It's rare for me to think about what I wear when going to a ballgame. I usually throw on my Pedro shirt if he's pitching and a Kaz Matsui shirt in times of humorous controversy, but normally it's a Beltran or a Delgado. This time, I thought with great difficulty about what to wear after what FAFIF called The Worst Loss Ever. I was disappointed with the team and most of all this new pricey closer, BillyBraden Looper-Wagner. I couldn't understand what on earth would possess him to blow up like that on Saturday, and furthermore I couldn't understand what on earth Willie was thinking by putting him in for the ninth in a non-save situation. And, wouldn't you know it, he came out of that game talking like Herman Edwards in the press conference. I recited it in my head. Yeah, we get it, Willie. You play to win the game. But you don't play for Pedro Martinez to win the game, do you? BillyWilly has combined to blow two of Pedro's potential wins for him and two other games he pitched well in but was unable to earn a win.
So, out to Shea I went to see Tom Glavine battle, in the most Howian sense of the word. This battle did not resemble phase two of the Tom Glavine renaissance. This was very phase one, where he'd somehow eke out a win despite allowing far too many baserunners. And the game was disappointing from a Glaviney standpoint. He had control problems, tossing about as many balls as strikes through the first couple innings. And when the Yankees broke through in the fourth on a play D-Wright should have made, I worried that this could only mean trouble for the Metropolitans. Instead, I believe the DiamondVision said "Buy one Carlos, get one free." The Duck played his usual role as catalyst, then Beltran singled and then Delgoner stepped up to the dish. It was as though he was saying, "Yo, Biggie Smalls. I'm going to hit this pitch pretty far." And he did. But then Wright the Wrong stepped up to the plate and became Wright. He hit that ball an astounding 445 feet. And on WFAN, in a thank god it's not last year moment, Tom McCarthy said he hit the ball over the picnic area. I call that cahn-fidence.
And that was pretty much the game until the seventh. Mike Myers has apparently divorced the axe murderer and did away with Carlos D. in a massively clutch situation where he could have broken the game open. Then, Erroneous Heilman entered the game. Disgusting how he couldn't throw a strike and couldn't get anyone out until he did. But then my favorite part of the game came. I received the gift of watching a Yankee player I liked pitch. It was Colter Bean. The man is named Colter Bean. A rare treat, indeed. He threw alarmingly slowly with a havoc-wreaking arm angle. Then it was time for Goggles.
So he goes and loads the bases with no one out. Then he becomes injured. Nice work, asshole. But he stayed out there, warrior that he is, and got Jason Giambi out on a sacrifice fly. So, this is a great time to be a Met fan. Arguably the best (clean) hitter of the past 30 years comes to the plate, one who we decided was not as good as Rey Ordoñez, mind you, with men on first and second. And after he hit the ball, I went into a mode like one of those annoying announcers who talk to balls. They say "Get up! Get up!" I said "GIDP! GIDP!" And so it was. Gayrod grounds into the force and we go to the ninth.
In this ninth, we face former Met Scott Erickson, still enshrined in the immortality of his Mets debut, six innings of eight-hit, two-run ball. He followed this up with another impeccable outing, where he dazzled the Montreal Expos for two innings of seven-hit, seven-run pleasure. This game, which the Mets lost 10-19, though it included two Richard Hidalgo HR and David Wright's first big league moonshot, will be forever remembered as that game where Todd Zeile pitched. One inning of five-run ball. This game might have been close if it weren't for Art Howe being a total fucktard and using Todd Zeile.
But Erickson pitched well last night. And while it's only a matter of time before he melts down in the pinstripes, for now he held the Mets in the ninth. And during this inning, I was not fixated by Erickson's dazzling show on the mound, but rather by a certain lefthanded alpaca farmer warming up in the Mets pen during a 4-3 game.
And at the end of the inning, the familiar chords of Enter Sandman began playing. And then Shea began to rock, with both Mets fans and Yankees fans cheering for New York's newest Sandman. And at that point, I took off the fleece I had been wearing, despite the frigid weather, to reveal my choice of shirt for that game. #13. Wagner. Nobody sat down during that ninth inning, as Billy blew away Bob Cano for the first out. Then came the onset of slight panic. A hit from Bernie. Even Melky weighed in with his irrelevant opinion by hitting a single. Is this Saturday Wagner? Is Kelly Stinnett at the plate, waiting to get revenge against the Mets for trading him for Cory Lidle? Uh-oh. Is this further revenge for not naming him to our 2005 roster? Uh, no. Billy blew him away. And then Miguel Cairo. Surely the useless savior of our squad from yesteryear did not take kindly to being supplanted by Jose Valentin. But once again, no. He grounds out to the world's best second baseman, Kaz Matsui. Then it's really rocking.
Game over. "Exit light. Enter night. Take my hand. We're off to never never land."
And so it was, in three not-so-meaningful games, the Mets showed the Yankees a thing or two about superiority. And then the Phillies will come. NL East showdown indeed.
I'll be back with a series preview tomorrow.
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