Some Metaphors Are Just Too Easy

So it turns out we have enough footage in extension cords and power strips in my apartment for me to drag TGME HQ (my laptop) up to the roof of my building and watch baseball up there. It's great getting up to stretch and instead of seeing the fridge and the same old walls seeing the glittering expanse of Manhattan, from City Hall up to a little past the Chrysler Building. It would have made for a great "on top the world" metaphor following the end of Friday's game if I had decided write about it instead of immediately going out and getting drunk making a social call. Of course, a night like tonight it makes for a bunch of easy "stepping off the ledge/jumping off the roof" jokes," so I'll split the difference and go with neither metaphor!

Christ what a disaster. The shame of it is, despite fully expecting to lose Saturday's game, I also was finally starting to come around on this team a little bit. Friday looked like a squad that had found a groove, I saw a team that played a complete game in every way. No one, most of all me, expected the Mets to keep winning until September, but all that talk about hustle and heart and history was sounding less like horse shit. Two of three from the Phillies in the first series of the year was improbable enough a little over a week ago, but to do that while in first place was inconceivable . Which shows always go with your first feeling on a subject no matter how much evidence there is to the contrary.

Or not. At work today I even said the fateful words, "I fully expect the Mets to win this game." I guess what I should have said was "I fully expect Johan Santana to pitch like he's hurt again and absolutely refuse to throw his slider." By the way, does anyone have a count on how many times Joe Morgan insisted Santana throw his curveball? Things seemed off when Santana went with a high fastball against Placido Polanco on an 0-2 count and they never really felt right the rest of the way, especially when we all came to the 1-2 count on Raul Ibanez. There's your damn turning point. There should have been no doubt Santana puts him away with some kind of junky off-speed pitch. Instead he goes with a fastball and gives the Phillies back a run and well, no one comes here for goddamn recaps.

It's too early to start worrying that Johan actually is hurt, and obviously even your top dog is going to crap the bed every now and again. This was pretty fucking epic though, to the point where I just knew the game was over when he walked Moyer. Truth be told, I don't even know where Shane Victorino's grand slam landed because by then I was lying flat on my back staring up at the cloud cover and cursing the fact that I had a bunch of wires to drag down the fire escape ladder.

So it's back to ambivalence about the Mets. I'm not sure how much of my summer they'll take up at this rate but I know for damn sure they won't be ruining any dates, because I really cannot imagine watching anything worse than what I saw tonight.