SPidge Tales

Friday, September 23, 2005

The Mets--Ya gotta believe! (yeah riiiiight)

It’s approaching October, which means that yet again the Mets appear to be looking at another post-season from the outside. I truly believe that the Mets are under a curse. Sort of like the Red Sox and their just ended curse of the Babe, and the Cubs's billy-goat curse. And, no, I am not talking about a “Dwight Gooden and Darryl Strawberry get hooked on coke and throw away sure-fire hall of fame careers” curse, or a “Keith Hernandez being more famous for dating Elaine on Seinfeld than playing on the ’86 Mets” curse. I am talking about the Bobby V Curse. I know you haven’t heard of it, because I just made it up. Bobby Valentine. Former Mets manager. Once put on a fake mustache and sunglasses and came back in the dugout after getting thrown out of a game. The Mets never should have fired him.

Think about it. 5 years ago, in 2000, the Mets made the World Series. With an outfield of Benny Agbayani, Jay Payton, and Timo Perez. Who!? That’s right, who. Only Mets fans have ever heard of these guys. And, we had the not-quite-hall-of-fame-quality Mike Bordick at short, filling in for the injured and worse Rey Ordonez. Our ace was Al Leiter. We had quirly guys like Turk Wendell, the relief pitcher who would jump over the foul lines, and had a necklace made of alligator teeth or something. Our only really good player was Mike Piazza (back when he was good...I think he has lost his edge since marrying that former Playboy supermodel. He played better when the tabloids were all calling him gay). The point being, save the anti-clutch closer Armando “hasn’t met a meal he doesn’t like" Benitez, we easily could have beaten the Yanks in the Series. The next time someone argues he doesn’t believe coaching matters, he should spend an eternity in the 7th circle of hell, where Dale Sveum will be eternally sending you home as you round 3rd, with the ball already firmly in the catcher’s mitt.


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