Purgatory

So why the lack of recent posts, you ask?

Well, much like a confused Anthony Soprano in Costa Mesa, I have found myself in Baseball Purgatory since the Mets clinched the division some 10 days ago. Caught between a raucous regular season and the excitement and promise of the first post-season in 6 years, I've probably watched no more than 7 innings of the last 8 games combined. Of course, it didn't help that (last night aside) the Mets had been playing absolutely putrid baseball. Nor did it help that they were not just losing games, but getting smushed. Finally, I just got tired of hearing endless blathering guessing-games about Pedro Martinez. Will he? Won't he? Can he? Should he? I just couldn't take it any longer.

Luckily, that's all over now. The answer to each of the above questions is now officially: No, yes, no, and no. Petey is done, finished, kaput. But are the Mets done as well?

Two schools of thought here: For a good month now, all I've heard is that the Mets need a healthy Pedro to win in the postseason. There is some credence to that. Even with Pedro, their starting pitching is razor-thin. And in the playoffs, they won't get to feast against the Colorados, Arizonas, Cincinnatis, and Pittsburghs (um, ok, bad example there) of the world. So, yes, this is a big blow.

But please consider the other school of thought:

(1) The Mets have 94 wins. Pedro has 9. The Mets are 11-12 in his starts. What does all of this mean? Do the math, hotshot. The Mets have won without him.

(2) At this point it looks like the Dodgers are a likely first round opponent. Pedro gave up 6 ER in 5 innings against them in a loss back in June. In fact, that was the Mets' only loss in their historic 9-1 road trip. By the way, throw out that game and the Mets went 4-2 against LA this year.

(3) Potential NLCS opponents? He didn't face Houston or St. Louis this year, yet the Mets somehow managed to go 4-2 and 4-2 against them, respectively. He did beat San Diego twice, but if that's the only lineup that stands between us and the World Series, I don't think Pedro will be needed.

(4) Philly looks just about dead, but just for fun, Petey lost to Philly twice, including an absurd 1-inning outing back on August 14, in which he gave up 6 ER. Throw out those two losses and the Mets went 11-6 against Philly this year.

(5) Pedro v. the Yankees? Shudder. Enough said.

Thus, I refuse to start sobbing here. No Pedro is much better than ineffective, gimpy Pedro. Let's all take a deep breath and move forward.

And if the bats could start to wake the fuck up, that would be nice, too.

See ya next week!

Ouch! Uh....You Using The Whole Fist There, Seattle?

That was KY-Jelly painful.

If you had told me at the start of the season that after the Giants' ridiculously difficult first 3 games - home vs. Indy, at Philly and at Seattle - they'd go 1-2, I probably would've been no more than mildly disappointed. 0-3 would have been unacceptable, 2-1 would've been amazing, 1-2....eh. Not great but not a disaster.

However, from where I'm sitting right now, 1-2 looks like shit. After you toss out the thunderous 27 point rally when the Seahawks were sitting in prevent, what's left? A shaky and confused Manning. Zero pass rush (again). "Big playmakers" dropping the few throws Eli was able to put in their hands. An alleged "secondary" so bad, I think I may have scored a touchdown against them yesterday.

The Giants defense has now played 12 quarters and one OT, and what have they accomplished? Two sacks - TWO!! - 4 picks, and one lonely little fumble recovery. They've also given up a staggering 92 points in three games and 1,121 yards of offense. In short, they're the Kansas City Chiefs.

This is not what I signed up for this year. Something has to change, and fast, otherwise, this season is history.

Oops, wait a second - make that 98 points and 1,171 yards. Nate Burleson just scored another TD.

Fun in Philly

NFL Football Giants at Eagles Giants win in OT!!

Just because I feel like watching it again. Sure beats talking about Dontrelle Willis.

Who's Next

Where were you?

I can vividly remember the exact places I was during the defining victories in my career as a sports fan. We're talking down to the last bar stool, chair, or spot on the couch.

Game 6, 1986. I had barricaded myself in my room in my dad's house in Harrison, NY after Dave Henderson's home run off Rick Aguilera. I watched the entire 10th inning rally on a 10" black and white TV from the Johnson administration at the foot of my bed.

When the Knicks outlasted the Bulls in Game 5 of the 1994 Eastern Semis thanks to a little help from Hue Hollins, I was packed into the TV room in my dorm up at Vassar along with 5 other die hards, one Bulls fan, and about 50 other people who didn't really know what all the fuss was about.

When the Knicks finally toppled the Pacers to advance to the NBA Finals in 1994, I was on the couch in my mom's living room, hooting at Reggie Miller's flagrant foul on John Starks to seal it.

For Larry Johnson's 4-point play against those same Pacers in the 1998/99 Eastern Conference Finals, I was in a bar called Sutton Place going absolutely apeshit. I swear to God, I'm still buzzing about this one.

When Todd Pratt went yard off of Matt Mantei to end the 1999 NLDS, I was watching in a conference room in 30 Rockefeller Plaza at my old law firm. Working weekends sucks.

When Johnny Franco caught Barry Bonds looking to end Game 2 of the 2000 NLDS, I was at Bourbon Street on Amsterdam Avenue, where I had nearly destroyed one of the bar stools after JT Snow had tied it with a 3-run blast off of Benitez in the 9th.

When the Giants absolutely throttled the Vikings in the 2001 NFC Championship Game, I was watching in my dad's time-share in Beaver Creek, Colorado. I certainly didn't ski that day.

So where was I when the 2006 Metropolitans finally, officially accomplished something that they haven't done in 18 years -- something no one but the Braves has done since the dawn of time -- and sewed up the NL East? Of course, I was at Madison Square Garden, watching The Who tear through "Baba O'Reilly."

Tom and I were lucky enough to watch the first 3 innings from a BBQ joint across from the Garden, where we saw Zorro's first blast. We saw Zorro's second blast at a concession stand outside section 341 while the opening act warbled on inside.

The Who went on in the top of the 7th, so we settled in our seats with plans to make frequent score checks on our cell phones, and to hightail it back to the hot dog stand after the first out in the top of the 9th. Well, the top of the 9th came just as the majestic opening strains of "Baba" engulfed the entire Garden, so we weren't going anywhere. (Sadly, this came after a new 6-song mini-opera that would've been a perfect opportunity to duck out and watch the last inning, had it been played 10 minutes later. Oh well). Screaming "teenage wasteland!!!!" while hitting "refresh" on one's phone is an interesting experience to say the least.

Hardly ideal circumstances, but Tom and I will certainly always remember where we were for this one.

By the way, best songs last night: Baba, You Better You Bet, Eminence Front, Won't Get Fooled Again, and an amazing Tommy encore consisting of Amazing Journey, Sparks, and Listening to You. The Who still fucking rocks, people.

So let's all kick back for a few weeks, and gear up for October. I may scale back the posting just a bit to re-charge my batteries, but you better believe you'll be getting some Tolstoy-esque masterpieces come October 3.

We're all WASTED!!!

Fresh Eagle Meat Is Yummy

That, my friends, is why I watch sports.

To suffer through 3 quarters of lousy football, in a bar packed with asshole Eagles fans (that's redundant, of course), suffering in my vintage 1986 LT jersey;

To endure taunts and chants from those fans every time Eli got swarmed or McNabb threw for another first down against a seemingly invisible defense;

To watch the Giants score on a play so fluky, you knew the tide was shifting;

To watch the defense FINALLY show some wontons and stuff the Eagles on a huge 4th-and-1 that would've likely sealed the game;

To watch your quarterback turn from a human punching bag to John Elway in the span of 15 minutes;

To watch those same asshole Eagle fans slowly twist in the wind as the game started to slip away;

To see a near-perfect overtime TD pass under heavy pressure;

And finally,

To watch an Eagle fan storm out of the bar, strip off his crisp, clean, white #5 jersey, throw it to the sidewalk, and stomp on it.

I love sports.

***

(1) Here is a great shot of the bird-brained personal foul penalty by Trent Cole that helped the Giants send the game to OT. Ouch! I liked Tiki's quote: "The ironic thing was, Kareem was trying to help him up."

(2) What the hell is up with this "no blitzing" shit? The Giants finally have some play-making LBs, and Coughlin isn't using them. For the first 3 quarters yesterday, McNabb could've sat back in the pocket, do his laundry, call his mom, and still have another 5 minutes to look for a receiver and toss a first down. Hello? Pass rush? Paging pass rush!

(3) We have some unfinished business to take care of in Seattle this week. That loss freaking stung out there last year. Let's hope Feely brings his good kicking shoes this time.

(4) I'm no Jet fan, but I was pulling for them yesterday after Belichick decided to act like a first-class douchebag to his former protoge this week. I figured he'd at least warm up to him after the game ended at mid-field, but no, a quick perfunctory handshake, and bye-bye. What an ass. But hey, Jet fans should be happy that they've finally got a coach who knows what the fuck he's doing on offense.

Finally, what can I say about the Metropolitans. I planned my Friday AND Saturday nights around them, and they fucked me both times. Didn't watch a single play yesterday (Giants game), and they STILL fucked me. Tonight, I'm off to see The Who at MSG, so I'll miss the "clinching," if it finally happens. So what. At this point, I'm more annoyed than giddy. But don't worry, I'll be re-charged come October.

Until next time....

E!!

A!!!

G!!!

L!!!

E!!!

S!!!

CHOKERS!!!!!

Excellent

Burns: You must find the jade monkey before the next full moon.

Smithers: Actually, sir, we already found the jade monkey. It was in your glove compartment.

Burns: And the road maps and the ice scraper?

Smithers: They were in there too.

Burns: Excellent. It's all falling into place....

Everything fell neatly into place last night, as everything that I requested yesterday afternoon -- Mets win, Phils sweep -- occurred, leaving the magic numero at an even deuce. Now if the Braves will cooperate today, we can nail it down tomorrow with Petey on the hill. Exxxxcellent...

Last night the Mets got their 90th win. And you know what that means. Often imitated, never duplicated, it's time to count down 5 notable "90's" in Mets history. Let's rock:

(1) Met wins in 1984. Ahh, 1984. The year of the New Coke, Michael Jackson, Mr. T, and "Webster." It was also the year I really became a Mets fan at the tender age of 10. That team banged out a record of 90-72 en route to a second place finish to the Cubbies. I remember being in the stands for a game against the Pirates in which Doc set the record for strikeouts in a season by a rookie, and the place was electric. Youth was everywhere on this team, and you definitely got the feeling they were close to something big. They were.

(2) Howard Johnson's 1990 RBI Total. Hojo had kind of an odd career as a Met. They traded for him to replace Ray Knight, who ended up stealing his job back in 1986. Then by '87, Knight was gone and Hojo was the everyday 3rd baseman and exploded for 36 HRs and 99 RBIs. You never really thought of him as a Strawberry-like stud, but he ended up etching his name at the top of almost every Mets career offensive category. Kind of like a Jeff Kent Light - but not someone who you'd love to punch in the face (like Jeff Kent).

(3) Frank Taveras' Career Stolen Bases As A Met. I always have to throw in one truly random one about a player with whom I have no connection whatsoever. Frankie played at Shea during the incredibly forgettable years of 1979-1981, and I vaguely remember having his baseball card. He managed only 1 HR in 1,480 at bats as a Met. That's impressive. At least he had a nice afro.

(4) Bernard Gilkey's Career Doubles As A Met. Bernard had some very nice seasons as a Met, but by far and away he is best known for gaping at a spaceship during "Men In Black." Sad.

(5) Brian McRae's 1998 Strikeout Total. That may have been the season I was chatting up a bartender at Brother Jimmy's who claimed to be dating him. I recall her telling me how much he disliked Bobby Valentine. I resisted the urge to tell her how much I disliked Brian. I don't think she would've comped me any rounds after that.

Sadly, unless we can get to 100 wins, this may be my last "top 5" post. But I think we can do it. Someone tell the Mets to get 10 more for ol' Toasty Joe!

"No, That's Fast-Forward!!"

Finally I have an excuse to salute one of my favorite comedies of all time, Woody Allen's 1973 masterpiece "Sleeper." Miles and Luna's adventures in the tape room gave rise to the title of this post, which also aptly describes how I watched the end of last night's game. For those of you who haven't noticed, SNY has this thing called "Mets Fast Forward," which trims off all of the gristle, fat, and chaff from your typical 3-hour baseball game and condenses it into one meaty, bite-sized hour. Well, last night I snapped off the TV in disgust after the Mets squandered a bases-loaded situation in the top of the 7th, writing off the game for a loss. So it was highly serendipitous that, upon awaking at the ungodly hour of 5:30 am to feed the pupster, not only was "Fast Forward" showing, it was the the top of the 8th inning, i.e., pretty much exactly where I had left off some 6 hours earlier. Yes, "Fast Forward" had trimmed away a good 4:45 of rain delays, pitching changes, and Miggy Cabrera smirks to give us one hour of baseball. As I joyfully watched the Mets plate 4 runs the top of the 8th, knowing that there was only 12 minutes or so left of "Fast Forward," I engaged in an intricate guessing game about what I was about to watch. Would Wags save it? Did Miggy hit a walk-off? Very strange watching a replay where you don't know the outcome, but you know what time it's going to end.

In any event, I highly recommend "Fast Forward" to anyone staggering in drunk at the break of dawn who missed the game the night before, or anyone with an uppity Havanese puppy who demands and insists that play-time starts when the clock hits 5:20 a.m.

(1) So the magic number is now down to a lean and mean 3-spot. I don't really want to clinch on tomorrow's off-day, so I'm not sure what to root for today. I guess the best thing would be to go into tomorrow's game with the magic number at 2, not 1. This can be accomplished (I think) by a Mets win and a Phillies sweep of their doubleheader today, or, in the alternative, a Mets loss and a Phillies split. Since I cannot under any circumstances root against the Mets (also I want the Fish to be buried), let's go Phillies today! Of course, the Mets could also clinch tonight with a win and a Braves sweep - but in all likelihood, that would mean the clinching would come an hour or so after the Met game ends, which would be kinda weird. Let's just clinch like normal human beings on Friday.

(2) Bye bye, Braves. Just once more for the road, here's the Ballad of Marcus Giles. Sing it loud and proud. Are we still looking over our shoulders at you, Marcus?

(3) Last night the Schwizz and I got into a lively baseball debate at Brother Jimmy's with a deranged Yankee fan who was insisting that Robinson Cano "is just as good" as Jose Reyes. I seriously almost spit my beer at him. Perhaps he was only enraged by my comment that "Cano is not even a spot on Jose Reyes' fanny." Who knows what goes on in their heads.

That's all for now....go Mets, and, er, Phils. I guess. But only today.

Miguel Cabrera Is A Big Fat Idiot

Just some quick hits today, because I didn't watch much of yesterday's debacle:

(1) I'm so sick of Cabrera's shit. He gets more and more obnoxious every time I see him. He's always either got that goofy Andruw-like smirk, or he's pissed off about someone disrespecting him. As Metstradamus astutely pointed out, which is worse, a fist-pump from a minor league pitcher desperately trying to make a name for himself in the major leagues, or a full-fledged swing dance with a teammate in the dugout after you've just cut the other team's lead from seven to six?

(2) Not a single one of the pitchers who took the hill for the Mets last night is going to be on the postseason roster. Zero. So forgive me if I pretend last night didn't happen.

(3) Cliffy's home run was just punished. Let's get him rolling again.

(4) Anibal is a beast, and will be a thorn in the Mets' side for the next 10 years - unless, of course, the Fish trade him to the AL after they win the 2008 World Series, which is more than likely.

It was somewhat shameful of me not to mention the 5th anniversary 9/11 yesterday in my rantings about the Giant game. On the one hand, I can't believe it's been 5 years, but somehow it also seems like 10 years. I, for one, always hesistate to join the chorus of people shouting "never forget!" I was 8 blocks away that day, and I wouldn't forget anything I saw or heard that day in a million years. Keep taking care of each other out there.

Are You Adequately Prepared For Some Football?

It's been about 8 months since the Giants played their last game, and I've forgotten how cruel this game is. There is nothing worse than watching a team march up and down your home field, totally powerless to stop it. Nothing. I mean, even when you're getting dominated by a starting pitcher in baseball, you always can hope that he'll get tired, his pitch count will spike, and he'll be gone. In football, getting overwhelmed by a great offensive team is just miserable, prolonged agony.

Well, fortunately for the Giants, they were able to stop the bleeding pretty quickly after a first quarter of getting beat up by interminable, clock-devouring drives. The good guys managed to hold the damage to 6 points, at least giving the team a shot. Eli made the plays when he had to, and had the ball in his hands down a mere 2 points against one of the top teams in the NFL with under 5:00 to go. All very good things.

But that's where the fun stopped. Funny thing about football is how you can have an incredible see-saw of emotions within a 10 second span. Like yesterday, with 3rd and 2 on the Giants' own 18, 4:14 to go, needing only a FG to take the lead, the following occurred:

Eli throws complete to Carter - first down. Yes!

Flag on the play. No!!

Pass interference. YES!!!

OFFENSIVE pass interference. What the FUCK?!?!

NBC shows replay of "penalty." WHAT THE FUCK?!?!!?!

I've watched a lot of football, folks, and I don't recall ever seeing a more bullshit, ticky-tack push-off call in such a crucial spot. If the ref lets that go, it's first down at the 37 with only 4:00 to go, with the Giants riding a wave of momentum. Who knows what happens. Total. Horse. Shit.

Brutal loss, but here are some huge positives:

(1) Brandon Jacobs. WOW. Wasn't it just 8 months ago that this guy was a short-yardage guy who couldn't get short yardage? Yesterday he's running around out there like Eric Dickerson crossed with Mark Bavaro, plowing over and through people, hitting holes, and picking up yardage in huge chunks, looking confident and aggressive. Wow. I am VERY excited about this. We could have a thunder and lightning situation on our hands again - but for real this time.

(2) Tiki. Has not lost anything from last year. The Colts just could not stop him. If this keeps up the ground attack could be ferocious.

(3) The O-Line. A good day. Eli wasn't hurried too often, he was never sacked, and the Giants picked up nearly 190 on the ground. A very good day.

Of course, the negatives were there too, other than the final score. Eli was pretty good overall, but made some head-scratching throws. The new acquisitions, Madison and Arrington, didn't make much of an impact at all. And NINE offensive penalties at HOME?!? That should NEVER happen. And can ANYONE in the secondary catch a ball that hits them in the hands? If even ONE of those picks are caught, we have a whole new ballgame.

But I do think that this team showed that it's for real, and it should be a real bloodbath next week in Philly. Godspeed, Big Blue.

***

Speaking of bloodbaths, yesterday's Mets game was the first game all year that I can unequivocally, 100% tell you that I didn't give two shits about. In fact, if yesterday's loss knocked Trashball out of the playoff rotation, it was a great day for Met fans everywhere.

But now that Sunday Night Football is behind me, I can focus on the clinching that's to come in the next few days. Hopefully Peyton Manning won't be on the mound in Florida.

The Human Cliché

What can I say about Jose Reyes at this point that hasn't already been said five hundred times?

That he's the most exciting player of the past 25 years?

That he's easily the fastest man to ever put on a Mets uniform?

That there's no more exhilarating moment in all of sports than watching the ball fly off his bat and KNOWING it's already been earmarked for at least a triple?

That he plays the game with ferocious enthusiasm and a constant smile, and makes every Met game a ton of fun to watch? (call him the anti-Jeff Kent)

That even in a meaningless game with the division long since wrapped up, his presence on the field demands your full attention?

That Jose represents everything that's RIGHT about the game?

It almost feels trite saying all these things at this point, but after last night, they all must be said again. I've not seen that many inside-the-park jobs in my life, but I have NEVER seen one in which the runner is safe by that much. I watched the replay of Jose swan diving into home plate 10 times, and each time I kept asking: Where's the ball? What happened to the ball? I don't know where it was, but I do know it was never anywhere close to the proximity of home plate. Jose could've done a vaudevillean soft-shoe routine down the third base line and still have been safe by a good 15 feet. Just incredible.

(1) The matter-of-fact way the Mets have won the last three games has been scary. These game mean nothing to them, but they mean everything for the teams they're playing, especially the Dodgers, whose hold on first place is quickly evaporating. The Mets are just a frightening juggernaut right now.

(2) Speaking of the Dodgers, they sure didn't look like a team scratching and clawing to stay in first place last night. No one was hustling to first base, Penny was brutal, and Matt Kemp played centerfield like he was trying to catch a bunch of poorly-thrown Frisbees. Bring 'em on.

(3) High point of last night's game, other that Reyes's mad dash, was Gary, Ron and Mex's meandering dialogue about what Tommy Lasorda would be eating later that night:

Ron: Macaroni.
Gary: Veal.
Mex: Red wine.
Ron: Chicken cutlet.
Gary: Fettucine.
Mex: Ravioli.

Also, every time I see Lasorda, I think of this and crack up: "Hey, a picture of you and Tommy Lasorda! I HATE Tommy Lasorda." [SMASH] It never gets old.

Last but not least, if you haven't seen this clip by now, shame on you. It gets funnier every time you watch it. Trust me on this.

Coffin Nails

This will complete my triumverate of "R.I.P. Braves" posts - the first being this one, followed by the unforgettable "Ballad of Marcus Giles." Yesterday afternoon the Mets hammered the final nails into the Braves' grave in a so-methodical-it-was-scary doubleheader sweep of the 14-time defending NL East Chumps, er, Champs. What we sensed in June, what we believed in July, and what we knew in August has now become a reality. The Braves are kaput. And children everywhere are pleased. Call it the Curse of Roger McDowell.

(1) Willie made some odd moves in game 1 that I'm going to hope are the result of the big lead and the expanded roster. Pulling Dave Williams after only 72 pitches of masterful work in the first game of a doubleheader, with Ollie Perez (who'd been brutal) going in the second game, and thus, needing to preserve the pen? Needing a lefy bat off the bench in a key spot with ducks on the pond, and turning not to your MVP candidate (who was obviously well enough to pinch hit, since he played friggin' centerfield in game 2), but to....Ricky Ledee? Baffling. But, I guess he gets a pass under the circumstances. I just don't like to give anything away against these bastards. Kill, kill, no mercy. Luckily we killed anyway.

(2) Day 3 of Puppy Watch was a resounding success. She survived several hours alone in the crate, and slept through the night until 5 a.m. without barking. (I consider that a success). Perhaps it was the Lunesta or the earplugs, but the Flitgirl and I both got decent nights' sleep. Huzzah!

(3) Good to see Shawn Green get in on the fun, especially because I have a new nickname for him: The Tribesman. Hopefully everyone gets that. (If you don't, then you're probably not part of the Tribe).

(4) I was very happy for the kid in Florida last night - I was lucky enough to see the last 3 outs live on ESPN when they cut away from the Boston game. But it got me to thinking about the 4 guys who've tossed no-no's for the Marlins: Al Leiter, A.J. Burnett, Kevin Brown and Anibal Sanchez. For those scoring at home, that's one future Met, one former Met farmhand, one Yankee hack, and one guy named "Anibal." And the Mets still have none. Fricking unbelievable.

(5) If I had told you yesterday morning that Ollie Perez would pitch a complete game shutout later that day, and that one pitcher from the NL East would throw a no-hitter that same day, you'd have sworn it would be him. And I would've been only one start off from my prediction of Ollie hurling the first Mets' no-no. Oh well. I still say he'll get it.

Finally, I read something very interesting in the Daily News today:

Williams credits improved health after a midseason minor-league trade with Cincinnati and an adjustment made by pitching coach Rick Peterson - moving him to the right side of the rubber - as reasons for his 3-0 record with the Mets.

You read that right. Rick Peterson fixed Dave Williams...in TEN MINUTES!!

Who Let The Dog In?

So where the hell has Toasty Joe been the past few days, you ask? Meet Bella. She is 10 and 1/2 weeks old and her entire career thus far consists of 20-30 minutes of crazy play time, followed by a 90-minute nap, followed by 20-30 more minutes of play, another 90-minute nap, interspersed with kibble, water, pee and poop. Not to mention some middle-of-the-night howling that I'm sure has our neighbors loving us right about now. The Flitgirl and I are hoping to get through this rough patch with at least a few hours' sleep, so I can continue to blog away about the Mets with a few brain cells left. Also, I'm resisting the urge to buy her some Mets-related article of clothing, even though doing so might get her picture up on Diamond Vision.

As for the Metropolitans, hopefully you've been keeping up with things here, here, here, and here. Not much to add over the past few days due to the rainout and two no-shows by the offense. I'm quite certain today's double-dip will give me plenty of ammunition to get this place up and running again.

Stay tuned. And if you know a good puppy kindergarten class in Manhattan, please pass it along.

The Play

When is a good play a great play?

When it's the 9th inning and the tying runs are on base, and the other team's best hitter is at the plate.

When the the dipshit fans have been killing a guy who was on their team for 3 months, when all he did was almost put them in the World Series single-handedly.

When you're watching alone in your apartment and you let out an involuntary scream so loud, your throat still feels scratchy the next morning.

When the guy who makes the play is on a team with a 16 and 1/2 game divisional lead in September, but he's still running into walls to save games. (Do Pujols and Howard have to run into chain-link fences as part of their job?)

When you take the time to type a text message to a friend that contains two expletives: "you see that fuckin play? holy shit."

That, my friends, was a great play.

***

I know they were great in Colorado, but the chemistry between Gary and Keith has officially gone off the charts. Last night:

Mex: I'm just hearing over the loudspeaker that tonight's game is a sellout. Ya know what that means? We're not getting out of here early. That's what that means to me.

Gary: Me, me, me.

Mex: Well I'm going to a nice Mexican restaurant with my nephew after the game.

Gary: Your nephew is a big guy.

Mex: 6'4", 240...he's a brick.

Like I said...off the charts.

***

Finally, there are two types of people in this world: (1) people who feel bad for this kid, and (2) people who laugh so hard at this clip they almost wet themselves, and then watch it 10 more times. I must confess I am in the second category. (Oh, and Flitgirl, you're in the first category, so I suggest you don't watch it).

The Curse of the Beijing Cocktail

For those of you who have no idea what that means, clearly you haven't flipped on a television set in the past week. After bombarding us for months with The Cancer Guy, The Second Cancer Guy (w/hole in throat), The Barbados Ad ("if there's somethin' that ya want, come an' take a walk wit' me..."), and the Little Richard Ad ("MASHED POTATOES! GRAVY!! WOOOOOO-ooooo...?"), SNY's newest infliction of pain comes in the form of a trailer for what looks to be an awful movie called "Crank." In the trailer, one character utters the following lines: "They gave ya the Beijing Cocktail. If ya stop...ya DIE." I have no idea what any of that means. What the fuck is the Beijing Cocktail? Is it poisonous? And if it is, why do you die when you stop?

Well, either way, someone obviously slipped Ollie Perez the Beijing Cocktail last night. That's the only explanation for Willie leaving him in to hit for himself in the 4th inning with ducks on the pond after Ollie'd thrown 85 awful pitches. Willie must've thought that if Ollie stops pitching, he'll die. Somewhere between that point and giving up 15 more hits in the bottom of the 4th, Ollie must've stumbled upon the antidote, because his night was over -- and he didn't even die!

(1) I had no idea how to react after a loss at this point. Anger? Shame? Tears? It's been so long, I've forgotten. Besides, with the magic number shrinking yet again, and the loss being a direct result of the handiwork of someone who'll be no where NEAR the playoff roster come October, it's hard to get one's panties in a bunch.

(2) I don't think Mex will ever have a better series in the booth than he had this week. Someone needs to send these tapes to the Smithsonian. The topper was the 15-minute soliloquy on "Laugh-In" last night. Incredible.

(3) Believe or not, I think this Houston series is important. How sweet would it be to knock Clemens' shitball team out once and for all and send his fat 'roided-out butt into retirement? So sweet. Two out of three oughta take care of them.

I hope everyone has a swell holiday weekend. And by all means, if you're traveling to Beijing, just have a ginger ale or something.