Sense of Entitlement Going Unserviced

Sure was nice of us to not clinch in front of Pedro Astacio.
Oh wait, we already clinched. We've clinched all there is to clinch. There is no pressing reason to win baseball games so, apparently, we have chosen not to.
Uh, not to be ungrateful in this new and exciting era of having that little “x” next to our name in the standings, but shouldn't these games come with a rebate? If the Mets aren't trying to win — and they're not exactly going out of their way to emerge victorious — can we get like 10% of our ticket price returned to us? Don't worry, I'll put it right back into the kitty. The $25 DIVISION CHAMPIONS shirt I'm wearing as I type is indicative of how willing I am to spend in the name of this team's success. If Fred was willing to invest in great players, I'm fine with throwing down currency for overpriced merchandise full of happy logos.
Surely I would have taken this deal in February, the paying for meaningless games in exchange for why they're meaningless. They're marvelously meaningless. I look above the right field corner and I see the first version of what I hope will be a very special banner. I look behind home plate and I see the Mets insignia has been enhanced by a descriptor of what they've been since Monday night. Success hasn't spoiled this Rock Hunter.
But going to this game and Wednesday's game, both enveloped in offensive torpor, is tough stuff. It's a fleeting quirk of circumstance, I understand, but it puts into question the concept of the Mets as a destination for the entertainment dollar. There was little entertaining about watching the Mets losing to the last-place Nationals, especially losing to alumnus Astacio, a guy I'm guessing most fans without a fantasy roster had no idea was still pitching.
Oddly, if this had been a crummy loss at the tail end of a crummy season, I'd probably be penning paeans to the beauty of baseball, even futilely fought baseball, noting that autumn is at hand and the icy grip of winter is limbering up and…hey, screw that. Still, on the heels of a couple of lame losses that do not really matter, I find myself growing snippy and impatient after schlepping to Shea for another subpar game.
New York Mets fans, welcome to the big time.