blogs out there, and each and every Mets fan has a different perspective on the team we all can’t seem to stop rooting for no matter how hard they (and Mike Francesca) try to get us to go away. I hope this blog can capture the feel of a franchise and its loving fan base, while also staying within the Light of Reason over the course of the long draw that is a 162 game season.
It is so easy to be cynical nowadays, especially as hungry, young baseball fans who have never seen their beloved ballclub win it all. But to give oneself the title of “New York Mets fan”, one must remember to always believe. Let’s Go Mets.
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