As fans, it is our duty to contribute with any psychic powers possible. This mainly comes into play when a deep fly ball comes off somebody’s bat, and it is up to our intense stares, drunken slurs, and invisible brain waves to give that ball the extra push it needs to leave the stadium.
Every time it hits a wall of gale force winds or pings off the fence, a Dobbs or two away from the glory of a late-inning diamond-trotter, it is your fault, because you weren’t fan enough.
I explained this theory to a guidance counselor once and was promptly kicked off the baseball team. It was also because I sucked.
When that ball comes off the bat of Jayson Werth lately, it needs a little extra brain juice. Fortunately, brain juice was exactly what Carlos Beltran probably left on the wall while trying to snag Werth’s straight center dinger in the second. It was the opening act in a carnival of Mets stupidity that was… that was just a perfect Sunday afternoon gift.
Phillies 6, Mets 5
When will it not be taxing for us to see Brad Lidge enter a game? What does he have to do t0 win your approval? Hog tie Cliff Lee and drag him back to Philadelphia? Invest in affordable housing? Pitch half an inning without putting the rest of the afternoon on the line?!
There’s a reason hair and teeth start falling out of our heads when Brad Lidge enters a game. We’ve seen far too much failure on his behalf to not see his entrance as anything but a source of tension. And as usual, our body parts falling off/out of us was completely justified.
As often is the case, the bullpen wasn’t perfect. However, occurring just as often, the Mets were a little bit worse.
R.A. Dickey was the first source of relief. After the Tim Wakefield Massacre and our original R.A. Dick-ing, the knuckleballer became the bitch in our stew. It was a horrific source of unending ridicule. The directionless, meandering pitch, birthed from thick fur of a demon’s pubic hair, became one of many surefire ways to shut us up and sit us down.
It was awful.
The Mets pulled the Dickey chord just after our dismantlement at the hands of the Wakefield Vortex and there he was, ready to baffle us the very next night.
Today, Dickey hopped into the third inning with the same googly wiener-pitch that kept us grounded through countless innings before.
Only this time the Phillies were fending off his onslaught as if it was a swarm of butterflies on hallucinogenics. They spent the third inning slobbering blooped singles and grounders up the middle, with the occasional home run that was actually on purpose. The aforementioned Werth-bagger notched the first tally, and Rauuuuull followed with a three-run homer the next inning, which also featured a Jose Reyes error, another Beltran bumble, and six Phillies runs.
The only real problem today was Roy Halladay. When Doc is your problem, and his patented “10 K Formula” is only half the battle, then you are doing just pretty keen, mister. So if Roy “struggled” while picking up his 14th win–4th during this 14-3 run we’re on–then he “struggled” in the way that a grizzly bear “struggles” as it drags you screaming back to its cave.
He gave up five runs. So why don’t we call this an “uncharacteristic” Roy Halladay start rather than a full blown “struggle.” We’ll go down that road when he does something really unreasonable, like speak to one of his teammates during a start, or allow Kyle Kendrick to eat in the same restaurant as him, ever (and I don’t just mean simultaneously).
Not all the W’s can be clean, but as we witnessed last night, they’re not all going to be W’s, either. So if the worst that can happen is a five-run, 10 K performance by the best player on the field, well… fine.