Mets 2012

Larry’s Fine

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I leave town for a few days and the shit hits the fans with some of my teams doings in play and outside of the box.  The Mets made a kerfuffle though, when there was news that hit that they would honor Chipper Jones on his retirement tour.

I can’t really find anything sourcing it for sure (the announcement certainly didn’t come from the Mets directly), but the reaction to it was quite strong.  Mostly of the “let’s not do it” variety from the Mets fans population.

Let me tell you something.  I’ve spent a good amount of time in my Mets fandom dreading when Chipper Jones comes up to bat at a critical time against the Mets, and I cringe usually because the story seems to set itself.  Perhaps we dread him though being a Mets killer because we would see his team 18 times a year.  And let’s be fair, the Mets usually beat themselves at those times, not the other way around (Sorry to bring that up, but ’tis true).

But let me go on record to say how much this rumored honoring actually doesn’t bother me.

1.)  Larry Jones didn’t just kill the Mets.  Did you know he had better career numbers against the Phillies?  It’s just that when it counted, Larry would come up huge against the Mets.  But as I said before, those Mets teams generally beat themselves with shitty bullpens and bad thought processes.  Also, let’s be real the Braves were really really good in the 1990s.  I always felt that rivalry was more of a big brother/little brother variety, like “Why are you guys always picking on meeeeeee?”

2.) Cal Ripken and Tony Gwynn.  These guys were not only baseball legends while they played, but were lifers with one team.  Those guys are hard to find nowadays. When they retired, every single baseball park practically gave them a send off that would rival any of their own players I’m sure.  It’s a respect thing.  And Larry Jones is Hall of Fame material, with or without the Mets killing.

3.) It’s not like the Mets haven’t done shit like this before.  They’ve honored Bobby Cox with a bottle of GTS wine, and Craig Biggio with a video montage prior to his retirement.  It’s a respect thing.

4.) It’s a respect thing.  Hey, you don’t have to like Larry.  But you have to respect him.  Kind of like the Yankees.  Okay, maybe not.  The Rangers fan base still uses “Potvin Sucks” as a chant for a guy that hasn’t played in like 30 years.  It’s a RESPECT thing at this point.  But at least Larry didn’t use PEDs or steroids or anything like that.  He doesn’t beat his wife, use drugs or drive drunk.  He just likes H00ters waitresses and sex.  Nascar too probably.

5.) He gets it.  Larry gets the rivalry.  We talked about this on the KinersKorner.com podcast, and that there was some awards ceremony and Larry had to give a speech.  He thanked the New York fans for reminding him what his real name was.  Though I hated him for his “Put on their Yankee gear” quote in 1999, he came around and gave the fans here a nod in the rivalry.

6.) They’re not giving a statue, people.  If they do honor him, it will be a video clip montage and his GTS wine.  Some have pointed out that the Mets never properly honored Gary Carter, but they’d honor Larry.  I disagree.  The Mets have always done right by him.  They didn’t retire his number, so what?  He had two good years and helped win a championship.  I get that.  He also had admittedly better years outside of a Mets uniform.

Let’s be fair folks: maybe the Mets have a tough time honoring their history because some of the players just weren’t good enough.  I mean, who will we put on a pedestal?  Tom Seaver is the only player wearing a Mets cap in the Hall of Fame, and potentially Mike Piazza will be too.  I guarantee his number will be retired one day, so what’s the harm in waiting another year to officially do so?  My point is, we need to take a reality check here and realize that we’ve honored the players we could with our version of the ring of honor in the Mets Hall of Fame.  For me, that’s good enough for the players who were good enough as Mets but not Hall of Fame material.

I have done my fair share of Larry Jones mocking, but he gets the rivalry and realizes his place.  He’s comfortable with it.  I’m comfortable with some kind of send off.  Let’s be nice and give him his due, but also never let him forget his name again.

Por El Amor De Pedro

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I use a lot of catch phrases that some of you may be familiar with, some more than others.

“Holy Sheepshit and Balls” is one of them.

“Goddammit anyway.”

“Just forfeit.”

One of the biggies is “For the love of Pete” or shorthand “Love of Pete.” Sometimes I’ve been known to say “Love of FUCK.” But that’s neither here nor there.

Yet, when I start saying “Love of Pete” at baseball games, it means one thing.

That I’m back.

I had a tough time coming around on this season. Not that I’m incredibly pessimistic or anything like that, mostly because I’ve been distracted. The Rangers are actually pretty good and kept me occupied this offseason, and now it turns out that baseball, for once, is coming between me and hockey. It’s just something new to me. The last time the Rangers were this special in my life, I was a teenager, I certainly wasn’t blogging and the Mets also weren’t any good. So it was a no-brainer then. Rangers all the way. Now, though, I am inundated with social media updates and multiple methods of getting games without being near my television.  (Also, not to mention, the Rangers had already locked their playoff spot up and their regular season is now officially done, so we’re just waiting for the playoffs to begin this week).

Plus, I get a special dispensation for this weekend.  After all, it was opening weekend.

It was a summer family reunion for the books as Opening weekend came and went at CitiField.  It was a reunion of the family-we-choose and the family-we-have and a little bit of both.

   

Opening Day is almost stressful.  It’s the one day a year that everyone I pretty much know goes to the games, and we always try to get together.  Some happen.  Some don’t.  Yet, we need to get to the ballpark early so that we actually have time TO tailgate, and to make it into the park to see the opening ceremonies.  The parking lots are vast, and not everyone is parked by one another, so it’s tough to get to everyone.  We did a good job though.  We started off with the great Chapman tailgate, featuring the Housewives of CitiField edition (and the infamous margarita maker), visited Randy’s tailgate for Read the Apple (where we had a mini blogger summit featuring Media Goon from Mets Police, The Apple author himself, Dee from Metscellaneous, my husband from Studious Metsimus and yours truly), then onto Uncle Gene and Aunt Melissa’s, bringing me back to my childhood days when they would take their kids out of school to go to Opening Day at Shea.  (Of course, only ONE kid had to be taken out of school Thursday.  I’m old).

So we managed to get everything done that we wanted to prior to going into the park. Then came the actual finding of the area to take pics of the pregame, which included a tribute to my hero, Gary Carter. Now, we all know how much Coop loves Kid. We headed to the Promenade to get our shots of the entire field, and it ended up being a good idea until the Pastrachos incident.

   

See, some asshole not paying attention to the field ceremony decided that getting back to the seat before his pastrachos got cold distracted my husband from getting the first pitch and almost got Dee to miss her opportunity too. Because he wanted to sit.  And eat fucking nasty-ass pastrachos.

I know this is a first world problem. After all, we weren’t in seats that were our own, and if someone came to us as they were getting on the field, I would have gladly moved. That was the plan the whole time. But…not even fucking paying attention or paying respects to Kid’s family to eat your fucking PASTRACHOS????

That gets a big patented Coop middle finger.

The game goes on without incident.  I have to say, especially in the last few years, this has to be one of the most memorable if least stressful 1-0 Mets games I have ever attended.  If the Mets had lost 1-0, I’d have been all pissed off.  But they won, and the bullpen kept things together after Johan Santana made his pitch count quota for the day.  We did manage to have a Shea Bridge Blogger Summit Lite, since many of the blogging community representatives weren’t able to get Twitter during the game.  Or any social media type outlets.  More first world problems, but this is the fucking 21st goddamn century, and this happens every goddamn year with the Mets and CitiField.  Get us some wifi passwords or get better service.  THE END.

But hey, the bloggers I met up with are pretty goddamn fantastic.  Here’s me and Richie from Random Mets Thoughts toasting our first beer of the season, and Dee and Metstradamus joined us for more fun and excitement.

But the highlight of the day came after the game.  The post-game wrap up was being conducted outside CitiField for SNY.  So we hung around and figured, hey, maybe we’ll get on TV.

Does that answer your question?

By Saturday, things were somewhat back to normal.  Going to so many games, I kind of get jaded by going to so many games.  I generally get there about just a few minutes before first pitch.  While I like to watch the game from my seats, I’m not averse to getting up a few times during the games.  In fact, it’s almost essential because I need to charge my phone at some point and eat.  #FirstWorldProblems.

This time I was able to run into more bloggers for an impromptu blogger summit on the bridge.

 

Don’t be fooled: the two Coops of bloggers on the right are not twins (though we tried our best to fool people, with our matching sweatshirts and last names).

Anyhoo, few things of note besides a great R.A. Dickey start and another *yawn* Mets win on Saturday.

One was I found a new entrance to CitiField…sort of.  See, I have no idea what purpose it serves.  It seems like a secret handshake or password society door, between the Jackie Robinson Rotunda and Hodges entrances.  It’s the “Payson” entrance, presumably named after the Mets first owner and original Mets diva (and only woman honored in the Mets Hall of Fame and Museum), Joan Whitney Payson.  See, I wasn’t around when this woman was.  Let me tell you something: this is the type of owner I’d want.  Everyone had her respect.  To this day, Tom Seaver even calls her Mrs. Payson.  A Hall of Fame pitcher and World Champion with the Mets, and still refers to her with that title.  I think that’s awesome.

Anyway, I have no idea what purpose this entrance serves but if someone can find out, it would be cool to know.

 

Now what you see on the right of the Payson entrance is not an apparition.  It is not a mistake.  It is not a mirage.  It’s the Niese Chick with the Niese jersey.

Yes, I have found the only way to get anything remotely related to showing your fandom for Jonathon Joseph Niese, besides being his long-lost twin, is to actually get it customized.

But not to worry.  I didn’t actually buy it.  Sort of.  Well, I paid for it all right.  As a season ticket holder, the Mets have given you “Amazin’ Perks,” one of which is the “Super Fan Package” and your choice is the 50th anniversary customized jersey.  I wasn’t sure what I wanted.  I definitely wanted someone on this team.  By then, it was a foregone conclusion that Reyes wasn’t on the team.  I have a David Wright jersey (it was actually WORN by him at one point).  And I don’t know, who else?

Jon Niese – 49.

I have to practice what I preach.  Absolutely, because you cannot find a Niese shirt ANYWHERE.  ANYTIME.  Even at the Mets Clubhouse by Bryant Park.  Spare me the whole “Well, you can get whatever you want on MLB.com.”  The man has a contract extension, for fuck’s sake, let’s get some shirts made up in the Mets gift shops.  So I have set the trend.  (And after his performance on Sunday, I can tell you more people will want him items in stock, mark my words).

The beauty part was my sales rep met me during the game to give me my “goodie bag” including my brand new Niese jersey.  In time, though, because I was able to sport it on his first start of the season.

We got to the park early again, if only to meet up with some friends we really couldn’t see on Opening Day, but also to meet up with Mr DyHrdMet from Remembering Shea, who also had one thing on the agenda with Ed.

To take stalking photos of Jon Niese.

Well, okay.  I was down with that.

 

 

I took it a step further though.  I decided I was going to try to yell.  And get his attention.

And I did.

“I’m WEARING YOUR SHIRT JON!!!”

Hey, you know what, I can pretty much guarantee I’m one of the only people who do that besides someone with the last name NIESE.

He laughed, and kept doing his gallops in his stretching routine.

Then I yell at one point, “MEMBERS OF THE JONATHON JOSEPH NIESE FAN CLUB YEAH!!!!”

DyHrdMet was able to get the only shot of his reaction.

Photo credit to Jason Bornstein

He did smile and laughed at one point.  Go us.  Hopefully, he’ll hug his twin on the west coast.

So some special things happened on Niesester Sunday.  First, he had a shaky start then leveled out to no-hit the Braves for six-plus innings.  The Mets did manage to make the game interesting, a seven-run blow out to a nail-biting 7-5 in the 9th inning.

Yet, something else that shows me this ain’t yo’ mama’s Mets.  First, the bullpen has been without incident.  Save Manny Acosta giving up a home run, there hasn’t been much incident with the bullpen.  Hell, even Frank Francisco has been closing out fine.  Yet, when I see him out there, I don’t cringe, I don’t get palpitations.

What did give me palpitations was the no-hit bid.  When I’m in situations like that, I get flustered and to the point where I don’t even want to get up.  Same with my husband.  He said that it was nice to see that he married someone who “gets it.”  Oh, I get it all right.

I guess the good news was, I was able to try a burger from Keith’s Grill for the first time this year.  The “Mex Burger” to more precise: burger with cheddar and pepper jack cheeses, guacamole, jalapenos, bacon and chipotle aioli.  And yes, it was as delicious as it sounds.  Looking forward to eating it again.

 

Ballapeno was none too happy, though, with me eating a burger with his family members on it.

The most important part was that the Mets won.  The Mets won, for the love of Pete, the Mets won!  Let’s not get ahead of ourselves…they won a series against a Braves team that is still, for all intents and purposes, are reeling from a late-season collapse from 2011.  This ain’t yo’ mama’s Braves, either.

While I wait for the Stanley Cup playoffs to start, I’ll watch my baseball games and stalk the players and enjoy it while I can.  The Mets have put us through a lot these last few years, and while we may be suffering from post-traumatic Mets disorder, there was something interesting going on at CitiField.

It felt like we belonged there.  We belonged as fans, the Mets belong there.  It felt like a place I can look forward to watching games at for the next 40 or so years.

And hopefully, that asshole with the pastrachos will learn baseball etiquette by then.

Fine Line Between Pessimism and Low Expectations

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I have unusually low expectations for the Mets in 2012.

Usually, I look forward to Opening Day with such giddy anticipation as a child would look forward to waking up on Christmas morning, going out of their bedroom and seeing their prized bicycle under a tree.

This year it’s weird.  There are things I am looking forward to, such as seeing the friends I haven’t seen since the last game of 2011, seeing friends I see all year round, eating lots of bad food (not “bad” food, but “bad-for-you” food), and drinking alcohol.  It’s mostly the camaraderie I am looking forward to.  The blogger summit on Shea Bridge that we’ve taken to most games.

And yes, to an extent I am looking forward to seeing baseball played again.

Yet, I don’t want to sound pessimistic.  I think Mets fans have been put through the wringer with this team in the past few years.  Okay, maybe me.  I’ll never stop loving them, but DAMN BABY!  Make it stop!

I’m not pessimistic.  I have optimism for certain parts of the team.  Like Ike Davis, Lucas Duda, seeing Daniel Murphy play a full season (or at least attempt to), see how Jason Bay reacts to the new walls, see Johan Santana return, and see our young stars develop.  Whether I think that will be moxie enough to keep me interested all season remains to be seen.

I can be excited and love the team and love baseball games, but until they start showing me some changes, I’m not expecting much.  And I guess that’s a good thing because it seems like each year when we have high expectations they just temper them to the extent that we just get angry.

I guess what I’m trying to say is…it can only get better from here.

I hope.

PLAY BALL!!!

March Madness

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Most of you probably think of college hoops when you think of the term “March Madness.”  The reality is, I don’t have a horse in that race.  My husband is a St. John’s fan, but if it’s any indication I went to an all-women’s school for my undergrad.  Nuff said.  Although truth be told, I used to really be into hoops in general.  I followed John Stockton and Karl Malone on those great Utah Jazz teams (and ironically, married a Jazz fan, as he actively follows them to this day), but since they retired, I haven’t had much use for the sport professionally. My dad used to live down the street from Monmouth University and those basketball games were always fun.

I guess it was the survival of the fittest, in my life anyway.  Being a gal for all seasons, I don’t have a “break” per se in my sports world.  If you were to look at things from a calendar perspective, I’m booked pretty much from Jan 1 to Dec 31.  I may not have games every day for my team but I may have vested interests in other games to follow.  Basketball kind of fell by the wayside because since that season overlaps with hockey, a sport I like a great deal more than hoops, and ends well into baseball, my number one love, hoops took a hike.

Yet, March is a bit maddening, as a hockey fan and a baseball fan.  I’m looking at the Rangers schedule for the next few weeks and it is JAM PACKED.  We’re in the home stretch of the playoff push, and it’s pretty certain they will get a high ranking in the Stanley Cup playoffs.  I’ve often told my dad that hockey season ends when the Rangers are out of the playoffs and baseball season starts that same day.  In the fall, hockey season starts when the Mets are no longer playing (but I have to admit, I’ve watched most of the baseball playoffs in the last few years, just to torture myself I suppose since the Mets are almost certainly never a factor).  Somewhere, football comes in, but as you know, it’s not that much of a commitment.  So for me, the biggies are hockey and baseball due to the time commitments of being a fan.

So herein lies the problem.  It’s March.  My hockey team is doing extraordinarily well.  It seems like they’re playing every other damn day in the month of March.  Yet, my husband, whose baseball love trumps everything else, accepts my love of hockey, but there may be some games conflicting.  Hey, it’s baseball.  Baseball makes everything right.

Except when the Rangers are doing so well.  They had a great game against the Boston Bruins over the weekend, and it seems like this is the start of a new rivalry judging by how the game ended.  In speaking to my Ranger blogosphere buddies Nick Montemagno and Kevin DeLury on last week’s podcast, the general consensus is that the hot team gets hot at the right time and ultimately, rest is for the non-weary in hockey. Unlike baseball when you try to rest your regulars, the playoff push expects more of them.  And more of the fans who support them.

This leaves me with not a lot of free time going into the spring.

I never miss baseball Opening Day.  It’s like my High Holiday.  After that, it’s fair game till the Rangers are done.  But March will be a true test for me, given that the spring training broadcasts are so few and far between and that I have Ranger games many nights.  Should lead to an interesting household to say the least here.

Till There Was You

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I was in a bad mood today.

I shouldn’t have been, but I was anyway.  I finished a highly anticipated but nonetheless dreaded nine mile run yesterday.  It’s a gorgeous spring-like day, even though it’s not even March yet.

I sometimes get in a mood because I haven’t worked since September.  Today was no exception as I had a phone interview with someone that should have taken place on Friday, but my appointment got screwed up.  I was tired of people implying there is something wrong with me.  I didn’t sleep well either.  I had an appointment with a financial adviser.  Don’t worry: not taxes (yet, though that’s sure to be F-U-N with a capital F).

All I wanted was a cup of coffee.

So I heard that the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf was no opened by Bryant Park.  However, turns out my sources weren’t entirely on.  They’re a little below Bryant, but no worries.  The Mets Clubhouse Store is there, and I figured I’d report on the fact they still do not have Jon Niese shirts in the store (confirmed) and that I figured me investing in an Ike Davis shirsey was in my cards.

But so much more happened.  I didn’t get a shirt.  Perhaps I was too distracted by Mr. Met.

The second I saw him, a big smile was on my face.  That did it.  My bad mood was all of a sudden lifted by the appearance of the guy with the baseball as a head.

He gave me a high-four and we posed for a picture together.  Then, his “muscle” told me that John Franco was in the store signing autographs.

OOPS.

I totally had a brain cramp that Franco was visiting some stores today.  Again, one of those things that was unexpected.  I had gone in looking to buy something but instead I find the mascot and the guy who is being inducted in the Mets Hall of Fame.

 

Forget Disney World.  Today the Mets Clubhouse was the happiest place on Earth.

How can anyone be in a bad mood after seeing Mr. Met?  Seriously, how?  I went from scowling to smiling ear-to-ear in no time flat.

Then I remembered something.  It’s not spring on the calendar but it’s in the air.  Rita’s Water Ice is opening soon, the Mets are in spring training, and the weather is very mild.

And I see Mr.  Met.  This is what we call “Winning,” people.

Till I saw Mr. Met, I would have just been another pissed off New Yorker.  I walked away without an Ike Davis shirt but with an extra skip in my step reminding me of the good I have in my life, and how much baseball is a part of that.

Thanks Mr. Met.  My advice to you is that if you have any worries, just find Mr. Met.  You can’t help but smile when you see him.

It Gets Better

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In the last year or so, there has been a push of special public service announcements conducted by Major League Baseball players, to help combat teenage and children bullying, especially in the LGBT community and in general, any child who may experience bullying to a degree that it seems like there’s no way out.

Unless you are a baseball player, of course.  That doesn’t apply to you.

Let me back up here.

There’s no secret that possibly my favorite Met right now is Jon Niese (okay, it’s a three-way tie between Niese, Ike Davis and Daniel Murphy).  I’m also one of those Mets fans who actually liked Carlos Beltran, though admittedly it took me a long time to come around to him.  Turns out, in the offseason, Niese had a nose job.  I’m not against plastic surgery — I’m against it as a “quick fix” but for someone who has low self-esteem.  Yet, rhinoplasty is performed not just for cosmetic procedures but for health reasons, such as deviated septum or sinus/breathing issues.  Niese has even said that he can tell his performance is up and can breathe better.

The backstory to the Niese’s nose procedure is that it was Beltran who suggested it.

Not just said, “Hey, if you’re having breathing problems, maybe getting this procedure will help.”

No.  It was teasing and making fun of Niese’s nose.  Beltran, as they say, was kind of a jerk about it.  The same guy who has a mole the size of New Jersey on his face.  I hope that Niese came back to him with that. But Beltran did offer to pay for it.  Well, that was kind of nice.  With Beltran’s millions, he should visit a dermatologist!

But no.  Niese took the high road.  He took it under advisement and got the procedure.  Beltran offered to pay for it, but hasn’t paid up yet.  Time will tell.

But it’s just so funny to me that a sport that promotes acceptance and non-bullying, a guy who can easily get bullied for a lunar eclipse on the side of his face is calling out Niese’s nose.  If you look at Jon Niese’s profile, his nose gave him character. If it was done for health procedures, then I applaud him especially if it was done in mind of performing better.

Even if it was good-natured ribbing, that wasn’t cool, Carlos.  Not cool at all.  It seems like Niese is pretty cool about it, but making fun of one’s physical appearance just isn’t something I’m on board with.  Of course, I am not privy to what’s going on in the clubhouse…

But Jon, let me tell you.  I loved your nose.  It gave your character and a certain charm.  If you made the decision without being made fun of more power to you, but you have my permission to make fun of Carlos right back.  Someone needs to give it to him, too.

Fuckin’ Franco

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I was never a John Franco fan.  Don’t get me wrong: great guy, local boy gone good, a St. John’s guy (my husband’s alma mater), fun dude.  When the Mets went to the NLCS in 1999, I’ll never forget Franco’s reaction as he ran towards Todd Pratt.  Franco was, in a sense, one of us.  But I still was never a huge fan.

Besides the rumors of his meddling in the clubhouse (which he staunchly denies, but I believe there is an element of truth to it), his part of Jeff Wilpon’s inner circle in his later years, I kind of felt like he overstayed his welcome.  Even in the beginning of his Mets career, he was just okay.  I felt like he was overrated.  But I was outnumbered (see: local boy gone good).  Plus, how can we forget that he was part of the reliever combo that my Aunt Melissa referred to not-so-affectionately as “The Heart Attack Twins” (along with Armando Benitez).

Like most Mets fans though, when he returns, I give him his due.  Nobody likes a party pooper, after all.  Yet, it’s a respect thing.  He spent 15 seasons with the organization.  He’s like the later generation’s version of Eddie Kranepool.  Today, we found out that Franco will be memorialized in the Mets Hall of Fame this summer.

But I mostly cheer him because I have a funny memory surrounding Franco.  It had to do with a game I attended with my dad in 1996.  It was a Sunday doubleheader in I think July of 1996.  NO ONE went to games back then.  Meanwhile, we had tickets in Row X in the Upper Deck.  The usher did take pity on us though, he told us we could move down to wherever we liked since no one else bothered to show up.

The first game was a real snooze fest, but the Mets had the lead going into the 9th inning.  As legend has it, John Franco comes in to “close” and lo and behold, blows the lead, leaving the game tied in the 9th, for the Mets to not come back at the bottom of the inning.

This had to have been one of the most boring games I’d have ever attended.   Meanwhile, Franco blows a perfectly good 9th inning lead.  We didn’t even stay for the end of the game, or the second game of the doubleheader for that matter.  The Mets ended up giving up a few runs in extra innings.  But the greatest gift of the day was from someone sitting in Row X in the Upper Deck.

“FUCKIN’ FRANCO!!!!!” is all we heard after the Mets gave up the runs.  Franco wasn’t in the game at the time, but he gave up a perfectly good lead that led to this.  And led to us not staying for game two.  It was just too exhausting.

Even though Franco is a good dude, I usually say, “Fuckin’ Franco!” whenever I see him or talk about him.  John “Fuckin'” Franco.  Congratulations on making the Mets Hall of Fame.  Despite my personal opinion of you, this is well-deserved and you do a lot for the organization.  I will be at the ceremony, since I celebrate all Mets, and I still like Franco as that “good guy.”  But to me, I’ll always add an “F” as his middle initial, unlike my Aunt Melissa’s term of Franco and Benitez, it is in a loving manner.

Baseball Bacons

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Baseball Broads Sitting in Shea Seats Together

It’s the holiday season.

We’re smack dab in the heart of football season, with playoffs upon us and must-win games with the Jets and the Giants next weekend (oh, did I mention that they’re facing EACH OTHER?? Yes, I’ll need to stay off Twitter for fear of feeding the trolls).

Yet this week, I have a “59 Days Still Pitchers and Catchers” Party to attend.  Over the weekend, it was also a celebration of my birthday and Dee’s birthday, officially, at Strawberry’s Grill in Douglaston, NY.  Of course, this is Darryl Strawberry’s namesake restaurant, run by him and his family, with Mets and Yankees themes throughout the restaurant (he did play for the Evil Empire after all).

Baseball is the Kevin Bacon of life: we are all just six degrees of separation from it all.

I detailed in my post from last week, The Decemberists, about Dee and I going to a football game for our birthdays.  For years, we always hated that we had to be relegated to staying indoors for our birthdays because it’s so cold.  That we always wanted to celebrate our birthdays at a baseball game but while we could say “It’s our birthday” any other day, it’s not truly the same.

When life gives you lemons, we make lemonade.  Look on the bright side.  There’s Christmas in July.  Life is full of these hokey little cliches that infiltrate our lives.  We may celebrate birthdays or Christmas or whatever denominational holiday you observe, but why does baseball get shafted?  No, seriously.  If we need a little Christmas right this very minute, why can’t baseball be alive and well in the winter time?

I’m not talking about winter ball.  For those of us who don’t celebrate holidays or maybe just observe whatever for the sake of observing, most of us can subscribe to celebrating baseball 24/7/265.

Poet Laureate of Flushing, Greg Prince, attended the Second Annual Coop Dee Ville Birthday Spectacular and was also in attendance for the inaugural party in 2010.  He once said that “Every poseur wants to be at Opening Day. Closing Day is a rite for the secret society of baseball fanatics.”  While “Closing Day” allows us to reflect on the season at hand and think about the what-might-have-beens, Closing Day has an aura of sadness around it.  Opening Day has all the hope of a New Year, a new rotation around the sun.  Yet, conversely, it provides hope, Closing Day that is.  It provides us with the idea that our team can get better, and we can become better fans as well, subsequently better people.  Is that true? Is that hokey?  Who knows?  All I know is that I don’t believe in Santa Claus…but I do believe in baseball.

My birthday happens to coincide with the winter solstice.  The days start getting shorter right before, then start getting longer and longer.  Pessimists dwell on the lack of daylight.  I like to dwell on the fact that the days will only get brighter from here on in.

And isn’t that what our problems have been with our birthdays before we met, Dee??  We focused on the fact that our birthdays get overshadowed by the larger and all-encompassing holiday season.  Not on what we do have: lasting and fulfilling relationships, mostly from being sports fans.  I met my husband by being a Mets fan.  And most of the attendees at the soiree on Saturday night were less than Six Degrees of Separation from my being a Mets fan.

There’s my dad, who was there.  As legend had it, I was in the womb rocking out to Rosalita while my mom attended a Bruce Springsteen concert.  When I was out of the womb, my dad sat crying in front of the television on June 15, 1977.  I used to mock him for it, but now I understand.  I haven’t had that moment as a Mets fan, but I have been betrayed by my ownership team like Dad once was.  But he made me a Mets fan, for better or for worse.

As a Mets fan, I liked to write about baseball.  I started following blogs in 2004, and started my own in 2007.  As a result, I became part of the Mets-erati, the “Lost Generation” or “Jazz Age” versions of baseball writers.  Greg Prince of Faith and Fear in Flushing introduced me to the Chapmans, who have enriched my life to the extent that they are my family, not just my “summer” family.  The Chapmans introduced me to friend Phil, another Mets fan who introduces me to several adult beverages and road races.  I guess they’re like my Yin and Yang.  Bad influences too, but bad-in-a-good way.

 

My associations with the Chapmans and Greg also gained me a friend in DyHrdMet from Remembering Shea, a collective of Mets memories, honoring the past and making sense of the present.  We may be told to get over the past, but DyHrdMet appreciates the balance of what history and romanticism means to a Mets fan.

From blogging made me part of a die-hard crew of Mets fans who act like we survived a war or something.  There’s always some kind of tie that binds us, and DyHrdMet does that, but it also gained me a friend from the Twitterverse in Richie S from Random Mets Thoughts.  We are Mets fans, we are music fans…but most of all, he is a dad who made his daughter a Mets fan.  I’m sure she sometimes feels the same way about that fact like the way I do with my dad and the Mets: we equally love and hate them both at times (the team and our dads for introducing us to this life of sometimes-Jobian-existence).  Richie fits right in with the rest of us, obsessing about the Mets in a mid-winter board meeting as he called our soiree.

 

From Twitter and blogging, I met Nik Kolidas, who is a damn fine musician, but also a knowledgeable Mets fan and blogger.  From these ties, I started writing at KinersKorner.com, and we started our own podcast The Kult of Mets Personalities.  It’s a roundtable of fun and funny people who understand the bigger picture of Mets fandom and baseball fanaticism.

Social media added another layer of Mets fandom to the next level.  While blogging may have exposed our thoughts, Facebook and Twitter among others have provided our hearts as well.  Alvin and Anne Marie are both Mets and New York Rangers fans.  Jason is another friend who is a hockey fan (Devils – boo! but Mets fan too).  So I have not only gained new Mets fans in the mix, I have people I can watch and go to hockey games with.  Sweet.

Lastly, I invited a friend I’ve known for years, Martin, to my shindig.  He had hurt his ankle early in the week and didn’t know if he’d be able to make it.  He said after a few days of rest, he had cabin fever and wanted to come.  As he came, everyone wanted to know his baseball affiliation.  He said, “I’m a Mets fan too.  But that’s because Coop tells me to be one.”  Another one bites the dust, kids.

I met Ed through outlets like Metsmerized Online and Facebook subsequently.  We got married.  Good for us.  But as a result, I met other people through the Metsmerized community.  I met my soul sister Dee through those channels, but I also gained two other people as a result of knowing her:  mother Arlene, whom I refer to affectionately as “Aunt Arl” but also her best friend from childhood, Angie.  They often say that life is full of happy accidents.  Seriously, how much of it can be truly planned if it’s so unpredictable?  But I never knew that being a baseball fan would get me a husband, a best friend and de facto sister, someone I look on as a mother, and a new friend to boot.  Happy accidents, indeed.

   

Then bring that back ’round to my dad, Mr. E or Mr. Coop or Eddy or Alan Eddy Cooper Jug Band leader.  My dad knows everyone.  I can’t tell you how many times as a kid we’d walk into a store, and he’d spend 20 minutes chatting someone up about something.  He’s not one of those “weirdos” you want to look the other way on the train.  But if he can find that connecting quality with someone, you’ll have a friend for life.  Dad was amazed looking around at the cast of characters at Strawberry’s on Saturday night.  If you think about it, Darryl Strawberry played for the Mets, and we all loved Straw.  As a result, he opens a sports bar in Queens, home of the Mets.  A bunch of Mets fans meet in a roundabout yet seemingly so simple we wonder why it took so long to begin with.  As a result, we act like army buddies.  Dad said, “This is different than in the ’70s and ’80s.  We didn’t have cell phones or Facebook.  But we did have bars.”

During the night, another guest who should have been there but was 3000 miles away, brother from another mother and concerned Mets fan Senor Solly, kept jumping into conversations.  He’s never met my dad, but he helped me serenade my dad for his birthday this year.  Senor Solly has not met the majority of us, physically (my dad was amazed my husband and I were the only people, actually), but he’s touched our lives in numerous ways.  Simply by being a Mets fan.  And by Sharon telling him to go fuck himself.

Baseball is an amazing sport.  It brings people together, whether or not you’re affiliated with the same team.  I got overwhelmed at one point thinking about how my life has changed so dramatically in the past decade or so simply by the baseball team I root for.  They drive us nuts sometimes, but I often say that the best times to be a Mets fan is during the down years because that gives you character and introduces you to characters.  No one can ever say we’re not devoted.  At the same time, it’s the middle of winter, there are football playoff implications, there is hockey to be watched (and even watched Bradley Richards score a dramatic .01 of a second left in the game winning goal against Phoenix on Saturday), we had birthdays to celebrate and holidays to worry about.  We talked baseball.

Maybe world peace is a distant phenomenon that can’t ever be attained due to the natural aggression of human nature.  Eh, that’s a bit overdramatic.  Maybe if baseball were the universal language, it could get us to that point.

Kevin Bacon may own the whole six degrees thing in cinema.  But baseball owns the six degrees of life.  Therefore, baseball is the Kevin Bacon of life.

And we all love bacon. AmIRite?

Bears and Bacon on a Stick

Remain Calm! ALL IS WELL! The motto of Mets fans.

The Wheeler Lining

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It took me a long time to warm up to Carlos Beltran.  Yet, when he left via trade to the San Francisco Giants this summer, I loved him.  He became easily one of my favorite Mets players ever.  I wished that all fans could have seen him the way I did, and some of my blolleagues did, but I can certainly understand why about 50% of the Mets fan population did not like him all that much.  His personality wasn’t all that grand, and perhaps he was one of those players that would be appreciated more outside of the fishbowl that is headed up by the New York metro main stream media.

Yet there is always a downside to signing a guy, any player in any sport, to the type of contract that Beltran possessed.  There is the threat of injury, underperformance, the noose of tying up years and dollars to just one player.  In New York, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but for the Mets it always is because of their lack of foresight that the guy might not make it to the end. Look at Jason Bay: his numbers started dwindling the second he walked into CitiField.  Perhaps he’ll turn it around in 2012, but along with Johan Santana, their contacts will unfortunately tie up resources for short-term, and unless they show signs of improvement, it will be hard to dump.

Luckily, the Mets and most specifically Sandy Alderson got some value out of Beltran.  One of the clauses in Beltran’s contract was that the Mets could not offer arbitration once the contract expired.  I always assumed there was a “gentleman’s agreement” when offering arbitration, but at Beltran’s age it might have been more advantageous for him to accept arb and see what the market is for him with the Mets.  I doubt that would have been the case: I think Beltran was miserable in New York.  Yet, Alderson did the unthinkable and unprecedented move of trading Beltran at the deadline in 2011.  At the beginning of the season, people thought I was crazy when I suggested it could be Beltran who moved at the deadline.  There’s no value to keeping him around, especially if the Mets are not realistically competing. He was owed too much money, I was told.  We’d never get anyone of value back.  Someone though neglected to tell Sandy Alderson that.

Trading Carlos Beltran for Zack Wheeler (Zach? I’ve seen it spelled both ways) was a step in the right direction for the New “New Mets.”  Beltran once called the team he signed with in 2005 the “New Mets.”  They quickly became “Old Mets” under Omar Minaya’s watch.  With the removal of Oliver Perez and Luis Castillo and subsequent bad vibes of recent seasons, there are a few positives to take away from this.

One is that when Beltran was traded, the Mets agreed to take on most of his salary.  In a way, this was positive: though they still paid Beltran to play for another team, they did get some value in return in a prospect that could give years of return on investment.  With the grumblings about the financial situation of the Mets as well, perhaps this was a PR move too to show that they could still pay someone who was not playing for them anymore.

The second thing is that Beltran was traded to the then-reigning World Champions.  Giants GM Brian Sabean has a thing for older players.  It’s no secret that Beltran turned it on in 2004 right before he was a free agent for the Houston Astros in the playoffs that year.  What Sabean needed was a Beltran-type to propel them into the playoffs.  While Beltran had a slow start, he did his part but the team fell short.

I secretly rooted for the Giants.  Well, not so much a secret anymore, since I’m telling all of you.  But mostly because I wanted to see Beltran succeed (and for my selfish fan-crush of the Giants pitching staff, especially Tim Lincecum).  I would have loved to rooted for Carlos in the playoffs, but they did not make the playoffs in 2011 at all.

My blolleague over at KinersKorner and the Kult of Mets Personalities, Nik Kolidas, said something to me a while back.  When I said that I wanted to see Beltran in the playoffs, he said it would be a great thing if they didn’t make it.  For the Mets, that is.  It meant something actually went RIGHT for the Mets in this trade!  Meaning that another team actually gambled wrong and the Mets could have potentially walked away from the transaction better in the long-term.

Zack Wheeler hasn’t thrown a pitch for the Mets yet, or he may never, depending on whether he’s used as a trading chip for someone else.  Right now, he’s developing the correct way, something that the Mets have never been known for.  How many times have we heard about prospects being rushed just to satisfy a quick need for the team, only to never get over the rushing and never living up to his potential?  What he has done is provided some tangible value for Carlos Beltran in the end, and this was one of the first steps away from the damage this franchise has seen in over two decades.

When one door closes, another one opens.  This much we know to be true.  Things might not be 100% fantastic in Flushing for 2012, but just remember that behind every dark cloud there is a silver lining.  In this case, we could call the future of the Mets the Wheeler Lining. Finally, it appears that a Mets GM gamed the market to his favor, and potentially could lead to smoother sailing in the future.

Candy Coating a Poison Pill

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If you listen carefully, you will hear the mumblings and grumblings of several in-the-know folks about the walls at CitiField.  Hell, even our very own Howie Rose calls the wall over in left field the “Great Wall of Flushing.”

On one hand, I can understand the venom.  Home runs have dropped off noticeably for the Mets in the time since CitiField opened, and in the design, our owners went for the “quirk” factor and not “realistic helpful” factor.  On the other, if there were low walls, the dimensions were any shorter causing a MORE homer friendly scenario, we’d hear all about how “CitiField is a little league park” or “bandbox” (similar to the refrains we hear about Citizens Bank Park and Yankee Stadium).

You can’t win, but you get what you deserve too, Fred.

Yet, on my weekly podcast, we’ve had some really passionate debate about moving the dimensions at CitiField, redistributing the field (moving home plate and playing field up a few feet), among other things.  I can’t say that I disagree with thinking that SOMETHING needs to change, but the items I feel passionately about are the Great Wall…there’s no reason why it should be so difficult to hit a home run to that side of the field (nor should it be so difficult to try to “stop” a home run from being hit).  The Mo’s Zone is the bane of my existence. There aren’t things that I think will compromise the integrity of the playing field, and won’t make a bandbox or make it prohibitve.

Sandy Alderson on last night’s game broadcast suggested that not only will changes be potentially made at CitiField, that they won’t be “subtle.”  Translation,they should be drastic.  The cheers could be heard ’round the Twitterverse.

I guess I have to ask this question: is this just candy-coating a poison pill?

Keep in mind, I am just looking at home runs hit at CitiField against Mets pitchers (starters or otherwise).  In 2011, Mets pitchers have given up 54 home runs; in 2010, 47 home runs; and in 2009, growing pains to the new park led to the Mets pitchers giving up 81 round-trippers.  Conversely, the Mets’ pitchers have given up 84 HRs on the road this year, 88 HRs on the road in 2010 and 77 away in 2009.  The disparity really wasn’t that great in 2009, but they were giving up way too many home runs in 2009.  Clearly, they’re giving up fewer home runs at home.  Compared to Shea, 2008 and 2009 numbers were VERY similar: 79 home runs at home, 84 on the road.

We could theoretically argue that the home run factor or lack thereof for the Mets has almost HELPED Mets pitching.

But the question isn’t so much what the pitchers are doing and how the hitters are faring.  How many times have we seen what would be home runs at other parks (and not even bandboxes) that aren’t even close at CitiField, or those infamous 400 foot outs in the Mo’s Zone.  Yeah, you know what, that pisses me off too.  But the Mets’ offense has had THREE YEARS to get used to the dimensions at this place and learn to play to its strengths.

In 2008, Mets hitters had 95 home runs at home, with 77 on the road.  Compared to 2009, they had 49 at home, and 46 on the road.  Due to the nature of the injury-ridden and horrific season in 2009, we could throw that stats out as an anomaly and call it a day (or a year, in this case).  Mets hitters had 63 home runs at home in 2010 and 65 on the road, and finally in 2011, with a few days left in the season, 45 home runs at home, 57 on the road.

Throw out the home run factor for the Mets offense. In 2011, with eight games left, the hitting line has been relatively uniform at home and on the road.  At home, hitters have ..263/.336/.390; on the road, .267/.335/.393.  Compare to 2010, .255/.326/.393 at home, and .243/.304/.373 on the road.  Who says the Mets have a problem hitting at home!  Okay, fine it’s all relative, but the point is all we’ve heard is how detrimental CitiField is to the team, and their stats bear out lower on the road.

Of course, at the end of the day, it’s all about wins and losses at home.  There’s been a distinct home field disadvantage.  CitiField was built for the mantra of “speed, pitching and defense.”  Speed and defense have clearly been lacking in the Mets, but the pitching has been relatively uniform.  I know, there have been inconsistencies but fact is, the dimensions of CitiField have been favorable to the Mets pitching.  In 2011, averages against are .254/.333/.376 and on the road, .274/.341/.376.  Mets pitchers in 2010: at home, .243/.318/.350 and on the road, .276/.342/.437.

It’s clear to me the problem lies in lack of offense, especially in situational hitting.  Unfortunately, that cannot be “taught” and is a favorable argument to saber folks about it being a crapshoot.  Want to know what I think is a crapshoot?  Tinkering with the dimensions and walls at CitiField.   We need better PLAYERS to hit in the park, and the only thing tinkering will do is mess with the pitching progress, and have the other teams hit more home runs as well.

Moving in the dimensions will only silence the vocal minority, when the reality is, a candy-coated poison pill will still kill you in the end.