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Beltran, Glavine and ...

"I need somebody to hit!"

No, those words weren't those from Jerry Manuel to his team during the final weekend of the season. Instead, I choose to quote from the immortal comic strip character Lucy Van Pelt.

Charlie Brown went away for an extended period of time and poor Lucy had no one to pick on.

That's kind of how I feel about the 2008 Mets.

In 2006, I could be mad at Carlos Beltran for not swinging.

In 2007, I could be mad at Tom Glavine for not caring.

In 2008, who am I supposed to be mad at.

It's wasted anger to be upset with Scott Schoeneweis, considering he's dealing with personal issues of a much larger scale, with the premature birth of a child. For that matter, it seems silly to be angry at relievers who were thrust into roles for which they weren't really fully equipped to handle.

It's wasted anger to be mad at Jose Reyes or Carlos Beltran, or Carlos Delgado, or David Wright. Their seasons were too good.

It's wasted anger to be mad at Jerry Manuel. I'm not a huge fan of his, but I can't criticize the job he did.

It's wasted anger to be mad at Omar Minaya, especially considering he's ours for the next good while. I can criticize Minaya for going too long on the deals for El Duque and Pedro, but I've got to praise him for Fernando Tatis, the Milledge deal, and being smart enough not to trade Daniel Murphy or demote Mike Pelfrey.

So I sit here, and listen to talk show hosts make fools of themselves, suggesting that the Mets trade David Wright.

I come up with my own knee-jerk suggestions (Beltran to the Yankees for Chamberlain and Cano?) and make wishes for acquisitions two months from now (Orlando Hudson would be quite nice).

I surf the internet, looking for footage from the closing ceremony, the majority of which I missed due to work obligations and general frustration (I did see the ending live).

I reminisce about my favorite Shea moments (we'll get to that) and make my offseason plans for this site.

I commiserate with my fellow Mets fans about all the shouldas, wouldas, couldas, and deal with the taunts and comments from the non-Mets fans I know.

And with all that, I also do a lot of what Charlie Brown did, when he got back to the neighborhood, and ran into Lucy again.

I sigh. And I move along.


czaradio said…
SNY is airing the closing ceremonies Friday nite at 8, and you can now also buy it on iTunes (although I think you have to buy the game, too, and I'm not sure you'd want to spend money on that).
DealShaker said…
Oh, I can blame Jerry Manuel, no problem! Sunday was, for all intents and purposes, a one game playoff game. Win or go home. I believe that the term "All hands on deck" was used several times. So, you have your entire pitching staff (minus Santana) at your disposal in the bullpen. This means Pedro, Pelfrey, and Maine were in the bullpen available for your use. And who do you choose? Schoenweis? Brian Stokes? Bobby Parnell? Bad decisions by a bad manager. You obviously needed to save one starter for the next day, but not all three. Your bullpen failed you all year and here was an excellent opportunity NOT to use them. You blew it. Kind of makes me wonder, "Was is the bullpen failing late in the season or a manager that didn't know what situations to use his pitchers in?"
Anonymous said…
I blame Howard Johnson. As hitting coach, he has to get these hitters prepared to hit in the clutch. When i was watching the games yesterday where the bases were loaded, there was a clutch hit (The Flyin' Hawaiian for the Phillies, Russell Martin for the Dodgers), they delivered. The same situation for the Mets, they blow it, even with less than 2 outs. I was frankly surprised that they kept HoJo when they fired Willie, because he was part of the problem back then, but got glossed over during the firing. Wright can't hit when it counts, but he's got great stats. What does that matter otherwise? You need a coach that can help you with those clutch situations, and HoJo has failed miserably. And I write this as someone who loved watching his success as a player, so it really pains me.

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