Monday, October 1, 2007

Surrealism


I mean, I'm speechless. As much as we all hoped this would happen, not one of us believed that it actually could. Wild card, maybe. Doubtful, but we thought maybe, possibly it could happen. Anyone who though we would win the division (with the exception, maybe, of J Roll) is a lying sack of deuce.

I was in Dallas this weekend, and as such didn't see any of the games. Which, we all decided, was probably for the best. Could I have handled the stress of Sunday? Probably. Would it have taken years off my life? Almost definately.

Let's not beat around the bush: getting into the playoffs is what matters. I would have been just as happy to get in under the auspices of the wild card as winning the division. But to get in at the expense of the Mets makes it all the better. It's kind of like the Phillies were Coach Kevin and the Mets were Steve Capanna. Or more apropo, though no less homoerotic, it's like the Phillies were Pat Burrell, the Mets were "Up to the Elbow" Mike Piazza, and Sunday afternoon was actually Friday night in Chelsea. In the 80's.

I don't particularly hate the Mets, but I do hate their recent success. Which made me feel not the slightest bit of pity for Colin as he watched his teams last best hope collapse in an inferno of first inning mayhem. Mack, your boys should know better than to fuck with Hanley Ramirez. And because I don't really have any better way of describing it, here's the weekend in text messages, courtesy of C Mack Mets Fan.

Friday 10:35pm

Colin: the losingest franchise in sports history is about to go into first place. congrats my friend.
Me: Mets game's over yet
Colin: I'm breaking out the cyanide
Me: You should probably begin construction of your own guillotine. Just in case.
Colin: And I think before I use it, I'll test it on Wagner.

Saturday 3:07pm


Colin: Mets are taking care of business today, will the phillies beat the mighty Nats?
Me: Doubt it. Eaton is pitching
Colin: Eaton could be my new hero. Hopefully Burrell has spread an outbreak of crab lice around the clubhouse to make things extra uncomfortable. I will buy an Adam Eaton jersey tomorrow if he blows this thing.

Saturday 7:07pm

Colin: Shit's tied up again.

Sunday 1:07pm

Me: Who you got pitching?
Colin: Glavine. Could go either way. The Marlins are talking a lot of shit about how they are gonna kick our ass.
Me: Glavine is your best pitcher. I think you gotta deal with Dontrelle though.
Colin: Who's going for you? I got the game on right now - shit's nerve wracking.
Me: Moyer. I'm still in Bid D. Gonna be flying during the end of the game - Phils need me closer to God.
Colin: Mets losing 4-0 cuz Glavine's a pussy.
Colin: Glavine's out after one third of an inning, 5-0, bases loaded.
Me: placed call
Colin: 7-0. Disgrance. I feel like I'm dreaming.
Me: Me too. It's gonna hurt so bad when the Phillies blow it.
Colin: Mets miss a grand slam by 2 feet. I haven't been this heartbroken since high school prom. Phils up 1-0.
Me: I'm stressed out and I'm not even watching.
Colin: Delgado broke his wrist. 3-0 Phils.
Me: Getting on plane. if the Phils manage to fuck this up it will be the worst thing ever.
Colin: Your probably in the air, but its official - you get to enjoy october baseball. and the national league is wide open. Hit it to me J Roll. Hit it to me.

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