All right brain, you don't like me, and I don't like you. But let's just get me through this and I can get back to killing you with beer.
Tom, we've had a strange relationship for five seasons. I made no secret that I never wanted you to be a Met and you always gave me the impression that the car to take you to the Delta terminal was idling out front. But you stayed and I learned to respect you. I celebrated your 300th victory along with everybody else, and when — on that day they gave you 300 golf balls — you said you understood how we had felt about you because you had felt the same about us, I found myself truly liking you for the first time.
So we're in this together, you and me. I know you're a cool, calm customer, I know you've pitched World Series games and won them. I know you pitched some big playoff games right here last year.
This is bigger than all that. This may be the last time you pitch for us. It's surely the first time I've felt you're pitching for me. There is no distance between us any longer. You're my favorite Met today. You're my man.
Go pitch the way Tom Glavine can. Do it for us one more time. Do it for me this once. If other occasions arrive in the near future, we'll deal with them then, but for now, there is only today. There is only you. You and me, Tom. We can do this.
Let's Go Mets. Let's Go Nats.
To that thought I can only add:
DON'T LET THE FUCKIN DOOR HIT YOU ON THE FUCKIN ASS ON THE WAY OUT THE FUCKIN DOOR ON YOUR WAY BACK TO FUCKIN ATLANTA YOU WASHED UP, BLOODLESS, MERCENARY PIECE OF SHIT.
Fuckin Glavine.
Thanks for nothing, Tommy Boy . . . don't even bother with the shower, just get dressed pack your bags and catch a cab to the airport for the next flight back to Ratlanta . . . you did, however, prove me and others right for never wanting you in a Mets uniform in the first place
My question: Do even the Braves want him now?
Provisional answer: Oh, I hope so.
And hopefully that cab to the airport will get in fender bender and give Tommy Boy another face plant into the plexiglass . . . F*CKING PIECE OF SH*T . . . I hope Fred is pleased that the guy he always admired as such a pro spit the bit.
the “comment verification” for this post came up “shiva”.
They're playing Coldplay on the PA at Shea and I forgot the razor blades.
Philly beats Nats 6 – 1.
Season over. Wishing for an interesting hot stove and redemption.
I think you needn't worry about an interesting hot stove season.
Let's go Indians.
I told you not to trust him.
And my comment verification word came up “fuksu.” I guess the question would be “what does Tom Glavine do best?”
yeah, so he can pitch a no-no against us next season.
unreal…no words.
I'm going to be starting a blog in the next couple days, wherein I'm going to delve in to each mets win/loss and share any recollections I have about how they messed up/accidently won. Hopefully it will get me to March.
I hat Tom Glavine.
Just a thought – Glavine is not the bad guy here.
The GM who signed him is. Was that Steve Phillips?
Tom Glavine, 5 years ago or so…in the mens room at a fancy Manhattan restaurant, whispering into a cell phone:
“Honey – it's me…pick up, pick up…The Mets just offered me $___ million for 5 years and WE get a $13M option for 2008. (pause) “No! I'm NOT KIDDING”. I know, I know….it'll be 5 fast years but we have to take this…it's a fucking joke but who else but the mets will do this?” Listen, I gotta go sign this before they come to their senses. Steve Phillips just ordered a fourth bottle of wine and I want to sign before he passes out.” Love you too. Tell the kids 5 years goes fast and that otherwise daddy would have to rob a bank to get this kind of dough.”