The blog for Mets fans
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ABOUT US

Greg Prince and Jason Fry
Faith and Fear in Flushing made its debut on Feb. 16, 2005, the brainchild of two longtime friends and lifelong Met fans.

Greg Prince discovered the Mets when he was 6, during the magical summer of 1969. He is a Long Island-based writer, editor and communications consultant. Contact him here.

Jason Fry is a Brooklyn writer whose first memories include his mom leaping up and down cheering for Rusty Staub. Check out his other writing here.

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Hands Across America

Last night: Ninth inning, two outs, two strikes, the Giants up 4-2 on the Padres. One more strike, and they'll sweep San Diego. They'll be only four out with Barry Bonds back in the lineup. Wheeee! Dare to dream, San Francisco!

Except the closer gave up a two-run double to Sean Burroughs. Fella by the name […]

24,049 Lost Souls

Your movie this week stars nobody and features nothing.

—Pearl Forrester, Mystery Science Theater 3000

The Mets are now little more than time chasers. I got to Shea at some point Wednesday night and some three hours later I left. I returned home from whence I started when it was over. Baseball was apparently played.

But I was […]

Stuck in My Craw

From John Harper in the Daily News today:

Because Hernandez is not on the 40-man roster, Mets' brass apparently was debating the idea of releasing one of their players to open a spot for him.

“We haven't decided what we're going to do yet,” assistant GM Jim Duquette said. “We're still talking about it.”

To quote those water […]

Reports of Their Demise

The 2005 New York Mets, beloved Wild Card contender and object of irrational obsession to thousands, passed Tuesday evening.

They were 144 games old.

The cause of death was termed offensive futility exacerbated by an attack of executional ineptitude.

A coroner's report indicated there was little heart left at the end.

The 2005 New York Mets were best known […]

You Gonna Finish That?

Rest easy, soul of Fred Merkle. New York baseball has a new, much more deservedly crowned Bonehead for all time. It's one thing not to advance from first to second on the winning base hit in an era when that was generally accepted practice. Bonehead Offerman has come up with a whole new interpretation of […]

Zombie Baseball

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. 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 […]

Not Undead Yet

I just gandered a glance at today's papers and saw something about how we're going home and there's still time and we're only 5-1/2 out and nobody's pulled away and you never know…

Stop it. Sometimes you do know.

Even if it's just Pedro and the headline writers saying it, why must they do this to us? […]

The Fork, Our Backs

Watched the Mets finally beat, well, some of the St. Louis Cardinals today, and remembered how cruel baseball can be. No, it wasn't knowing that the season's done, we're cooked, etc., though that stank. It was the matter-of-fact way the calendar had turned to 2006. There were the Cardinals, resting up for October. There was […]

Washing Off The Dirt

[T]he schedule has a little party up its sleeve for us…We have struggled (and thus far failed) to maintain mediocrity without facing a single game west of Addison Street. There are three trips pending that carry the Mets into Pacific Daylight and Mountain Standard: OAK-SEA in June; SD-LA in August; ARZ-SF slightly thereafter. The American […]

Baseball Bugs (Us)

We really shouldn't have to play the Gas-House Gorillas anymore.

Wham! Another homer!

It was a one-sided, knock-down, drag-'em-out ball game right from the very first inning.

Seven hurlers pasted our pathetic palookas with powerful paralyzing perfect pachyderm percussion pitches.

One…two…three strikes…we're out!

One…two…three strikes…we're out!

One…two…three strikes…we're out!

It was a shellacking we'll never forget.

Albert Pujols could lick us in a […]