Shea It Isn't So

I'm sure at least one of you (and I know who you are, too) has been wondering when I would write about the Mets. There's no better time than prior to a Game 6, as Game 6 means much to Mets fans, especially those who name their dog after Mookie Wilson. The point is, there's always hope, and the Mets seems to like to give their fans memorable moments to cling to--there's no just out-and-out winning for the Mets. There's Ron Swoboda and Tommie Agee sprawling their way to great catches, there's Buddy Harrelson in a fight with Pete Rose, there's all the hope you can run through the space between Bill Buckner's legs. All of that gets balanced by pretty much 35+ years of futility, anguish, Steve Chilcott and not Reggie Jackson, the remains of Jim Fregosi for Nolan Ryan, Dallas Green mowing down the young arms that might have meant a turn in fortune. I mean, as a child I had to root for George "Stork" Theodore.

Let's just say being cheery and being a Mets fan isn't really possible. You just assume the worst will happen as it mostly has. Even this season, when they tied with the Yanks for the best record in baseball (and who's still playing now?), they could often look so lifeless they seemed to be auditioning for a George Romero movie. Even in the same game--this summer they trailed the Cubs, the worst team in the NL this year, doing nothing in a nationally televised game, only to club two grand slams in one inning later that afternoon. I almost turned it off before that point, I was so digusted.

So anything can happen, even with John Maine versus Chris Carpenter this evening. You know who started the infamous Game 6 for the Red Sox? Roger Clemens. Who got a blister and left the game, and the rest is Calvin Schiraldian history. If the Mets mystique surfaces, Chris Carpenter has an appointment with unexplained boils tonight, or at least some tasty not quite outside enough pitches to Carlos Delgado. If just the Mets show up, I'm picking the Tigers over the Cards in 5.