Mets: 2008 Midseason Assessment

As the lifespan of Shea Stadium enters into its final "half" season, I find myself midway through the 2008 year further away from Met fandom than ever before. When they finally stabilized their leaky boat and reeled off nine straight wins up to the All Star break, I should have been excited and relieved.

I was oddly neither. To describe it all in one word?

Ambivalence.

And, it has come to me in many different shades and for a myriad of reasons.

Yet, it surprises me. I'm still watching games. I have managed to remain on top of the Mets via the internet and several visits to my Saturday seats at Shea. But I'm feeling very disconnected. I certainly wasn't in this state of mind back in 1999 when I spent a Sunday afternoon watching a playoff game against the Atlanta Braves that lasted about six days. I certainly wasn't in 2001 when I was at one of the first baseball games to be held in NY after 9/11. I certainly wasn't in 2006 when I spent most of a business dinner glued to a TV set in Houston's Restaurant and watched Endy Chavez make a catch from about 1000 feet off the ground.

But I am now. Sort of.

Maybe it's the mediocrity the team has displayed since last June. But, that really shouldn't present a problem for me. Heck, I was there for Larry Bearnarth, Dave Schneck, Craig Swan, and Joel Youngblood.

Maybe it's the way they classlessly dispatched manager Willie Randolph. Deposed dictators in third world South American countries have gotten better treatment in front of firing squads.

Maybe it's the overall Hispanic composition of the team. I'm certainly not averse to baseball players of any race, shape, or color. But, with the Mets, it is shoved down your throat like an overstuffed tamale. Now, at Shea, when they introduce the line-up, they insist on telling you what Santo Bumfuk country each of the players is from. I don't remember them announcing to me that Nolan Ryan was from Alvin, Texas and Jim McAndrew hailed from Lost Nation, Iowa.

Maybe it's because I know from an inside voice there that Mr. Randolph was completely upended in the clubhouse where the Latin players were a bit racist about colors a shade darker than their own. Or, that the General Manager, Omar Minaya, is really nothing but a puppet in an organization which is run by some shifty amigo named Tony Bernazard.

Maybe it's because I now have a second team to follow and cherish as well. But, it's not like the 2008 Dodgers are anything to behold for all to see. If the Mets are an ugly wife, the Dodgers this year are really nothing more than a dumpy mistress.

Maybe it's because I know that my Saturday connection could be coming to a definitive end. Even if the Mets offer a partial ticket plan in the new Citi Field, we are already aware that ticket prices will be so prohibitive that the price of fuel oil today might look more affordable.

Maybe it's because there are just too many players on the roster that I don't like. One more time, I will announce that the Mets will never ever close a World Series victory with Billy Wagner on the mound. Carlos Beltran is moody and still living off two weeks of monster stats he compiled with the Houston Astros several years ago. Jose Reyes is dynamic, impressive, and frequently stupid. Carlos Delgado is nothing more than a thug.

But, still, there are fans who have latched onto this band of miscreants. And, perhaps, I would have. At another time. Maybe in another place.

Are they as good as they played the last two weeks? Probably not. Is the new manager, Jerry Manuel, that much better than the ousted Willie Randolph? Probably not. Are they as bad they were playing in May and June? Probably not.

Will they reach the playoffs? Probably.

Will I care? Probably not.

Do I know why not? I have no clue.

Meanwhile, I wait for Saturday, September 27---my last Saturday game at Shea Stadium. And curse the person who invented the notion that all good things must come to an end.

Dinner last night: Salami sandwich.