After an evening in the presence of what had been my nominal favorite American League team, I can confidently state that I hate the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim as much as any garden-variety National League or Interleague opponent. Go back to where you came from if you can figure out where that is. And take all your highly skilled offensive players with you.
I'm not too crazy about Kaz Ishii right now either. What's with this guy? For five innings, he's Sandy Kazfax. He's Dr. Kaz. He's Jerry Kaazman. He kan do no wrong.
Then he spends a few minutes on the basepaths and goes loopy on the mound. True, this Southern California outfit can really fluff up your ERA, but still. He was matching the hell out of Bartolo Colon who, in the parlance of the scouts, is as bad-body a ballplayer as I've ever seen. But he makes it work. I'd look up at the scoreboard and see BALLS: 9 STRIKES: 187 or something like that. I remember Colon from the Expos. He was bad news on us then. He was worse news on us Friday night.
Befitting our .500 nature, the Mets won the first half of this game but lost the second half. Too bad this isn't boxing. We'd probably win a few contests based on rounds, at least until we were TKO'd by the likes of Darrin Erstad, Steve Finley and Orlando Cabrera. And Vlad.
Vlad! The Greatest Player Who Ever Lived as I like to call him. When he stepped in for the first time last night, he elicited a response: some cheers acknowledging his greatestness, some boos over his decision not to take the worst offer on the table and sign with the Mets last year. Funny. I saw Vlad at Shea maybe a dozen times as an Expo when he was just as great and he barely caused a ripple. Wasn't anybody paying attention then?
As is usually the case with Interleague games, there were opponently clad fans dotting the stands. I'm gonna assume because New York is big and has people from everywhere that every Orange County (excuse me, Los Angeles County) expatriate Angels fan in New York showed up last night. It felt the same way last season when displaced Cuyahogans came to Shea to see the Tribe. It must be a thrill for these displaced souls to get to see their team in a New York ballpark where idiots aren't threatening their very existence or insulting their intelligence.
Yes, Shea is paradise for many. Just not the Mets suddenly.
Well, this one turned out pretty much as I expected, deep down. As a Twins fan, the sight of Bartolo Colon fills me with dread. I actually used to like this guy, when he was an Indian. What was I thinking? And what is it about pitching in Cleveland that turns pitchers into whales? Between Colon and Sabathia, they should have their own zip code.
The ball/strike ratio was freaking me out as well. I got my much-needed jollies by switching over to the Yankees and witnessing not only the abject misery, but Michael Kay's coming of age. It's finally starting to dawn on him that the bandwagon he's been driving is now The Loser Express, and he's frustrated as all get-out at being associated with this team. I must admit, however, that it kind of threw me to see (and hear) the not very affectionate greeting received by Tino Martinez (I refuse to play that Yankee “no last names necessary, their first names alone are synonymous with baseball and are therefore enough” game) when he entered the game as a PH. Those savvy St. Louis fans booed his a** good and proper. Kay sounded like he'd cry. Delish.
The horrible play and well-deserved loss by the Twins at about 1:30 am capped a Kaz Ishii-ish day in Laurie World. Greg Maddux not only won, but hit one out (yayyyyyy!!). The Mets sucked (boooooo!!). The Yankees sucked (yayyyyyy!!). The Twins sucked. (boooooo!!).
This is my life. Help me.