The New York Mets pitching staff!!!!Because what was originally at the beginning of the season supposed to be our "strength" has quickly turned into a bunch of crying whiny little bitches for each start.
Let's start with the easiest target: Nelson Figueroa. As trusted colleague Deb so eloquently stated yesterday, Nelson's crying. Waah waaah waahhhhh, as Artie Lange would say. And what did he cry about, exactly?
"The Nationals cheer like little softball girls."
Oh, I'm sorry Nelson, are you from Freehold, NJ, where the little boys go around crying to their mothers that Big Buster Brown beat them up on the school playground? WAH! No, as a matter of fact, you coulda gone "brooklyn" on their last-place asses and played tough. But noooooooo. You had to bitch it out to the media.
Guess you didn't see last season where everyone in the NL East hated on the Mets so badly, that they deliberately played their hearts out at the end of the season to ruin any chances of them winning the pennant for two years in a row. Now, thanks Nelson, you done did it, making the rest of these sorry asses hate ours.
At least the team had the common decency to demote you ("DFA'd") and your butt buddy in the 'pen, Jorge Sosa - who by the way couldn't pitch a strike if it was eight miles wide. Another fucking pussy on this team.
Okay, so that may be it right? WRONG. For a team with such a rich pitching history and for young guys to come up through the ranks, you'd think some tough New York guys would be bred in the system. Yeah, right. Let me introduce you to Mr. Michael "Big Pelf" Pelfrey.
OK, if I saw this dude walking down the street, I'd probably be scared. He is 6'7" and just an overall monster, getting the moniker of "Big Pelf" and starting a trend of "Go Big Pelf" shirts. See, Mets fans love kids who are talked about in the minors...then hate when they come up and can't back their stuff up in the bigs. Pelf has yet to enthuse us. Save a few starts in 2007 when we needed him most, he just fails to impress.
But what really truly kills me is that he's 24 years-old, throws hard...and yet, can't get through a game unless Brian Schneider is catching. OK, I'm sorry - even Pedro Martinez had a "personal catcher" but only because he's been around forever, is a Cy Young award winner, is a bad-ass and frankly, hated Mike Piazza. Fine. But to trade Lastings Milledge for a dude who was never good just so Mike Pelfrey can be comfortable says something about the psyche of the young kid.
I'll give you a hint: it's a five-letter word that begins with "P," ends with "Y" and has a "USS" in the middle.
Here's an idea - let's stop with the yeast infection medication, take some testosterone pills and let's kick some ass out there on the mound.
Is that it? Of course not.
Oliver Perez has been talked about ad nauseum, about how he is Dr. Oliver Jekyll Perez or Mr. Ollie Hyde. So I won't even go there. And John Maine - John Maine gets a pass for being the pitcher who cares least about what you think of him - and at least it's visible when Willie wants to take him out of the game that he's pissed off about it. He also gets his props for throwing at the very first batter of the night.
I like John Maine. Therefore, he gets a Big Pussy reprieve.
But Johan Santana - the dude who is supposed to be the show-stopper? Fails to impress.
Now I know that April is typically a slow month for him. And save his very first game where I swear I was impregnated by his strike outs has been so-so at best in his tenure. Look, I am willing to give him the benny of the doubt since he IS Johan Freaking Santana. But I have to pick on him, because...well, why not?
Let's see - a few weeks ago, he had a less than stellar outing because it was cold and misty out. OK, he's used to playing in a dome in the midwest. I get it.
But his allergies were bothering him in last start?
Say it with me folks..
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!
Give me a fucking break, as Nell Carter would have said if she were allowed to curse on-air. So Johan who has signed the richest contract in pitching history has the sniffles? Oh cry me a fucking river. You mean to tell me with all that money you can't hire an allergist? A immunologist? Or at the very least someone can't forge a prescription for Claritin? What about a neti pot? I use one of those and my allergies have been tamed. Look, I know that coming to an area known for its pollen count and horrible repurcussions for allergies. But this is motherfucking ridiculous.
Look, I'm willing to give you a pass Johan, if you help us kick the Yankees' asses on Friday. Thanksabunch.
Now, let's get Ron Darling into the clubhouse to teach these young dudes a thing or two about their mental game. Obviously Rick Peterson with his talk of butterflies aint getting the job done.
Because if you can't block out cheering the opposing teammates on, if you can't pitch unless your friend is catching you, if you can't pitch because the pollen count is high tonight?
That means one thing.
You are a fucking pussy.
Visit me at My Summer Family or at Section 14 in the Mezzanine at Shea. I'll gladly let you buy me a beer. Peace.
