Oh, well...

It's hard to collect my thoughts so quickly after the disappointment last night.

Accordingly, I will be going on a brief hiatus (presumably a week and change) and then I will come back, sans co-blogger, and develop a better notion of what lies ahead for the Mets and for Crosstown Rivals.

But now, I can't really think. There's too much to comprehend. But at a time like this, I have to agree with the rest of the community's general consensus.

The Mets didn't hit in Game 7. That's not how they won the division.

The setup corps blew at least two leads during this series. That's not how they won the division.

Tom Glavine lost his second start this series, going only four innings. Steve Trachsel lost his only start. That's not how the Mets got here, and it wasn't going to propel us to the World Series.

Forget you not that we still have the crisp back fields of Spring Training to look forward to, and the Hot Stove and Winter Meetings before that. We can go back to discussing every little exploit of Firstings Milledge, or talking about why exactly Julio Franco was signed to a two-year contract.

We will discuss next year's lineup, bench, rotation and bullpen alignment. And with Minaya aggressively helming the Mets, nothing is set in stone.

Many Mets aren't locks for next year's roster: guys like Glavine (who was incredibly non-committal last night about returning next year), Duque, and Bradford all have expiring contracts. And ahead of us we have the inevitable courtship that is the Winter Meetings, where Jose Valentin's looming contract demands will cause the Mets to aggressively pursue Alfonso Soriano. In my nightmares.

We'll have Mets Weekly, with Julie Donaldson and Siafa Lewis. Even if we do secretly miss Fran Healy's blurry-imaged Hot Stove Report. There will be baseball video games, where we can experiment with the Mets regardless of whether or not there's actually grass anywhere in the Northeast.

And I'll still be here, a little bit heavier in the heart, but always following my teams vigorously. We'll have the Jets and Rangers, not to mention maybe little notes about some of our other tri-state area teams. But first and foremost I am a baseball blogger, and we'll still have every little nugget about who's getting traded where.

So now is not the time to fret, because this blog is excited about its future. And the future of the New York Metropolitans.

See you in a bit.

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aw, fuck.

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Game 7

It's time.

I'm not going to use hyperbolical language, because that's not really what this game is about.

Tonight is about tonight. But last night andtonight in some way encompasses what the Mets didn't face in 2006: an imminent threat of their demise.

Tonight, Oliver Perez, a headcase-y disappointing veteran of two other organizations, takes the hill. And raise your hand if you thought going into this season that Oliver Perez and John Maine would be counted on for the two most important starts of the season to date.

Ollie, this is your time. Mets, this is your time.

The Mets will be facing the Supp Nazi tonight, a man universally known as a bum. He has pitched well against the Mets, with a 2.27 ERA against them in his career, his impressive game 3 start notwithstanding.

But I don't care about Jeff Suppan and you shouldn't either.

Tonight is about seizing the moment. Keeping the faith. Winning one for the Gipper. Winning one for every Met who did so much and never struck paydirt.

It's your time, Reyes, Beltran, Wright, and Delgado. This is your chance to vault the Mets into a World Series for the first time since 2000, where they will face a team who they can beat.

Pack your bags, gentlemen. The plane for Detroit leaves tonight, fueled by bargain basement Mums.

Ya gotta believe.

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Ya Gotta Believe

Today's omen from a handful of M&M's I took from a friend. This was selected at random. No joke.

Let's go Mets.

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Oh No!

Despite the fact that the Mets offered the human rain delay as their starting pitcher tonight, despite the lack of momentum, I figured that good things were in our futures.

After all, the Cardinals were starting Jeff Suppan tonight. He had been just as bad as Trachsel this year.

And even when Trachsel came out looking stale and devoid of control against a pretty tough team, I didn't get worried.

But then it became harder not to worry. Our opponents were mashing the veteran righty, while the Supp Nazi was making like Pedro in his prime. (just a quick question: who does Mr. Martinez pitch for these days anyway?)

Time passed during the game. At-bats became innings and soon enough it was practically over.

And now I'm worried about Sunday... with good reason.

Oliver "Nutjob" Pay-Rezz is on the hill, with this game either tying the series or allowing St. Louis to clinch on Monday at home.

Ladies and Gentlemen, pray for Perez today.

Amen.

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Don't get me started about the Jets or Rangers either.

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