I'm rather frustrated right now.
I have this feeling that Jerry Manuel was somehow kidnapped by Willie Randolph, who has proceeded to put on a Manuel mask, uniform, and sneak into the Mets dugout in an attempt to submarine the entire season in the final two weeks. Either that or Manuel is just so married to the proverbial book that he's going to allow it to screw everything up. One or the other, I'm rather frustrated.
Given that the Mets marched into Washington with all the ferocity of the 2007 Mets when they marched into Washington one year ago, September 17, 2007, I think we're all frustrated. Given that the Mets were completely shut down by John Lannan and already trailed 4-1 in the 7th, why remove Ricardo Rincon, who proved himself able to get a batter out, and replace him with Duaner Sanchez, who right now would have trouble getting me out. Instead of holding the line and giving the Mets a chance to come back, Sanchez incinerated the game. Whether or not you want to kill the offense, particularly David Wright, whose DP in the 8th killed a rally, Beltran or Delgado, who went hitless, but it was academic by that point. For the first time all season, it seemed like the Mets had finally been hit by that death knell, that crushing loss that finally did them in, and it appeared to show on all fronts. Right now, WFAN is like a psychiatric ward, because the entire Mets fan base is about to collectively leap off the 59th Street Bridge. We're all so destroyed, mentally, from the end of last season, and the harbinger that this season is headed down that same track is throwing us all over the edge, one by one. The games over the weekend were the storm warnings, and now the floodgates are about to open, unless someone, ANYONE can do something to stop this mess from spiraling out of control.
This isn't good. People are asking me what I think or telling me that everything's going to be fine and they'll make the playoffs, and I don't know what to make of it. The same damn thing happened with 2 weeks to go last season, with the hell stretch and no days off, with these middling to miserable opponents who play their asses off because they know they can beat us, and I feel like I'm re-living the whole damn thing over again. If I write a post at any point within the next two weeks calling for the head of Willie Randolph, I guess you can send the nice men with the white coat out to get me, because I'll have proven myself more fit for the looney bin than Shea Stadium at any point during the next week. This isn't good. Did I say that already? That's a bad sign.
All of this is a bad sign.
Big Pelf needs to be bigger than he's ever been tonight.