...for trying to be positive.
Last night's game was just like every other game the Mets have played this season in which the offense failed to show up, mirroring games like this one, this one and this one. Last night was one of those efforts that I hate the most, because LA's starter Hiroki Kuroda basically said to the Mets, "Here, you can have this game." And the Mets refused to take it. Of course, they let the Dodgers hang around. Kuroda departed for Hong-Chih Kuo, who, let's face it, is not a good pitcher, except when he faces the Mets (regular season only), and only when he faces the Mets does he start striking out everyone. Blake DeWitt hits an Inside-The-Park HR that's probably still bouncing. Then Broxton and Saito, and Goodnight, Sweetheart.
It's a game straight out of 2007. The Mets were 2 for 13 with RISP last night. As a team, they're hitting a grand .242 with Runners in scoring position, and an even more hideous .167 with 2 outs and runners in scoring position. These numbers won't cut it. And after last year, you'd think they would have learned something. Apparently, that's not the case.
The Mets 16-15 record right now seems perfectly indicative of the kind of team they are: A team with no identity, no consistency and, at times, no direction. It's not a team I'm enjoying to watch and not a team I feel good about. I know I'm not the only one who feels this way, but it seems like I have to ply my fandom based on events of the past. I was watching highlight films from 1999 and 2000 yesterday. Happier times. Times when I enjoyed watching and rooting for the Mets. There was pride then. There's no pride now. I don't know what the hell there is now in rooting for this version of the Mets, other than a lot of headache and mental anguish.
I don't know. Afternoon special at Chavez Ravine today. Can Death Cab for John Maine right this ship?