"Afraid to Win": The Story of the 2009 Mets

A few weeks ago, when Derek Jeter was about to pass Lou Gehrig on the Yankees' hit list, I almost posted the following paragraph:

"While needless to say I love watching Jeter play, and I have nothing but warm feelings towards Joe Torre, when I see a quote from the ex-skipper about the Captain like: "Just the tenacity, the determination. He's not afraid to win," I do have a strong urge to bury my head in my hands and weep for the English language. No one in sports is as good as Torre at stringing a selection of pre-approved words into convincing but meaningless sentences. He's "not afraid to win"? How many professional ballplayers are afraid to win? Except Chuck Knoblauch, maybe? Is that really what prevents the average player from being Derek Jeter, their victory phobias? Gah."

I decided not to put it up, because it seemed too grouchy - bitching about one of Torre's well-meaning platitudes in the middle of a nice celebratory moment. But I remembered it the other day while I was watching the Mets lose, again, to the Washington Nationals... Maybe I was too hard on Joe Torre, I thought. Maybe this is what "afraid to win" looks like.


I'm not serious, of course - all the psychoanalysis in the world wouldn't make that shredded lineup a pennant winner. But this year's Mets will make you entertain a lot of strange thoughts. They've overcome all kinds of obstacles, and repeatedly defied the odds, to lose in a series of remarkable ways.

(SIDE NOTE: I also thought of my abandoned blog post when Knoblauch was arrested for domestic assault the other day. Afraid to win, perhaps, but not to - allegedly! - hit his wife. Lovely.)

Anyway, I think every Mets fan I know wants Omar Minaya and Jerry Manuel fired, though few have any hope that it'll actually happen. Given the staggering array of injuries, I'm not sure it's really fair to call for their heads... on the other hand, I don't think I can argue with it, either. There's a lot to answer for, and I don't know how else the team would be able to start spring training without this year's toxins hanging over them.

Then again, as an alternative, maybe they could try teaching their players how to run the bases and field grounders. Sure, winning is frightening - but just using both hands to catch popups, that's not so scary, is it?

Things Fall Apart

Sorry for the delay in getting around to Sunday's cataclysm at Shea. I was writing about it for tomorrow's New York Press, and I needed to sort out my thoughts for that first. When the game ended I was actually at a loss for words -- longtime readers will know this is not common -- and while that didn't last long, it's still hard to make sense of the whole mess: there were 20 different quite practical reasons for it, and yet on some level it really defied logical explanation. Yes, it was the pitching, first and foremost, and there was a lack of hustle at times, and a number of key hitters underperformed... all of that is true. But, man: the baseball gods were angry.

I also think this bumps the Mets fanbase up from sort of middle-of-the-road suffering to seriously put-upon. Seeing all those heartbroken kids at Shea was just wrenching... I mean, the Yankees sucked when I was growing up, but they never did anything like that to me.

It's amazing (har!) that one terrible game could totally wipe out all the good things Tom Glavine did for the Mets in his time in New York, but that's what just happened. I have to assume he'll be back pitching next year -- because how do you leave a 20-year Hall of Fame career like that? But not with the Mets, he won't be. I hate to say it, but he really hurt himself with his calm, composed postgame comments; what he said was fair, but if the fans were ever going to even think about forgiving him they needed to see some real emotion there. Meanwhile, ESPN has a rumor (Insider only) suggesting Glavine might sign with the Nationals next season, which, god, would just be depressing on every conceivable level.

I have to say, while Mets fans have the right to be just as freaked out, crazed and irrational as they need to be right now, the maelstrom of blame is getting out of hand. There are many very legitimate complaints to be made about Minaya, Randolph, Reyes, Glavine, El Duque's bunion et al, but does anyone really believe that the Mets collapsed because Reyes was out on the town too late with Luis Castillo? Come on now.

Meanwhile Scott Schoeneweis of all people has been accused of ordering steroids three years ago -- altogether now Mets fans: "why did he stop?!" -- though he denies it; and Billy Wagner complained to New York Magazine about Willie Randolph and Rick Peterson's bullpen management, though he has since apologized and claims that his remarks out of context. Good times. (By the way, that NY Mag article is generally well-written and I don't mean to nit-pick -- okay, fine, yes I do -- but how do you refer to Ian Kennedy as "fireballing"?).

Omar Minaya was on Mike and the Mad Dog this afternoon-- they were pretty hard on him, but fair for the most part. Minaya didn't say anything especially shocking (except that, it sounds like, he really was considering firing Randolph for a little while there); he was careful to be politic, but he also owned up to some of the team's problems. MetsBlog has a good recap of what was said. Anyway, it was an extremely interesting and emotional interview; then Bud Selig came on the show and I... he talked a lot about... it was... zzzzzzzZZZZZZzzzzzz...

Yes, leave it to the Commish to valiantly step in and soothe the pain of agonized Mets fans by lulling them into a gentle, healing sleep. Anyway, two words for the Mets front office this winter: Johan Santana. Give the Twins whatever the hell they want, and do it with a smile.

Champagne Supernova

It's been an exhausting week for both New York teams, but, uh... well, different results. Mets fans, I really recommend you skip the following section of this post -- all the blue text -- and resume reading farther down. I'll have more for you tomorrow, from Shea Stadium in fact... the Happiest Place on Earth.

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First, I have a recap of last night's Wild Card-clinching game up on Bronx Banter. I've gotta say, I'm a real sucker for these locker room celebrations, even when it's a team I have no particular attachment to; it's just so rare to see that many adults so purely happy. A few thoughts that didn't fit in the recap:

-A commenter at the Banter the other day pointed out that Joba Chamberlain's ERA+ is now 1042. Not a typo. 1042. For those of you not sabermetrically inclined, all you need to know is that "ERA+" basically measures how good a pitcher is compared to the rest of his league, and anything over *100* is above average; for context, Mariano Rivera, almost certainly the best reliever in the game over the last 12 years overall, has a lifetime ERA+ of 196. That's awesome, 196. Joba Chamberlain's is 1042.

Now obviously, over time, Chamberlain's numbers will become less incomprehensibly superhuman; doing something for six weeks and doing something for 12 years are two very different things. Nevertheless: that's insane.

Chamberlain earned his first save a few nights ago, as Mariano Rivera was being rested, and it occurs to me that one unintended consequence of Joba Mania is that it actually gives the Yankees a little leverage in their upcoming contract negotiations with Rivera. Back in July, it seemed like they'd have no choice but to give him whatever he wanted, because who on earth would they replace him with? But now, if Rivera does leave (granted, that's highly unlikely), the Yankees have another option for really the first time since 1995.

That said, I can only imagine that letting Mariano Rivera go would result in a hideous boomerang of negative karma so severe that Red Sox fans would be mockingly chanting "2000!" from their 23rd century space bleachers. If you're the Yankees, you just have to pay the guy. But: possibly not quite as much as you thought you would.

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Welcome back Mets fans, it's safe now. In other news:

--The police have busted an international steroid ring (again, some more). So who's getting exposed this time? Barack Obama? Cardinal Egan? Maddox Jolie-Pitt? Surprise me.

By the way, you have to love government code names -- this was Operation Raw Deal. Once again I'm reminded that I really need to start giving more things in my life code names.

--Anthony Rieber reveals his plan for world domination in his latest Newsday mailbag. That's not a bad idea about eliminating the leagues, and making divisions all about geography; but, as MLB moves towards change with all the momentum of a three-legged tree sloth on Oxycontin... well, maybe your grandkids will enjoy the new setup one day.

--The Mets... what can you really say at this point? What can they say? I asked some of my Mets fan friends what they'd like to ask the team right now and I got several responses, none of them practical:

1) "What the hell? That's it, just: what the hell?"
2) "Why do you hate me?"
3) "Little Timmy needs a new heart. Little Timmy is very sick. Little
Timmy is a Mets fan. Will you go out there and win one for Little
Timmy?"

What I still don't understand is why they couldn't have at least tried to bribe the Nationals, you know? Would that have been so hard? The team just invested a big chunk of capital in Dmitri "Da Meat Hook" Young, so it's not like they couldn't use the cash, and what's another loss or two to them at this point in the season? I trust the Mets will at least give this a shot when facing the Marlins this weekend.

I Forgot My Mantra

Awkward article in the Times today that tries to compare the Mets' losing streak with other famous New York "collapses". I know it's all in good fun, but leaving aside the fact that Crazy Eddie's jail term for fraud, the end of the disco era, and Jorge Sosa's control problems are what you might generously describe as only tenuously connected, did you really need to get a Harvard psychology professor to tell you that "there is always next season"?

Anyway, I'm sticking to my the-Mets-will-be-fine guns here, but they're sure not making it easy for me. Relief pitchers are funny creatures, aren't they? Sosa was brilliant last night and terrible tonight. Feliciano and Heilman simultaneously dropped from excellent last year to just pretty good. Mota... well, there's a logical explanation for that one, so let's leave him out of it. Joe Smith burned brightly but too fast. This past offseason I thought the Mets were making a huge mistake letting Chad Bradford go, and I still think that may be the case in the long run -- but he's not having a very good year for Baltimore anyway. (Though he has grown an alarming 80's-cop mustache, so at least this season hasn't been a total bust for him).

Seriously, outside of the game's top-tier closers, are there any safe bets in the bullpen from year to year? Is this about small sample size, or is it just because if middle relievers were really reliably good they wouldn't be middle relievers? Or both? I will consult the oracle that is Baseball Prospectus on this subject in the morning.

I admit my confidence is finally a bit shaken now -- it was tonight's loss that did it. The Mets are certainly better than they've shown recently, and better than the Marlins and the Nationals... but what if they just have another week of bad luck, injuries, bullpen meltdowns?

No. It doesn't matter. Repeat after me, the Phillies have the third-worst ERA in the National League. The Phillies have the third-worst ERA in the National League. The Phillies have the third-worst ERA in the National League...

I Have Run Out of Synonyms For "Agonizing Loss"

Man... where to start with that Mets game? I can't remember the last time a team suffered four losses that agonizing one right after the other. I mean, certainly other losses have meant more -- the Mets still do have a two-game lead, even though it doesn't feel that way -- but these were just lost in such an insanely maddening fashion. First the blowout, then they let the Phillies tie game two on a grounder that should have rolled foul but didn't. The next day their dramatic comeback is aborted by an interference call. Then today, they battle back twice, from 5-0 and 8-5 deficits, and look like they're about to salvage some tiny positive feeling from the smoldering wreckage of this series... and instead their bullpen implodes again. Absolutely brutal. And now they have to go to Atlanta, and with the Phillies breathing down their necks, they actually need to win.

Having been rendered more or less speechless (which by the way is not easily managed, so congrats, Mets), I will only say, once again: at least it isn't boring.

If you're a Mets fan it may make you feel very slightly better to listen to this fan-written song about Endy Chavez, which is what the Mets were singing in the locker room the other day when he came off the DL. But only very slightly.

My Kingdom For Some F@#%ing Bullpen Help

I've got a recap of last night's Yankees game up on the Banter. Ugly day in Yankeeville; when the team gets back to the Bronx, I hope they add extra security to prepare for the angry pitchforks-and-torches-waving mob that will descend on the Stadium calling for Torre's head.

Rough night for the Mets as well, an 11-inning loss and a second straight day of poor offense. They still had a shot, but Scott Schoeneweis gave up the winning homer, doing little to endear himself to Mets fans. Seems like the Shea crowd is tough on relievers in particular, doesn't it? I guess that's what years of Armando Benitez will do to you. Good thing the Yankees have Mariano in their pen for tight situations like... oh. Right. Never mind.

Anyway, I'm going to the game at Shea tonight, and I scored pretty sweet seats (Thanks C!) -- so if you see a blonde girl in one of the right field loge boxes get knocked unconscious by a foul ball, give a wave, that's probably me.

I Joke, But the Yankees Would Be Lucky To Have A 1B Like Shuki

Remember those golden, lazy, carefree days of last week, when the Yankees were two or three entire games above .500? Sometimes late at night I think back to that time... God, we were all so young then.

Having watched Sunday's Yankees game, I now feel bad for having complained about Saturday's. Seems ungrateful, looking back. The Yankees' latest meltdown featured inefficient starting pitching from Mike Mussina, ineffective relief from the bullpen -- though I appreciate the effort from Roger Clemens, who is too old for this shit -- several futile pinch-hitting appearances, awful baserunning, and, to top it all off, a series of Keystone Kop defensive plays. The way the Yankees look right now, they're not winning the Wild Card unless the Indians and Tigers engage in a pitched, armed battle to the death sometime in August (which: not a bad marketing idea, actually. Ratings would be through the roof, and they'd be higher for the playoffs, too, without those pesky small-market midwest teams involved. Somebody get Selig on the phone!).

Don't worry though, Yankee fans, the team knows what it has to do:

“We’ve got to find a way to pitch better and score some more runs and look like a ball team again,” said starter Mike Mussina...

Allowing fewer runs while scoring more: that would probably help, yes.

Moving on and following up, the Israel Baseball League kicked off last night, with the Modi'in Miracle kicking some Petach Tikva Pioneer ass, 9-1. You may well be witnessing the origins of The Curse of Shuki Friedman.

I just now noticed that the Miracle are managed by Art Shamsky... you know, it's a strange world we live in.

J.J. Putz Rides A Pale Horse

I looked, and behold, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth, the full moon became like blood, and the stars of the sky fell to the earth as the fig tree sheds its winter fruit when shaken by a gale; the sky vanished like a scroll that is rolled up, and every mountain and island was removed from its place. Then the kings of the earth and the great men and the generals and the rich and the strong, and every one, slave and free, hid in the caves and –-

--No, no, wait, sorry. That's about Armageddon. I was looking for information on the Yanks-Mariners series, but you can see how I might have gotten the two confused.

Okay, so it's not quite the end of days yet. The Yankees are better than this (surely out of A-Rod, Matsui, Giambi, Cano, and Abreu, at least one or two of them will start hitting well again, right?), and they have three-quarters of the season left to play, and a comeback is plenty possible. But their margin for error is getting slimmer every day.

Out in Queens today, the Mets trounced the Brewers, winning the series, and the most enjoyable part of it was their outfield: Carlos Beltran, Endy Chavez, and the newly-called up 21-year-old speedster Carlos Gomez. Defensively, this may actually be the best outfield I've ever seen: they caught everything. It was a thing of beauty. Oliver Perez pitched very well, but he would definitely have given up more than one hit in the first eight innings if Moises Alou and Shawn Green had been in left and right. Also, Jose Reyes finally caved to the peer pressure -- turns out he was just waiting to finish filming a Reggaeton video -- and shaved his head. He actually looks pretty good, and now Aaron Sele is the lone holdout (Poor Mike Pelfrey lost his hair just days before getting sent back to AAA). I can't believe they somehow got 24 of 25 adult men to do this, and am simultaneously very impressed and a little alarmed.

Meanwhile, the much-hyped Brewers looked legitimately very good this weekend -- though maybe not quite as amazing as their record would indicate -- and it's nice to see such a long-suffering franchise turning things around. See, get Bud Selig away from a team, and watch it thrive!

But man... if the Yanks don't snap out of their funk this week, the upcoming Subway Series is going to be pretty damn lopsided, to say nothing of the Red Sox games that immediately follow. No time for love, Doctor Jones.

This game's fun, okay? Fun, godammit!

You know how I said I wasn't going to panic until at least Monday? Well, I meant it. Unless you want to define panic as "a sudden overpowering fright; also : acute extreme anxiety," of course. I was going with the definition "of, relating to, or resembling the mental or emotional state believed induced by the god Pan," which I don't feel applies. Johnny Damon is hurting and probably heading for the DL, Andy Pettitte and Mariano Rivera got lit up, the bullpen is in bloody shreds, Joe Torre's job may be in danger.

So then Jeff Karstens takes a line drive off his knee on the first pitch of the game -- and you have to hand it to fate, because that really perfectly encapsulates the Yankee season thus far, doesn't it? Nicely done. Anyway, here comes Kei Igawa, and there goes my sanity.

I Love the Smell of Desperation in the Morning

Ummm. The Yankees do need a fifth starter, but... this? Sidney Ponson is a knight in his native Aruba, a drunk driver in the United States, and an inept pitcher everywhere. You also don't want to run into him on the beach, apparently, especially if you're a judge. You've got to feel for Shawn Chacon, who is being replaced by a walking punch line, but Randy Johnson is probably relieved to no longer be the least likable guy on the team.