Dog Day Afternoon...

...at Citifield yesterday, the Mets losing a very lacklusterly (is that even a word??) game to the equally lackluster Brewers in pretty much of a sleeper (that is, one you could just about sleep through and not miss anything).

Which, unfortunately, describes most Met games these days, and even going back into last year. Lackluster. Dead. Boring. Unimaginative. Nothing happening. Ho hum. Unexciting. Channel surfing. Whatever. Who cares. The only reason I'm still watching this team is because they bear the Met name. Otherwise, I feel no ties to the team, and I'm sure, they feel no ties to us. Their fans. Their non-adoring public.

And even their adoring ones.

I wonder sometimes; why am I wasting my valuable time following a team that I don't even like? Because I don't, and haven't, for a while now.

And the only answer I have is that they are the Mets, and I'm a Met fan.

Okay, enough of my angst. Here's a hodge podge of some stuff I've noticed and thought about thus far in the early season.

For one thing, the new Yankee Stadium seems to be a launching pad of sorts. Even Yankee shill extraordinnaire (Mike Francesa) is sort of panicking about the fact that 20 home runs have been hit in the new stadium in four games. Perhaps he's more worried about the fact that OTHER TEAMS are hitting them, and has conveniently forgotten that his team, the mighty Yankees, has even more opportunity to do so, seeing as how they'll play half their fucking games there every year.

Or perhaps, this is indicative of a greater worry -- that the Yankees are just not that good, period.

I'd be much more concerned about Chien Ming Wong, if I were Mikey, and the likes of A-Rod, Texeira and Posada, not to mention an aging Jeter, who is being treated by his manager with the kiddest of kid gloves thus far this season, having received a very early hook in every blowout both in favor of and not in favor of the Yankees thus far this year.

For another thing, it seems as if Ryan Church is the Most Hated Guy on the team in the eyes of Met brass. All the guy does is play a great right field in a park where that's going to be crucial, hit the cover off the ball, and what's his reward? Riding the pine. Unfuckingbelievable. And the Prodigal Son Boy Wonder Daniel Murphy seems to be living the life of Riley with the same Met brass. Unfuckingbelievable. Do we need any more signs that the Mets have no fucking clue about how to run a team?

And all Nelson Figueroa gets for his strong effort yesterday is gone.

Although I do think the Mets might have something in this Santos guy. So far, he looks strong behind the plate, seems to have a clue at the plate, and can even run the bases.

And enough with the Jerry Manuel lovefest, already. He's just not a great manager, and still not the right manager for this team. But, as I said last year when the team fired Willie, it ain't the manager, folks. It's the team, but more than that, it's the Mets, period. With all the money they have to spend, they continue to produce an also-ran, year after year, and manage to bore the shit out of most (well, at least some) of the fans while doing it.

In short, another year of Met baseball. Ho hum. Tweedle Dee. Or should I say, Tweedle Dum... and Dumber!