A few truths we can declare to be self-evident from the course of baseball events Thursday night:
1) Seven innings of starting pitching, even if not originated from the United Colonies…United States of Santana are a darn effective commodity. Mike Pelfrey, this win's for you. But you knew that when you earned it.
2) The shoulder bone's connected to the arm bone…and the arm bone's connected to the save bone…and the save bone's connected to the win bone…and as long as none of Frankie Rodriguez's bones fall off or out, we'll be all right. Oh hear the word of the Lord!
3) Whoopsie! One just got away from the next Mets pitcher who faces Forearm Freddie, a.k.a. Shane Victorino. Whoopsie! Another one just got away and hit the Human Hemorrhoid where he sits. No, really, ump, it was an accident, like the infertility drug for ladies that somehow got mixed up in Manny Ramirez's babushka. If somebody gets ejected or suspended for taking down Victorino and his obstructionist tactics, that's a message worth sending.
4) A message isn't necessarily sent because of two wins in May or three out of four in a given archrivalry (or four consecutive victories overall), but it beats the fudge out of not winning the three we've taken from Philly in the last week. The Mets still don't feel as if they are a first pitch to last pitch never let down proposition, but — surprise! — neither is anyone else in this division of the dismaying. Thus, after being rather limp and disinterested in the sport until fairly recently, the Mets are almost a first-place club at 14-13. Should we move into the top floor of this particular not-so-high-rise, I'll contain my enthusiasm until it's permanent. I've been excited to have rooted for a first-place club these past two seasons, not so excited when those occupations revealed themselves as short-term sublets. That disclaimer stated, onward and upward.
5) The triple is no longer the most exciting play in baseball, not when it's a daily feature of competition. Although Funhouse Field had made three-baggers the new double (thus unleashing the awesome research fury of Mets Walkoffs toward a whole new destination), we have finally been reminded that nothing beats the Mets hitting home runs at home. Remember home runs at home? Beltran, Wright and Reyes did in the first couple of innings Thursday night, and hey, as John Denver once warbled, it's good to be back home again on one swing of the bat. Maybe Citi Field doesn't carry a three-base limit after all.
6) Every season requires a new soundtrack, filled with songs sensical and otherwise. Last night, as Beltran spoiled Moyer's early bird special, our new home run theme came to me in a rush as I blurted, for no reason I could identify, “Beltran goes 'Wig-Wam Bam'!” For those of you who have somehow lived your lives not under the influence of the Sweet, this is “Wig-Wam Bam,” a track whose magnificent dopiness had eluded me until this past winter. Since May 7, 2009, I blast it every time a Met rounds the bases unaccosted. I wasn't through with the first playing when Wright required it get a second go-round. It sounded even better when Reyes necessitated an unprecedented third playing; fortunately, it is scientifically impossible to grow sick of the Sweet. (Too bad Castro could only go “Wig-Wam”.) The Mets are 1-0 since “Wig-Wam Bam” was adopted for these special circumstances. I look forward to testing its durability with many more home park home runs between now and Wednesday. CitiVision operators take note.
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More like the top floor of a 2-family in Elmont. Or The Fonz's place over the garage…
I was half-hoping (but truly only half) that Rollins would find his way on in the 9th: Franc-Rod vs. Punkerino will be an interesting match-up going forward…
I never bought that someone as cool as The Fonz would post an ostentatious handmade sign that said “The Fonz” directing well-wishers upstairs. Yeah, I could see that he wouldn't want his steady chickstream diverted toward the Cunninghams, but if he's that cool, he'd have a cooler way of letting Milwaukee know where to find him. He was The Fonz, for crissake.
I am feeling more sanguine about this team, but I have to ask: have they all signed some kind of oath never to score after the third? More games than not, the offense produces however many runs they've decided are necessary (sorry, Johan), and then plays defense for the rest of the night, hoping to hang on.
Scoring takes valuable time away that can be used lining up for the postgame buffet.
True, but I lways did like the jagged arrow pointing upward with the exact numbers of staircase steps indicated.
If there weren't, they're weren't missed. It also seemed to me last weekend that there was a less obvious Met presence at CBP.
When I was a kid the Fonz was the apex of cool. Which makes it all the more comical to watch Happy Days now – a tiny middle-aged nebbish in some kind of weird bomber jacket, dress jeans and equally 70s helmet hair, riding around on a cheap Honda.
You mention K-Rod and bones coming apart… his postgame gyrations make me nervous – seems like you could strain a shoulder muscle fist-pumping that hard.
Except for the guy who got conked in the head with a bottle…
Agreed. No matter how hard you shake them, the Mets as a collective can't seem to get the “our team doesn't blow leads” delusion out of their heads. That goes for for in-game scores and NL East standings.
I still blame Willie.
Well, if Angel Herna…I mean Tim Welke had gotten the Punkerino call right, the final is 7-4 at worst.
Scientifically impossible to get sick of The Sweet? Try “Little Willy” on heavy rotation. I think you'll change your mind shortly before you attempt to end your life.
I have killed others' will to live with “Little Willy” but it only makes me stronger.
“Punkerino” is too kind. In my house, all derogatory names for that slug begin with words that rhyme with “ick”.
Well, more than usual circa 2005 or anything. Phillies fans rarely show up. There were more than I remember for most games though. You could make out a distinct clapping on the first run, before the Mets got into the game. There were plenty on the Pepsi porch, where an altercation involving a 2008 banner that got snatched away and subsequently ripped up was going on.
I saw way too many Phillies/Mets groups/couples too. It was still probably above average for a visiting team at Citi/Shea excepting the Yankees.
And I love the Pepsi Porch. I was skeptical about it being the outfield, etc etc. But there's just something about it. There is also an awesome viewing area at the far end of the Excelsior before the porch ramp that was a great place to watch from.
We had 'em. They were just kinda quiet.
In our house, he's “Sphintorino”. Long story.
Teresa, did you live below me in college?
Guilty as charged.
When “Little Willy” was on the charts when I was a kid, I thought it was a paen to a Gene Wilder/Jack Albertson film:
“…But'cha can't push Willy 'round
Willy Won-KA!”
Caught the game from the Ebbets Club level. Friend had a pair of tickets from work, and those seats combined with no lines for food and the cleanest bathroom I've ever seen at a sporting event has ruined me for any baseball, football or basketball game in the future. Things that made it better were:
1) Pelfrey's outstanding performance
2) Home runs by Mets. As my friend commented, no cheapies at Citi, unlike Yanqui.
3) Manuel getting his money's worth out of Welke to Jerry (Springer) chants.
4)Fans behind us giving it to the drunk Phillies chick in the Empire Club suite behind us. Man, talk about about weak fans!