Winning them all continues to be not an option [1]. Damn.
The not-quite-lucky/not-quite-sound doings in the top of the sixth bubble up like goo from time to time in a season, even against a preternaturally doomed club like the Pirates. Unappealing, but a fact of life. So take it out on the Nationals this weekend.
One thing did irk me more than merely losing, even if I feel a little killjoy in being bothered by it. Ramon Castro leads off the second with a base hit that takes off into the left-center gap. It's got just enough legs to make it a double. Problem is Ramon doesn't. Ramon's a scow in a sea of cigarette boats. Ramon's a Heinz Ketchup man. Ramon's a direct descendant of Ernie Lombardi [2]. Ramon's…
Ramon's not fast.
So Ramon Castro, the piano on his back conflicting with the instinct in his head, tries to stretch his long single into a medium double. Nate McLouth's throw, much like the fall harvest, beats Ramon to second. Ramon slides — if you're not picky about literal definitions for the term “slides”. It's less a slide than a abdominal descent into second. Or not quite second. Either way, he's out. Score it 8-somewhere-near-4.
Such a tableau would be amusing to watch if it were occurring to a chunky, leadfooted catcher who plays maybe twice a week on any of 29 other teams; you know, it's funny because it's not the Mets. But this was the Mets, the Mets whose fantastic opportunity to add to a 1-0 lead had just gone by the boards, so I wasn't amused. Actually, I was annoyed. No man on second. No man on first. No baserunner at all. I think that's legitimate grounds for annoyance.
Yet I might have forgotten about it by now in the wake of Oliver Perez's mini-implosion had not Castro's teammates been so yukking it up when he returned to the dugout, laughing heartily at his inability to reach second safely or reach second at all.
Ha-ha! You're slow! And lack grace!
Guys, you've just had a leadoff baserunner erased in the second inning of a 1-0 game against a pretty good lefty who generally gives you fits. You don't have an impenetrable lead either in the game or in the standings. You have been running warm and cold for two months. While you're chortling at Castro, Shawn Green is striking out and Ruben Gotay is preparing to do the same. May I then ask you, the professionals, a simple question?
What the fudge was so funny?
Celebrate your heads off when you homer. Foxtrot on air to commemorate a W. Do your space age handshakes after sacrifice flies if you promise not to hurt yourselves in the process. But when one of you makes the first out of the second inning, a consolatory slap on the ass is the most we need to see.