Uncomfortably Numb

The title of today's post is in honor of the late Mr. Richard Wright of Pink Floyd (pictured, at left), despite the fact that Rick probably had about as much to do with "The Wall" as I did. (Roger Waters = infamous meglomaniac). In any event, uncomfortably numb is a good way of describing where I am as Met fan on September 16, 2008. Now that it certainly appears that they're tanking yet another divisional title, I think my entire psyche has retreated into shut-down mode. This is clearly a self-defense mechanism, designed to insulate myself from the soul-crushing pain inflicted by last season's debacle.

What does this mean, you ask? Honestly, after getting crushed by the worst team in baseball last night, I wasn't even that upset. Can you believe that? Was just kinda like, meh, oh well, let's check out some MNF. Geez, they are clinging to a razor-thin divisional lead in mid-Septemeber, and they went out and got CRUSHED by an AWFUL team...and I don't really care? What the hell is wrong with me?

I think I understand what's happening here. I finally snapped. I hit my stress limit. I'm maxed out. Finished. Can't invest any more emotion in the outcome of any of these games. Cannot do it. There's been one 9th-inning blown lead too many, and I can't take it. I'm going into every game expecting to lose, and lose handily.

Ladies and gents, I give you: Heilmanitis.