Tell the Captain, Air Marshal Carlin Says "Go Fuck Yourself!"

My favorite bit of all time from my favorite comedian of all time. If you younger readers have not watched him much, give this a try.

R.I.P., George.

The Burning Question

In order to put a capper on this whole Willie Randolph mess, a critical issue must be resolved. Namely, what the hell am I supposed to do with his bobblehead doll?

Yes, I have had a Willie Randolph bobblehead doll on my desk at home for the past three years. I got it at a Shea Stadium giveaway (was it Opening Day of 2005? maybe), and as ballpark giveaways go, it wasn't a bad one at all.

While Willie's managerial star rose and fell over the next few years, I kept it right there. The Flitgirl accidentally knocked him onto the floor one day, thus causing a sizable chuck of his left jawline to depart from his body (click on picture for a super-enlarged view of this injury), and then put it back on the desk hoping I wouldn't notice. Well, several weeks later, I did notice, but I left him right where he was. And even though he couldn't chew solid foods anymore, there he stood.

And even after the horrors of September 30, 2007 and the rampant mediocrity of 2008, there he stood, collecting a little dust, but still standing proudly.

Well, for better or for worse, the real Willie is gone now. So what's to be done with his pint-sized porceline doppleganger?

I've hashed out a few options, but I need your input:

(A) Keep him. It's a valuable collectible! I mean, wouldn't you kill to have a vintage 1982 George Bamberger bobblehead right now?

(B) Throw him in the trash. It was a worthless ballpark freebie when you got it, and now that it has a facial fracture and, as a result of the firing, no basis in reality, it's worthless.

(C) Cover up the name on the bottom with masking tape, get a magic marker, draw some thick glasses on his face, and pretend it's Jerry Manuel.

(D) Package him up and send him via Federal Express to the Westin South Coast Plaza Hotel in Costa Mesa, California. And then have the hotel concierge toss him in the garbage.

Any additional suggestions are welcome.

***

As for last night, I must admit that I only made it through the first 6 innings of this stirring victory, so I can't offer much in the way of analysis. However, I can say that when I posted a little while ago about Oliver Perez needing a good psychiatrist, I wasn't kidding. When that cheapie bloop hit from Figgins dropped into no-man's land to lead off the 5th, SNY had shot of Ollie bent over with his hands on his knees dejectedly staring into the outfield. At that moment, I knew it was coming. The nightly meltdown was upon us. Sure enough, walk, hit, hit, hit, farewell 3-1 lead, hello 4-3 deficit. Freaking nutbag. I honestly can't wait until he's someone else's problem.

I was, however, incredibly shocked to turn on the TV this morning to see that the aforementioned 4-3 deficit somehow mutated into a 5-4 victory. How about that! They've now taken a series from one of the best teams in baseball on the road, won 4 out of 6, and heck, if it wasn't for Billy Wagner, we'd be talking 7 out of 10. I know, I know... But c'mon, I once read somewhere "ya gotta believe," so I choose to believe. It's much more fun than being depressed all the time.

Let's go Mets!

Gimme a Break!

April 28, 1985.

The Yankees, led by second-year manager, Hall of Famer, legend, and beloved Yankee icon Yogi Berra, lose a game to the White Sox in Chicago. Berra, who had managed the Yankees to a respectable 87-75 record in 1984, had been told by owner George M. Steinbrenner personally several weeks earlier that he, Berra, would be the Yankee manager for all of 1985, "win or lose."

Nevertheless, on that day, April 28, 1985, a mere sixteen games into Berra's second season as Yankee manager, Steinbrenner dispatches one of his henchmen, Clyde King, to Chicago to unceremoniously fire Berra.

Yogi Berra, Hall of Famer, legend, and beloved Yankee icon, is so incensed and personally offended by this act of cowardice that he, Yogi Berra, Hall of Famer, legend, and beloved Yankee icon, does not set foot in Yankee Stadium -- for fourteen years.

June 17, 2008.

Following the sixty-ninth game of the 2008 season on the West Coast, the New York Mets fire their fourth-year, non-Hall of Fame, non-beloved Met icon, non-legend manager, who presided over the biggest regular season collapse in baseball history the year before, who led the team to a sub-.500 record the next year despite the addition of the best pitcher in baseball, and who accused the organization, the fans, and the media of racism a month earlier.

New York Daily News writer Bill Madden - an unabashed friend of Willie Randolph's - objectively reviews these facts and concludes the following:

"Never in the history of New York baseball has there been a more shameful, indecent, undignified or ill-conceived firing of a manager."

And Madden is not alone. Mike Vaccaro from the Post. Wallace Matthews from Newsday. Scott Miller from CBS. Buster Olney from ESPN. Column after column after column calling the New York Mets, and organization that has given hundreds of thousands of dollars to charity, that was front and center in post-9/11 relief work, that has worked tirelessly to honor the memory of Jackie Robinson, "gutless, heartless, incompetent cowards."

***

The way the Mets handled this firing was bad. There's no debating it. They could have given this man the boot last October, or on Memorial Day, or the moment he got off the plane from San Diego last week, and no one would have said a word. They clearly timed this so it wouldn't land on the back pages until a day later, and that's a sleazeball move. I won't argue it for a minute.

But come the fuck on already. This hysterical outrage from the media is laughable. It's like they shot the man. "They owed him better than this"? Why? If anything he owed them after what happened last year. And was he delivering this season? Fuck, no. In fact, his players were lazy, sloppy, disinterested, undisciplined, and bickering. He deserved to get fired, and frankly, the more I thought about it, the less I gave a rat's ass that the man had to endure the indignity of a free, first-class plane trip to California to finally learn his fate.

The real problem, of course, is not whether the Mets dishonored Willie Randolph. It's that they should have foreseen that the way they did this would be torn apart by the media. They didn't, so they deserve to be slammed for it.

But good GOD. Enough already. This is not, as the media would have you believe, some benchmark low point in Met history. Not even a little bit. You know what the real low point in Mets history is?

September 30, 2007.

You know who the manager was then?

Let's turn the page.

In Anaheim...At 3:15 a.m....After a win

If you picked the above combination, congrats. You've won this round of "Clue: Incompetent Manager Edition." I, myself, had predicted "In New York...On Memorial Day...After a loss." Whoops.

Now, the Mets are probably going to get burned at the stake by the hysterical frothing imbeciles on WFAN for the way they handled this. Yeah, it was kind of cowardly, they should've done it in New York, Willie's a class act who deserved a little better, blah-dee-dee-blah-blah-blah... Listen folks, he was given a three-and-a-half year shot here, he's made a ton of money, and he's going to be making a ton more while sitting on his ass and watching TVLand for the next few months. In fact, I'm sure he'll land on "Baseball Tonight" in the next week or so, or perhaps as Joe Torre's assistant nose-picker in L.A. (hey...he's already on the West Coast this morning). So, don't shed too many tears for Willie. My feeling is, this should've been done about a month ago (if not nine months ago), so to get all in a tizzy about how, when, and where they did it is really pointless. After what happened last year and the first half of this year, we all wanted accountability. Well, now we've got it.

Some have recently put all the blame for these past few months on Omar, and I do agree this roster is flawed - the bench stinks, the Castillo contract was insanity, and he relied too heavily on some of these old mummies - but listen: A roster that has David Wright, Jose Reyes, Johan Santana, Carlos Beltran, Billy Wagner, Carlos Delgado and John Maine CANNOT be under .500 in a bad league for a YEAR. No way, no how. Willie has to take a hit for that, he absolutely has to.

Now, as you know, I've been a card-carrying member of the Fire Willie Club this season, but I have no illusions about Jerry Manuel being the second coming of Gil Hodges over here. Look, this season is more than likely kaput, so let him run out the string. If they make an astonishing 1999-esque run to the playoffs, great! Everyone wins. Give him another shot in 2009. If not, you've got all kinds of interesting possibilities for next year, starting with Ken Oberkfell. (I've heard good things).

A few random additional thoughts:

1) We have a manager named "Jerry"! We have a manager named "Jerry"! The Seinfeld jokes will be in abundance, rest assured. Let's get this guy, this guy and this guy to coach, and we'll be all set.

2) In view of Willie's departure, soon you will all be enjoying a new banner by our master photoshop artiste, Tom. I wish I had those skills (or that software). Nice work.

3) So, the two nose-pickers principals from the Subway Sandwich ad that spawned the name of this site (and my blogger handle) are now both gone from New York. However, I will not be changing the name of this site. For the good of Mets fans, humankind, and Jared, some things must not be forgotten.

4) "I trust my guys." I just had to hear it one last time.

I shall close today by giving you a sneak preview of what you will be hearing on the radio about three hours from now:

MD: Aaaaaaaaaaaaand, GOOD AFTERNOON EVERYBODY!!! HOW ARE YOU TODAAAAY!?! Mike and the Mad Dog with you on the FAN, Victor and the clowns up in YES...A lot to do today, good afternoon there, Michael, how are you?

MF: I'm fine, Dawg.

MD: And obviously we'll start with the Willie Randolph situation, Mike, and I'm sorry...You cannot fire Willie Randolph the way the Mets did here. You just can't do it! I mean, what are the Mets doin' here? What are they doin'?!? You're gonna fire your manager at three o'clock in the morning after a WIN? I mean, this is just a disgrace!

MF: The Mets completely botched this. The Mets completely botched this. That's all there is to it. I mean, they completely mishandled this situation from day one. This is a guy who's well-respected. Has a great reputation. And the way they handled this is just a disgrace. It's a disgrace. It really is. It's a disgrace. It's a disgrace, that's all there is to it. They completely mishandled and botched this situation.

[Repeat above dialogue for 5 hours]

There. Now I've saved you all the trouble of having to tune in. You can thank me later.

Reporters: Omar! Omar, over here!

OM: Yes, you first. Go ahead.

Reporter: Omar, what is Willie Randolph's job status right now?

OM: We have a manager. His name is Willie Randolph. Obviously I evaluate things every day, but right now, Sunday, June 15, 2008, we have a manager, named Willie Randolph.

Reporter: Omar, there are some reports floating around about the coaching staff. Can you let us know their status?

OM: Right now we have coaches. Their names are Rick Peterson, Howard Johnson, Tom Nieto, Sandy Alomar, and Jerry Manuel. They coach for the New York Mets.

Reporter: Omar, any thoughts on the truly pathetic effort given by Carlos Delgado on that single by Vasquez in the first game of the doubleheader?

OM: Carlos Delgado is a first baseman.

Reporter: Well, I know that, but...

OM: Please let me finish. Carlos Delgado is a first baseman. He plays for the Mets. He is from Puerto Rico. He wears number 21. Thank you.

Reporter: Omar, what are your thoughts on the team in general?

OM: Whoo boy. That's a tough question. Well, first, the Mets are a baseball team. They play their home games in Shea Stadium. Tomorrow, they will play a road game in California. They are owned by Fred Wilpon, managed by Willie Randolph, and I am the General Manager.

Reportwer: Well, Omar, what I mean is...

OM: Please, please let me finish. Hang on a moment. [reading Wikipedia off of laptop] "The 'Mets' name originates from the New York Metropolitans, an 1880s baseball club. They are nicknamed the 'Amazin' Mets,' or simply the 'Amazins.' An expansion franchise, the club was founded in Manhattan in 1962. Then based in the historic Polo Grounds, the Mets shared the venue with the New York Jets for two years, until Shea was completed..."

Reporter: Omar, Omar, we just want to know your thoughts on the future.

OM: [reading] "The future is commonly understood to contain all events that have yet to occur. It is the opposite of the past, and is the time subsequent to the present. Organized efforts to predict or forecast the future may have derived from observations by early man of heavenly objects. In physics, which uses a linear conception of time..."

Jay Horowitz: OK, that's it fellas. Willie will now answer a few questions. Willie?

WR: I trust my guys.

Reporter: Oh, Christ...

By Jove, I've Got It!

...Let's forfeit our remaining games!

Mind you, I'm not talking one or two games.

I'm saying let's forfeit ALL of our remaining games. I'm saying let's sign up for a record of 31-131. And let's do it right...fucking...now.

Why, you ask? Well, this will accomplish several things:

1. Euthanasia. I simply can't take these games anymore, and I know I'm not alone. Just put them all down as losses right now. All of 'em. Rip that band-aid right off. Ahhh....a moment of slight pain, but liberating. See you in '09.

2. Rest 'Em Up! A 162-game baseball season can be grueling. Imagine what a 9-month vacation can do! Forfeit all the games today, and our boys should be rarin' to go next April. I know Ryan Church and his concussions will certainly appreciate the extra rest. And, hey, maybe, just maybe, Moises Alou's various bumps and bruises will...ah fuck, never mind.

3. Money, Money, Money. Do you want to keep financially supporting a franchise that lets a pack of disinterested losers and lazy slob millionaires jog out every night and play something that barely passes as baseball? How can we possibly justify it? Forfeit the remaining 97 games now, and the temptation to piss away $100 for that ticket, beer, and Bubba Burger will magically disappear. Save that c-note for something more practical, like a DVD boxed set, a crate of sex toys, or a tank of gas.

4. Read A Book, You Dumb Fuck. It's the summertime, and that means there's lots of fun to be had. Like catching up on your reading. Seeing a symphony in the park. Taking tours of museums and gazing at wondrous works of art. How about a picnic with your loved one under the stars? Yes, there's lots of cultural and spiritual enrichment to be had this summer that doesn't involve staring blankly at your TV every night watching Willie Randolph stare blankly at his players, who stare blankly at each other, while the other team enthusiastically circles the bases.

And so, New York Mets, I say this to you: I want to open the paper tomorrow and see a big, fat "METS 31-131" at the bottom of the NL East standings. Let it sit there all year like a giant hunk of fecal matter at the bottom of a clogged toilet. Let it be a testament to all that your GM, your manager, and your players have wrought this year.

Let it be done.

Let The Good Times Roll

In an interview on the FAN before last night's game loss, Willie Randolph said the following, possibly for the 19,342nd time in the last 12 months:


"We've just gotta get on a nice little roll."

So, following yet another excruciating loss last night, lawyer that I am, I went down to the courthouse first thing this morning an filed an emergency motion for an injunction. Fortunately, it was granted. Here are the conditions:

1. Willie Randolph is hereby prohibited from uttering the phrase "nice little roll" in any manner, fashion, or context.

2. In the event that Mr. Randolph is asked what he ate with his steak the night before, he may only reply "a small, tasty bun."

3. In the event that Mr. Randolph is asked what happened at his daughter's television audition, he may only reply that she got offered "a brief but compelling cameo appearance."

4. In the event that Mr. Randolph is asked how to succeed at a game of craps, he may only reply that "the key is getting a good result from the dice."

5. In the event that Mr. Randolph is asked who played the mother on "Good Times," he may only reply "a short but capable actress named Esther."

6. Mr. Randolph is further prohibited from uttering the phrase "nice little rhythm" in any manner, fashion, or context. In the event that Mr. Randolph is asked why he enjoys jazz, he may only reply that jazz has "a snappy beat and syncopation."

7. Violation of any of the conditions of this Order will subject Mr. Randolph to a punishment of this Court's choosing, including, but not limited to, being locked in a 6' by 6' room with Scott Ferrall for a 24-hour lecture to be given by Mr. Ferrall on the finer points of baseball, politics, and interpersonal relationships.

SO ORDERED, this Eleventh Day of June, 2008.

***

p.s. - Please see the sidebar for brand spanking new Carlos Beltran Mole Facts. Get 'em while they're hot.

I Flew 3,000 Miles to Watch the Mets Play the Padres and All I Got Was This Lousy Tasty Fish Taco

Eck. Is it football season yet?

As you know, Toasty J. and the Mrs. spent the weekend in lovely San Diego, seeing the sights and soaking up the 72-degree humidity-free weather. It's interesting there - I had always assumed that Southern California = heat. Not so. Your typical S.D. days starts out at like 60 degrees and chilly, blossoming into 72, clear and sunny. Pretty sweet, especially in view of what was going on back here.

Anyway, enough with the weather. Let's talk Petco Park!

We arrived shortly before game time (which game did I see? Who really cares at this point. The one that they lost, ok?), which gave us a little time to snoop around. Friends, this is an interesting park. First of all, it's visible from many, many blocks away in the so-called Gaslamp District, which is a pretty nice area with tons of restaurants, bars, etc. Unfortunately, there were a fair amount of deranged homeless people roaming around (although not on San Francisco levels).

As for the ballpark itself, a few observations:

1. Their hot dog has a cooler name than our hot dog.

2. As if the Friar mascot is not disturbing enough - a giant, grotesque monk/man-child running amok through the outfield - in between innings, they roll out "Frankenfriar" (pictured here), which is an even larger, mechanically-inflated version of the Friar, who basically just spasms and dances around. Hilarity ensues.

3. Their fans' signs are wordier than ours. I mean, who has time to read something like this?

4. The right-field bleachers (where we sat) are decent, but you feel really, really far away. (Here's our view). Got a fairly good look at the back of Endy's and Giles' jerseys all night, but that's about it. Also, it didn't help that I was there with several non-baseball fans, so it was a bit hard to really get into the game.

5. The fish tacos - yum. See picture above. Enough said.

6. There is a fairly awesome picnic field beyond the centerfield fence which shows the game on a giant screen. Probably a good deal for people with little kids (not unlike the A.D.D. brats sitting behind us who were kicking our seats the whole game).

7. Most popular jersey at Petco? Not Trevor Hoffman. Not Tony Gwynn. Not Steve Garvey. It's Khalil Greene. I wish I were making this up.

8. As for the baseball that was actually played on the field -- geez Louise, I'm not getting into that. Instead, please enjoy the above picture of the picnic field as we receded into the night -- several minutes before someone or other hit a walk-off home run against so-and-so.

It's best not to think about it.

Preseason football, anyone?

p.s. - Like any enormously popular sports blog, we here at Toasted Joe get occasionally get reader submissions. Here is the only latest one, courtesy of Chris. I'm speechless. Nice work.

Hooray! We're Going To San Diego!

That's right, the Mrs. and I are in the process of packing up and splitting for San Diego, that jewel of a city on the left coast - home of fish tacos, scorching heat, rampant wildfires, strip malls, and, most importantly, Padres Fever! Catch it!

True, the ostensible purpose of our visit will be to spend some quality time with best friend of Flitgirl/bridesmaid/U.S. Navy doctor/master knitswoman Theresa, but did you really think I'd be going to San Diego while the Mets are in town and NOT catch a game? I've scored some Jeffrey Maier-esque seats in right field for Saturday night's tilt. Look for the guy in the D. Wright away jersey if anyone happens to smack a home run in that area. I think we're sitting pretty close to the fence, so I'll see if I can make an ass out of myself on live TV by interfering with a ball in play. (By the way, who's pitching for the Mets on Satuday? Anyone know? What? Oliver Perez? Oh, fuck me).

So, expect a whole slew of Petco photos on Monday and a full recap of the ins and outs of our visit. And maybe, just maybe, if there's time, we can visit the spot where this happened.

Because, you know, that's how I roll.

Meet Oliver Perez's New Pitching Coach

Toasted Joe has learned that the Mets have hired a special adjunct pitching coach to address Oliver Perez's recent struggles. Here's an exclusive transcript of their first session after last night's game:

Coach: Ahhh, yes, Oliver. It appears that vee have much to discuss this evening, no?

OP: I don't know...I'm just trying to go out there and help the team best I can.

Coach: No, no, you may save zee cliches for zee reporters. Vee are here to discuss zee truth. Vhat is in your heart?

OP: I don't know. I guess, I just...I just...didn't have it tonight.

Coach: I see. You "didn't have it tonight." Let us look at zee boxed score. Vun-third innings pitched. Five hits. Two walks. Six earned runs. Six! And you "just didn't have it tonight," eh?

OP: Guess not.

Coach: Oliver, you have had outings like this before. One moment you appear to be a top-flight pitcher. The next you're giving games away in zee first inning. Clearly, you have talent and ability. Zee problem lies in your mind. Vee must get to the root.

OP: OK.

Coach: Vhat are you feeling vhen you are standing there on zee pitcher's mound, throwing 85-mph fastballs right over zee heart of zee plate, giving up tape-measure home runs to guys named "Horwitz"? Vhat are you thinking vhen you start radically changing your arm angles and your mechanics in the middle of an at-bat?

OP: I guess I'm thinking...I'm thinking I'd rather be somewhere else.

Coach: Ah-HAH! Now vee are getting somewhere. But vhere? Vhere vould you rather be?

OP: [sniff] Sorry, this is really hard for me.

Coach: It is fine, Oliver. This is difficult, I know.

OP: I'd just....I'd rather be home.

Coach: Ahhh, but home vhere? Back in New York? Pittsburgh? Vhere?

OP: In...in Mexico. It was so peaceful there.

Coach: And vhat vould you be doing if you were there today?

OP: Well, when I was a kid, my father used to take me to the circus in Mexico City. I liked the clowns.

Coach: You liked zee clowns? And that is because you saw yourself as one of zee clowns, no?

OP: I think...I think so....

Coach: And all your life, your vun true vish was to make people laugh, vasn't it?

OP: Yes...

Coach: And you wanted to be a clown yourself! You never even vanted to be a pitcher, did you?

OP: [sniff]

Coach: DID YOU??

OP: NO!!!

Coach: Now, you listen to me, Oliver. Vee can solve this problem. All you need to do is look at this vatch as it svings back and forth.

OP: [staring] Uhhh, ok...

Coach: Svinging, very gently....very gently...your eyes are growing heavy....you are starting to get sleepy....you are asleep.

OP: Zzzzzzzzz.....

Coach: Now, Oliver...Vhen I snap my fingers, you vill vake up feeling refreshed. Your mind vill be clear. You will forget about zee circus and zee clowns. You vill throw strikes. You vill change speeds. You vill have command. You vill not mess with your mechanics during games. And, above all, you vill not give up home runs to players named "Horwitz."

[SNAP!]

OP: Huh? Wha?

Coach: All right, Oliver...I think we have cured you. Now go and enjoy these next few days off before your next start.

OP: OK, great! I think the circus is in town.

Coach: Ach!!!

Chug-Chug-Chug

Well, it appears that finally, perhaps, maybe, could-be, hopefully, the Mets Locomotive is back on track. Of course, this has only been a relatively modest 5 out of 6 spurt, so I say this with much trepidation.

However, the signs are unmistakable. Timely hitting, quality starts, great (non-Heilman) bullpen work, solid defense, a glaring lack of boneheadedness and apathy, and, most importantly, a bounce in the step that we haven't seen in many months. I'm not completely breaking out the pom-poms until after this road trip, which is a chance to get even fatter against two bad teams. So give me 5 out of 7, and I'll be fully on board.

Unfortunately, I don't have much else to specifically add to this weekend's games, as the Mrs. and I were in St. Louis all weekend for a wedding. My thoughts on the fair city of St. Louis? It's humid. That's all I got.

Oh, well, one other thing. By far the highlight of the weekend was when the Flitgirl and I were tooling around in our rental car on Saturday afternoon, and she spotted a completely-buck-naked older man puttering around aimlessly on his front porch in suburban St. Louis, in full view of the general public. (Fortunately, as I was driving, my eyes were on the road so I missed this).

I am attempting to confirm whether or not this was Mark McGwire.

p.s. - I do have one thing to add about last night's game. One interesting thing you can learn by watching a game in HD is that Hong-Chih Kuo has no facial hair. I'm not talking about the fact that he doesn't have a mustache or a goatee, I'm saying he has NO FACIAL HAIR. Not a single living follicle. It's remarkable. And yet, we still can't hit him. Go figure.