I feel awful about Tom Glavine not winning his 300th game. Now we're going to have to hear about it for at least five more days.
My dismay is less a matter of personal Glavbivalence [1] than storyline fatigue. Seventeen Mets played Tuesday night in Milwaukee. Sixteen of them lost. But it was only Tom Glavine who was denied a win.
Now the Tom Glavine Chowder & Marching Society will follow him around the Midwest for five long days asking if they can charge those minibar M&Ms to his credit card. For five days, Glavine's relatives and Glavine's friends and Glavine's hangers-on will clog the hotel lobbies of Milwaukee and Chicago. Kevin Burkhardt will have to stick close and become known as the 31st Glavine, lest Mrs. Glavine slip away from SNY's curious cameras for as long as a second.
Mike Glavine might even get another start at first.
Willie Randolph removed Tom Glavine in the seventh after his total pitches climbed to 95, the last of them smacked to center by Damien Miller. With the manager's decision, the pitcher reluctantly turned toward the dugout. With the pitcher's march off stage (and the Miller Park crowd's classy ovation — I wouldn't have done it for Jeff Suppan in a million years), Gary Cohen announced “Glavine can go ice his arm.”
He could also go soak his head, one was tempted to add. Glavine tried to win himself No. 300 and us, incidentally, No. 60. He didn't pitch badly, but, you know, enough with the Glavine already.
By the 13th inning, I had kind of forgotten the original plot of July 31 was Tom Glavine versus history. We were treated to a whale of a game [2] anyway, something you could imagine would be talked about for years if it took place in the postseason. There was indeed a playoff atmosphere, right down to the Mets' inability to get a big hit and Guillermo Mota's failure to record a crucial out.
Tom Glavine didn't nail down No. 300. He left in the top of the seventh with a 2-1 lead. Once he did, the whole thing was out of his hands. The Mets, thus, lost as a team. They also didn't win as a team. If we're going to be asked to stand five-day vigils for our erstwhile Manchurian Brave — Tom Glavine is the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful human being I've ever known in my life — then it should have been incumbent upon him not to walk five, not to run up his pitch count near one hundred with none out in the seventh, not to be in a position where he would be ordered to abandon his post with nine outs unaccounted for. Once Tom Glavine exited, the odds increased that Tom Glavine wouldn't win his 300th game.
So what?
So the Brewers unfortunately prevailed in this war of attrition.
So Luis Castillo didn't hit like Ruben Gotay; at least he didn't field like Ruben Kincaid.
So centerfield was Milledge Park even if Lastings at the bat was Milledge Lite.
So Reyes and Wright actually went to the trouble of playing like Reyes and Wright in a losing cause.
So Heilman and Feliciano and Mota and Sele and their surprisingly sturdy defense couldn't plug their fingers into the big, bad Brewer dike forever.
So the removal of Jon Adkins from the roster to accommodate an emergency catcher seemed to throw the entire bullpen into turmoil. (By the ninth inning you're using your fifth starter?)
So Delgado didn't look too swift trying to score from first on Green's double in the sixth when they showed the slow-motion replay.
So the replay was shown at regular speed. It was Delgado who ran in slow motion.
So Green is stuck on 29 RBI, or not quite twice as many as Alou has despite Alou missing half of May, all of June and most of July.
So Bernie Brewer didn't have the decency to tumble hundreds of feet to a beery fate when Geoff Jenkins got us all blasted.
So a game I began watching in July and ended watching in August didn't seem to bode particularly well for our October prospects.
So Tom Glavine didn't get his 300th win.
So what?
Moises Alou went practically 300 minutes without an injury. Now that's a milestone worth celebrating.