Deep breath.
Coming next, nine games on the road: Philadelphia, Milwaukee, St. Louis.
Another deep breath.
After that, home: the Skanks, the Phils.
Fifteen games that won't make or break the season — we are 21-10, none of those opponents is looking forward to hosting or visiting us — but a real, extended test of what we are and who we might be. It would have been an “interesting” enough stretch if our rotation was intact. It will be that much more revealing because it isn't.
But before we take on four very good teams for the next two-plus weeks, might I recommend another deep breath.
Go…now let it out.
Think about where we've been recently. San Diego, San Francisco, Atlanta. Amazin' enough. Home for Washington and Pittsburgh. Nothing routine. A season within a season.
Now one more. Breathe in, breathe out. Think lately, very lately. Specifically, think about that weekend we just witnessed.
When will we see another weekend like the one we just saw against the Braves? Will Shea ever see another weekend quite like it? Has this franchise had a more entertaining, more intriguing, more portentous three games at once? Certainly not in this century.
Think about all we have to remember from this series. It was breathtaking.
Think about the re-emergence of Carlos Beltran from mediocrity to top tier. Hit a home run in each game. Ran around the bases and the outfield like my kitten tears through the living room. Made that note in Sports Illustrated that reported MLB players voted him one of their most overrated seem utterly catty.
Think about the resilience that has a team come from behind four times on a Friday night and once more on Saturday. It wasn't until Francoeur flustered Fortunato that I was more or less convinced the Mets wouldn't sweep. It was 8-1 in the top of the sixth. By the bottom of the ninth, down 13-2 with runners on first and second, I was joining in the “Let's Go Mets!” chants. I wasn't serious…or was I?
Think about Jose Reyes and his barrage of base hits — his singles, his doubles, his triple. Started Friday batting .242, ended Saturday batting .280. Think about him and a reheated Wright manning that left side not just for the next [fill in reasonable number of] years but doing it right now. Quietly, they've been here forever and they're still nowhere close to 25.
Think about Cliff Floyd and then go light a candle for him. Even in a slump without end, he hit a patented Monsta shot to keep Friday night going.
Think about Gary Cohen and Keith Hernandez turning their SNY baseball caps inside out to spark a 14th-inning rally. And that it worked!
Think about Jorge Julio, winning pitcher Friday, saving pitcher Saturday. Did you ever think you would without at least three derogatory adjectives?
Think about Darren Oliver. The last time I did before 2006 was when I was in Texas nine years ago. Nike had a commercial starring Ken Griffey, Jr. smacking the ball off some pitcher in a Rangers uniform. I picked up the Dallas Morning News and the TV sports columnist noted that the pitcher in the ad was Darren Oliver. “That's who we got, the guy from the Nike commercial?” was my reaction to his invitation to our spring training. Saturday he proved himself our best long man since Pat Mahomes, bailing us out of a pretty impossible situation. Bonus points for his quote in Sunday's paper about a day game after an endless night game not being as arduous a task as imagined: “That's why they have coffee and Red Bull.”
Think about the crowds. Better than 47,000 on Friday night. Better than 48,000 Saturday and Sunday. Shea, she doesn't look so bad when nearly filled and very loud. 144,189 Mets fans can't be wrong.
Think about Billy Wagner. Think pleasant thoughts. They're bound to get validated before too long.
Think about Xavier Nady running back to the fence to make a catch and Kaz Matsui giving the Mets the lead and Carlos Delgado fielding better than we'd been led to believe and Heilman and Sanchez frustrating Brave after Brave and Jose Valentin shaking off those Jerry Martin comparisons my friend Richie and I were making with such certitude a few weeks ago.
Think about even the unhappy stuff. Losing a starting pitcher for the duration the way we did, losing a catcher for the afternoon the next day. Not pleasant, but the sequences of events surrounding them are already indelible. It's all part of baseball's rich pageant, for better or for worse. We've had a lot of better, we can handle a little worse. (Get well, Victor; keep your head on, Paul.)
Think about Jose Lima showing up in a Mets uniform. I mean, why not? If nothing else, he'll add to the retelling. Oh, and remember when we had to use Lima? He was blonde!
Think about the Braves, but not as much as you used to. Famous last words and all that, but honestly, did they look like the Braves to you? Me neither. They're capable, they're dangerous, they're accomplished…they're eight games out, five games under .500 and 2-4 in their last six against the Mets. You can argue that if a few things had gone right for them, they could've won maybe all six. You can counterargue that since when do the Braves need breaks to break the Mets' hearts? I won't stop monitoring their activities but the Phillies are four games closer and, until further notice, of greater concern to our fortunes. They're also who we play next.
Finally, think about this. We get caught up in baseball for a thousand reasons and, on a weekend like the one just past, divine a thousand rewards from our entanglements. We also let it drive us nuts, willingly or otherwise. But once in a great while, somebody reminds us what it's all about. One of my Mets e-mail buddies, Joe Dubin, told our little group on Saturday what this particular weekend was like for him and his wife Mary Jane. I asked him if I could share it with all of you and he graciously consented.
This was a rough week for us because my dad, who is 91, had to be rushed to an emergency room for what turned out to be a urinary infection. During the week a hospital doctor told us he was in the last stage of his dementia and it would now only be a matter of time because he is not digesting enough food and liquids. TO OUR GREAT RELIEF his nursing home staff told my mom today this is not the case, hospitals have said the same about so many other patients and we should relax and not worry. He's back at the nursing home and even though he gives them a hard time, they are able to get enough nourishment into him (seems only my mom is the only one able to get him eat a full meal). He also wears a pacemaker which helps to keep his vital signs strong.
Needless to say last night MJ and I were quite numb and feeling down. If ever we needed a perk-me-up to help us unwind it was then. So of course, that Met marathon was the shot in the arm we so much needed. We cheered as the Mets made their comeback (MJ thought for sure they were going to lose, the pessimist), groaned with Wagner, jumped like a baby when Cliff came through, laughed along with Keith and Gary and roared as David put the game away. And my mom, who had to be going through this the worst, had us call her often to hear the game's progress (she does not have cable).
That's the beauty about baseball and being a Met fan in particular. Even during the rough times the game will always be there to help us make it through the times of sorrow and grief when we are ready. It's good to know that as some things change, others don't. Being a family of Met fans really helped us all last night (and again this afternoon). Just too bad my Dad sleeps through most of the afternoon games!
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