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Nobody's perfect, including Billy Wagner.

Back to back poor showings: maybe there's some money in alpaca farming.

Carlos is back, but he's no Hess truck: better than ever is hardly true.

The offense is awful. Terrible.

I can throw harder than Brian Lawrence. With my toes.

Where have you gone, Carlos Delgado, Shawn Green, Jose Reyes, Paul Lo Duca, Moises Alou? Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

I'm aghast.

Alejandro De Aza, Hanley Ramirez, Miguel Olivo, and Hanley Ramirez all had more hits than Delgado, Wright, and Beltran combined. What a wonderful world.

Pinch me. This must be a dream.

Mike Piazza cleared waivers. Is he available to be a defensive replacement for Lo Duca?

Daniel Barone? Kevin Gregg? Matt Lindstrom? This isn't a major league team.

Have a good night, but you might want to load up on the Ambien rather than tossing and turning and reflecting on this one.


Nothing Perpetuates Momentum Like a Brick Wall

Tom Glavine won his 300th game on Sunday evening, and there was much rejoicing. (YAYY!) But the Braves know how to take wind out of the Mets' sails. Tom Glavine was theirs before he was ours, and they wanted to assure us wholeheartedly that they were aware of that.

They came out firing against the Mets' Braves specialist, if you will, Oliver Perez, and the game appeared lopsided early. Matt Die-Az jacked one in the opening frame, and it was all downhill from there. The Mets weren't able to muster much offense, notching only three runs all game. Who opposed them this game? Was Smoltz on the hill? Tim Hudson? I think not.

My friends, it was Buddy Carlyle, of the 7-6 record and 5.60 ERA for his career, who toed the rubber against the Mets tonight.

I'm not sure what it is about the Braves that ruins the Mets so: double plays and shoddy pitching abounded tonight.

One thing is sure, though: the curse is not broken.

Another: I hate the Braves.