I dunno, man, they look pretty undead to me.
Nothing like soothing a fan base that's not very forgiving in the first place by playing nine innings of pathetic, lead-ass baseball [1]. The bottom of the 7th was particularly disgusting: terrible pitch selection by Jose Reyes, Jose Offerman managing to break back to first on a line-drive single up the middle and then jog to second to be forced out (leaving me making the Dallas Green face at the television), and then Carlos Beltran ensuring he'll continue to have “disappointing” surgically attached to him by once again trying to pull anything and everything. Then we had to prove we weren't one-suck ponies by putting together a ninth inning of typically wretched pitching by Braden Looper and a jaw-dropping error by usually reliable Ramon Castro. And if that's not enough, through in some typically strange/stubborn decisions by Willie: Why on earth was Reyes bunting? Why on earth would you throw Looper into a nest of lefties down only a run? (And by the way, I officially don't care if Looper's hurt. He wasn't that good when he was healthy.)
And why was Offerman even in the game? Why switch out Mike Jacobs for Chris Woodward? Enough of Offerman and Miguel Cairo — let the kids show us what they might have, instead of taking another look at useless veterans who should be released and spare parts for next year's bench. Where's Heath Bell? Royce Ring? Angel Pagan? Anderson Hernandez? Where's somebody you wouldn't be shocked to see as a 2007 Met? Omar, it's over. Willie, we're done. It sucks, but we've accepted it, so you can too. Please God, let's not have another Indian Summer of Ice Williams. Oh wait, we still have Ice Williams.
(Pause to bash forehead repeatedly against desk.)
I've seen enough Septembers unravel into playing out the string to be familiar with the emotional Stations of the Cross: anger, then disappointment, then a desperate clinging to what baseball there's left, because all too soon it's going to be bandwagon time and all too soon after that it's football and snow and other forms of depression. Please, you Mets, at least let me cling. I'm not asking for the wild card. I'm not even asking for .500. Just give me games it looks like you're interested in playing, and we'll call it even. Don't leave me seething during what little time we have left.