....and thank you, Elvis Costello, for giving me the line which spawned the title to this post. They've got no heart, these Mets, they have no clue, these Mets, they send invisible shivers running down my spine, these Mets; I don't know how much more of this I can take, and I'm frankly filing my nails while they're losing the thing...it nearly took a miracle to get them to stay in it, it's only gonna take my little fingers to turn them off.
So much for my Elvis Costello moment. But frankly, the tone and tenor of that wonderful song from which I heavily borrowed the lines of that paragraph feels exactly like what I'm feeling today. Melancholy, a little haunted, a little sad, a little perplexed, and a little frustrated. In fact, I was going to subtitle this post "It's The Bullpen, Stupid!", but I thought that was another overly simplistic statement masquerading for real thought when it comes to this current version of the New York Mets. For it's MORE than the bullpen, folks; it's the total culture of the team, the total failure of the team to pick each other up, the total failure of the team to play like a team on anything approaching a consistent basis.
Just like watching the detectives...only they're NOT so cute, this time!
And I guess the Mets can't beat the Braves unless a pitcher named Perez is starting the game.
I'm starting to think that the Mets have their own version of the "open door" policy -- they open the door for other teams, and the other teams just walk through it.
Just like watching the detectives....shoot, shoot, shoot...I get so angry when the teardrops start, but they can't be wounded, 'cause they've got no heart.
Prove me wrong. Stop leaving so many men on base; stop failing to execute; stop failing to play solid fundamental baseball, and shut that fucking door, already, once and for all.