Mets 2009 Preview

Oh, look! The Mets are opening up a sparkling new stadium. Just as they did in 1964, the Flushing Nine will be having their inaugural season in Citi Field, which many are calling Bailout Ballpark. I have a preference for renaming it Debits Field, but, whatever it is called, the new place will go a long way in helping the Wilpons recoup all the money they squandered via Bernard Madoff. Because he certainly made off with plenty. Audible rim shot.

The Mets will need the new home to exorcize the demons from the past two seasons. But, short of Father Merrin, the true reason why the Mets may be upended once again will be the World Champion Philadelphia Phillies toiling 90 miles down the New Jersey Turnpike. Yes, the Mets improved their bullpen with the addition of Frankie K-Rod and JJ Putz. But, still the nagging problem with the Amazins just might be their own psyche. They spent one year (2006) thinking about how good they were, never once realizing that the concept of baseball dynasty actually requires you to get into the playoffs. When, in 2007 and 2008, the Mets got uninvited to October baseball on the very last weekend of September, they reacted as if the bully next door had unjustly stolen their baseball gloves. In reality, the Mets didn't deserve a blessed thing the past two seasons. They just weren't good enough, pure and simple.

Except for the two new bullpen studs, the Met roster is virtually the same. That might be a good thing if you like consistency. That might be a bad thing if you remember their inconsistency. Just ask Willie Randolph who was ousted in a baseball palace coup that would have made a South American dictatorship salivate with envy. The Mets responded better to the laidback reins of manager/janitor Jerry Manuel, but that's probably more because the spoiled Hispanic clubhouse clique of Carlos Delgado, Carlos Beltran, and Jose Reyes finally got their way.

Don't get me wrong. There's plenty of class scattered all around the Met team. David Wright. And David Wright. And David Wright. In the middle of this surly bunch of assholes, Wright remains a bright light that I wish was playing for the team living in Dodger Stadium. The third baseman is like patent leather shoes being worn with a powder blue leisure suit.

The Mets' starting staff is suspect, but, then again, whose isn't. There is nobody better than Johan Santana. There is nobody with more promise than Mike Pelphrey. There is nobody more dependable for five innings than John Maine. At the same time, there is nobody more unreliable than Oliver Perez, and he should be even more erratic now that he has a new longterm contract. The Mets flesh out their rotation with Livan Hernandez, one of those Cuban pitchers found floating on a piece of driftwood just off Key West and his age is somewhere between 35 and 75. I would not be surprised to learn that his birth certificate was signed by Fidel Castro Sr.

Essentially, the Mets will go far on their talent and could go even further if they somehow manage to check their egos at the door of their new stadium. At the end of the day, there is an upside to believe in yourself. But, with some of the Mets, they believe in themselves to excess. And completely forget that baseball seasons are won on the field and not in the clubhouse dancing to the latest salsa hit. My guess is that they are fighting for a wild card berth only. And, by the end of September, the ghosts of Shea start looking to sift through the turnstiles of the new digs in the old centerfield parking lot.

Nevertheless, I'm on board again for another Met heartache. I return to the role of Saturday Plan Ticket Holder, which no longer guarantees every Saturday game and throws in some weeknight contests for bad measure. My comfy Loge Section 7 seats are now somewhere in the sky. Four rows from the top of Citi Field with closer proximity to a beverage cart on a United airbus than to a hot dog vendor. But, for a few games, I will be there. A Met fan growing just a trifle more unattached to his childhood team. But, still, a Met fan nonetheless. And fully expecting some autumn disappointment which will hurt a little bit less.

Dinner last night: Mexican chopped salad with turkey at Pink Taco.