On the off chance you haven’t noticed, we’re taking the summer off. Writing up new material, redesigning the layout, changing servers, all that stuff. As Stan Lee would say, Excelsior!
In the meantime, I’ll be periodically posting mp3 mix tapes. This one is basically for stoners, and it’s best enjoyed outside on randomized order. A soul one is coming soon and you can probably expect more after that (depending on how long the redesign takes).
So far this year, every time it looks like the Mets are going to flame out completely, they’ve had a good run to get back to mediocrity. The payroll is sunk into a lot of big name players right now, and it’s unclear if the team would be willing to pony up the salary and prospects to get someone like Cliff Lee or even Jake Westbrook, but there’s at least a shot of competing if they do. If not, then the most exciting thing happening for the Mets this year may be the 7th pick in the draft.
Look, I realize last night was only one game, but when you’ve been wallowing in Met-dom as long as I have, you begin to recognize significant moments in the season as they occur. And any Met fan worth his Wally Backman rookie card collection knew that when Johan Santana walked Jaime Moyer with the bases loaded last night, any chance we had to compete with the Phillies this year essentially flew down the toilet with the force of a Charlie Manuel dump.
Any casual observer knows that a distinct feature of most Met fans, SNY and WFAN “experts”, and especially Mets management (on-field and front office) when things are “not going as well as we would have liked” is that they all truly believe that things are always about to get better. A Met resurgence is always around the corner and everyone knows exactly what has to happen for it to occur.
In which I invite you to join me in not giving up on the Mets this season because, well, we should be stubborn and view things we love through rose-coloured glasses. Yes, British ones.
The first person I see is a schlubby, WoodyAllen-ish man wearing a Daryl Strawberry jersey, camouflaged pants, and a transistor radio (I’m assuming if you try to turn the dial away from 660 AM it self-destructs), and carrying a scorebook. You know, the type of guy who lives with his mother and talks to her about the Mets bullpen over cold oatmeal? You gotta believe… in being horribly depressed. Let’s play two!
Well it’s that time of year again….the time to believe! The sun is shining, flowers are blooming, and countless losers are at home on a saturday night pouring over 2009 second half OPS splits hoping to find that kernel of corn in a pile of fantasy dung. It’s also that time of year when many of us in the New York metro area discuss the prospects of the current Mets squad and, more often then not, throw up just a little bit in our mouths.