...of this here blog. You know, the SUBTITLE, where it says "Yeah, that's right, it's time for a new year, a return to the old name....hopefully, with better results!" I guess I shouldn't have changed the name back, either. What in Sam's hill could I POSSIBLY HAVE BEEN THINKING???!!!!! So I guess, if you want to blame anybody for this year's woes, I suppose you can blame me, because, frankly, I NEVER SHOUD HAVE DONE IT. Change the subtitle, that is. Or the name. Back. What I ALSO never should have done is try to make the proverbial silk purse out of the erstwhile-proverbial sow's ear, a/k/a the 2007-2009 New York Mets. I knew, I simply KNEW, the day Carlos Beltran stood there at the plate, watching the ball whiz by, thereby ending the Mets' 2006 postseason hopes, that it was done, kaput, finis, ended, over, or, as my mom always used to say - fa-toot. Whatever fa-toot actually means. So why, oh why, did I try to deny it???? I guess I fell prey to the false bravado, the cockeyed optimism, the never-say-die, rose-colored optimism of the average, typical New York Mets fan. So I sold my soul, like all Mets fans do, soldiered on, and did what Mets fans always do -- swallow it, and continue on.
Until this year, that is. Now, I know it can be said that injuries have deccimated this team beyond all recognition, and some of that is, of course, true. Obviously, the Mets have suffered grave injury to most of their core; grave and incomprensible injury, in some cases (cough, cough Jose Reyes cough, cough). And that injuries alone are enough to account for the piss poor performances of the past few months, and some of that is also true. But what is more true, and more overwhelming, and more upsetting, is the culture of the Mets -- the culture which seems to value personality and media friendliness over actual intelligence and baseball acumen; the culture which allows the franchise to simply continue rather than to flourish and improve; the culture which apparently doesn't care that 99.99% of its team either doesn't know or doesn't know how to execute the most basic of baseball fundamentals; the culture that doesn't seem to mind that on most days, the team is utterly unwatchable; the culture that seems to believe that simply putting nine men on the field at any given time is enough to insure its own perpetuity; the culture that seems to believe it's ok (nay, indeed, totally proper) to charge exorbitant ticket and concession prices to fans of a team that is barely represented anywhere in its own ballpark.
You know, the Wilpon/Minaya, and later, Wilpon/Minaya/Manuel culture.
And I can't even watch anymore. I can't stand the sight of either Wilpon, or Omar, or Jerry. In fact, if I have to look at Jerry's smiling, laughing, bespectacled puss, or Omar's befuddled, confused expression, once again asking me if I know what he means, or Jeffy's half-witted spewing of Met non sequiturs one more fucking time this year, I'll, I'll, I'll....well, I'll turn it off, which I've been doing for most of this season.
So you can blame me for changing the subtitle, or you can consider the above and put the blame where it really belongs -- on a Met culture which has too long existed, and will probably continue to exist for a lot longer.
