Don't Stop Believin'...Next Year

Gee, even rooting for two baseball teams doesn't guarantee happiness.  

But, as any real baseball fan knows, you don't "stop believing."  Above, you see this season's last rendition of the eighth inning Dodger Stadium tradition.  Perennial lip-synching fan Jameson Moss joined for one day only by David Hasselhoff, who was apparently sober for the occasion. 

I've prattled on more than enough in these cyber pages about the 2010 Los Angeles Dodgers.  I went to the last game of the season on Sunday and improved my personal record to 22-16.  Watching the meaningless games over the past few weeks, I noticed that the people in the stands around me were all the true fans.  None of the normal riff raff who came mainly because Murray in Duplication had extra tickets.  Nope, the last fans standing are the ones who care.  And we can't wait to put a disappointing season behind us.

The last Dodger home game turned out to be very special.  Beautiful weather.  A continually marvelous ball park.  Joe Torre's most likely last game ever as a manager and he celebrates with a win.  Some of Joe's goombah buddies roaming the stands and that includes the addled Jerry Vale who appeared to be completely lost without Corbett Monica as an opening act.   Brad Ausmus closing a storied catching career with a single in the eighth inning and a heartwarming ovation, remarkable in the fact that he was only with the Dodgers for two years.

Then there was Joe's wonderfully classy move of letting longtime minor leaguer John Lindsey be announced as a pinch hitter, broken hand and all.  And the skipper's words to the crowd after the game as he told us all that our team and our fandom were being left in the very special hands of new manager Don Mattingly.

Yes, Joe Torre could confound us at times.  At Sunday's brief ceremony, I think I noticed the bullpen pitchers clapping just a little bit harder at his departure.  But, still, this is a guy who deserves every accolade he gets.  Realistically, Joe is unlikely to get another managerial gig, especially after publicly announcing that he's starting to have difficulty communicating with younger players.  But, if he never walks into another baseball stadium ever again, his remarkable legacy is still etched in granite forever. 

As I do at the last game of every one of my baseball seasons, I don't leave the ball yard before tapping both of my season seats one time as if I am wishing them a hearty and healthy winter.   Tapping the seats in Loge 120, I remembered where that tradition started.

At Shea Stadium.  In the Loge.  Section 7, Row E. 

And my mind wandered to the other coast where I remembered that, yes, there is (or perhaps was) another baseball team in my heart. 

The New York Mets.  Equally discouraging in 2010.

If the Dodgers appear to be in a bit of an ownership disarray, the Mets are a toxic land fill.  Their owners, the hopelessly inept Wilpon family (shown above), are really nothing more than the McCourts, except they have a little bit more money and a lot better taste in spouses.  One more time, the New York Mess are leaderless, directionless, and hopeless.

So, again, they flounder and fire both the general manager and manager.  That news was leaked last week even before their last home stand was complete.  That left both GM Omar Minaya and Manager Jerry Manuel twisting in the winds off Flushing Bay.  Not that either ouster is unwarranted.  Minaya seemed to always be overmatched in the role in sort of the same way Milburn Drysdale was continually trumped by the Clampetts. 

As for Manuel, there are no tears on my pillow.  If the uncertainty of his job status made him feel uncomfortable, Jerry should flashback to the days of Willie Randolph, when his fingerprints were plainly visible on the knife protruding from Willie's back.  Manuel always reminded me of a tenement janitor anyway.  Totally perplexed why the radiators in Apartment 5 didn't work.

I watched the Mets' dismal season end at arm's length and so apparently did a lot of other fans.  That spanking new stadium appeared desolate.  The new Ford Mustang convertible that never gets taken out of the garage.  In a ballpark that now features seven eat-in restaurants, they barely have the need for a single hot dog cart.

So, the Mets teeter and totter and make changes that promise new hope and always deliver tried-and-true futility.  Regardless of who the new GM and field manager will be, the results will be the same until the Wilpons sell the franchise and depart to whatever Hampton they can still afford.  They are the one common denominator across years of disappointment.  

Looking at both the Dodgers and the Mets, one could argue that both ownership groups should get kicked to the curb.  But, frankly, there is still more hope in Chavez Ravine than in Flushing.  There's at least a direction and a focus with the Dodgers.  With the Mets, there is a new three year plan every two years. 

Yep, at Dodger Stadium on Sunday, the sun was shining brightly.  In more ways than one.

Dinner last night:  Salisbury steak at the Cheesecake Factory.

And tomorrow...from Dallas, Texas!