Archives for posts with tag: Daniel Murphy

I now know for a fact that I’ve seen Tim Redding swing a bat.  I made it a point to sit down tonight and watch him.  Still, you could put a gun to my head and I wouldn’t remember them.  That wire brush on his chin is mesmerizing.

Land Shark Stadium was DESERTED. Wow.

Sean Green is STILL throwing not to Omir Santos, but to the Marlins cheerleaders–they have cheerleaders–out along the first base side.

Finally: when Murphy hit that ground rule double, Jerry Manuel came out to discuss the possibility (it wasn’t) that the ball had hit the scoreboard (it hit the reserve stands past the wall) and was still in play (no chance). 

Gary Cohen and Keith Hernandez discussed the conversation; as it broke up, Keith had these words:

Keith: “And of course, [first base umpire] Angel Hernandez has to come over and stick his snout into it.”

[Emphasis Keith’s.]

Silence for several moments, possibly due to Gary’s slamming of the mute button to laugh uproariously, or bite his fist to avoid same. 

Then, as the graphic appears below the current game score:

Keith (disgruntled): “These are the umpires.”

Wikipedia has basic coverage of whatever Angel Hernandez’s problem is.  There’s an old Augusta Chronicle article that doesn’t make him a mortal lock for Swine Of The Century, but for all his subsequent atrocities, it’s always good to read about how Piazza manhandled the man. 

And Greg Prince at Faith And Fear In Flushing has a bit from back in late May that mentions Angel Hernandez, and is always good for a laugh.  (My thanks for the linkback to coverage of Tuesday, Mr. Prince.  Quite appreciated.)

God bless ya, Keith.  You tell it like it is.  I have a special hard place in my heart for Brian Runge, but Angel Hernandez is a classic bile-magnet.

The Ringers are gettin’ feisty on getaway day.

Chowdah is 2-for-4 with two RBIs; Daniel Murphy is 2-for-4 with three RBIs and a run scored.

Score is 8-1, New York over the Florida Marlins, heading into the bottom of the 5th.  Anibal Sanchez is long gone and I suspect Cristhian Martinez won’t be too far behind.

Let’s go Mets!

Took the morning off, and now have just about forty minutes left before I have to head out.  

Fortunately, I spent about eight hours at the ball park yesterday and managed to grab some interesting photos that have little to do with the true joys of last night.  
So, yeah.  Flickr can go take a bath; here are shots from yesterday afternoon’s batting practice. Fred Wilpon, Omar Minaya, and Billy Wagner make an appearance at the end:
daniel murphy.jpg
I’m Daniel Murphy, and I stand in the infield with my arms slightly akimbo.
mike pelfrey.jpg
Mike Pelfrey walks on stilts.
pedro feliciano.jpg
Absence of a mole confirms this is, in fact, Pedro Feliciano and not Carlos Beltran.
jerry manuel.jpg
This is ALSO not Carlos Beltran.
And now, the Wilpon series:
fred wilpon.jpg
fred wilpon signs.jpg
fred wilpon waves.jpg
wilpon and wagner.jpg
wilpon minaya and wagner.jpg
wagner and minaya.jpg
wilpon and minaya.jpg
More to come on last night’s game, which started with polka music and only got more bizarre from there.

Despite this being old news, I thought some might enjoy photos from the Mets game against the Diamondbacks on July 31 (L, 3-2):

rain at citi.jpgThis is the game which gave Sean Green his second strike on my personal enemies list.  If my left eye wasn’t the source of some recent consternation (ocular hypertension sounds a lot better than glaucoma suspect), y’all might’ve had the full text of an oft-alluded to story: the day I watched from a jacuzzi as Sean Green walked in the Phillies’ winning run at Citizens Bank Park.

But my eye is the source of some recent consternation, so despite the screen text now set at twice the size I usually prefer it, I’d rather follow the ophthalmologist’s advice and not expose the eye to undue stress.  I want you all to know he laughed when I told him I was planning on heading out to see the Mets that night.

Laughter can out poetry.  Laughter can also make me want to punch a guy in the face.  Thank God I’m civilized.

rainbow at citi.jpg

Rain events are truly events at Citi Field.  Last time there was an appreciable rain delay, the skies curdled with the blood of our collective ancestors.  On this day, a rainbow.  Three rows behind me, a semi-tasteless joke was made at Daniel Murphy’s expense.  I laughed.  Of course I laughed.

band at citi.jpgThe potzer on the left (though I doubt he’s a chess player) whipped off his Mets cap before singing badly.  I’m all for equality but I’m against the [Ethnicity] Day construct at a ball park.  It always comes off as forced.  These poor schmoes had no decent place to play; their sound was poor; they could barely get a song in because the rain had killed the chance for that.  Amateur hour for a group just barely above amateur league.  I know.  I’m a connoisseur.  Marcy Place is not the band you want representing Latin heritage or Hispanic heritage or whatever your preferred politically correct term is.

Who am I to talk?  My mother’s Dominican; my father’s family is Puerto Rican.  As if I needed credentials to label artistic output as cruddy.

I can’t say if the crime of the wild pitch that night was exclusively Sean Green’s or Omir Santos’s.  The laptop I use to reliably watch video is a netbook, and that bad boy’s off limits to me because of its eight-inch small screen.  So if anyone wishes to haul off on the topic, please fill me in. 

I was prescribed a steady diet of rest and abstention from my eye glasses, which could stand an upgrade anyway, so I missed Angel Pagan’s grand slam to take it to the D-bags D-backs on Saturday.  When I allowed myself to watch the game yesterday, I swear it felt as though the thing was about to pop out of its socket.

So it’s come to this, essentially: the Mets are hazardous to my health.

Nevertheless, I have a game tomorrow, and I will be there.  It seems repetetive to talk about the Mets chances, the ineptitude of Sean Green, and the return of once-prodigal son Nelso Figueroa tonight.  I can only quote what a great individual said with regard to a team in another sport: just win, baby.

God.  Imagine if Al Davis ran both the Raiders AND the Mets.

It’s 4-1 in the bottom of the seventh.  Fernando Tatis, showing signs of life, belts a homer off the “Super Guarantee” sign in left field, after watching one sail over his head just a few minutes earlier.

Daniel Murphy flies out to right.  Angel Berroa?  Left.  Omir Santos?  He chops a double; it tails past where we can’t see and he’s in, easily.

You can’t believe you’ve just spent five minutes of your life cheering for the likes of Fernando Tatis, Daniel Murphy, Angel Berroa, and Omir Santos.  That’s like cheering for Robin Duke, Brad Hall, Tim Kazurinsky, and Joe Piscopo.

Jeremy Reed comes in to pinch hit for Brian Stokes, who should’ve been in for Jon Niese after Tatis made that amazing grab in the top of the seventh.  Then Matt Daley gets pulled for Franklin Morales.  So Reed gets pulled for (wait for it)… Robinson Cancel.

The staggering corpse of Robinson Cancel.

You just don’t do that.

You also don’t risk an entire upcoming season to play at less than one hundred percent, Carlos Beltran.  What in the world do you know and we don’t?  Are the prophecies true?  Should I start buying bottled water and digging a cave out of a limestone cliff?  If that’s so, then shouldn’t the prospect of making the playoffs seem not unreachable, but unimportant?  We know you’re a badass.  Don’t be a hero.

Nothin’ makes sense no more.  I’m going to try for the Blue Smoke line tonight.  Comfort food, baby.  Comfort.  Food.

*I’m not a mope.  I know the Mets took three of four from the Rockies, and I should be grateful.  But… Robinson Cancel?  ROBINSON.  CANCEL.  He’s the fifth Beatle!

I have not flat-out made some of these statements, though I may have made insinuations, “jokes,” or the like.  Here we go, in no particular order:

  1. Chowdah makes a poor addition to the Mets: he’s been with the club for fewer than twenty-one days and has 16 RBI.  He’s been no-hit three times in those fifteen games, all gut-wrenching, hat-eating losses for the team as a whole.
  2. Cory Sullivan is less interesting than Cuby & the Blizzards: he is slightly more interesting than Cuby & the Blizzards.  I would have to pay for Cuby & the Blizzards entertainment.  Cory Sullivan’s salary is listed as $0.  Yes, I’m employing some fuzzy math.  But let’s see Cuby connect for a triple against Juan Rincon.
  3. It’s hard to hit triples off Juan Rincon: this one’s brand-new.  But the guy’s got a 6.20 ERA.  I’m trying to square myself on the fly, here.
  4. Luis Castillo is a creature of ill-repute: the man’s just doubled-up on fatherhood, and he’s headed to the park for Game Two of the doubleheader.  That along with his gaudy OBP makes him okay.  Not $24-million-over-four-years-okay, but okay.  I’m sorry I threatened to run to the field and assault you for showing bunt this past Memorial Day.
  5. Tim Redding is Teflon: this is just housekeeping; he hasn’t been Teflon in some time (Ian Stewart double-plays to keep the shutout intact notwithstanding).
  6. David Wright should not bat third: I’m not so much wrong about this as the line-up’s been good enough to provide some protection, thus making the point moot.  The team is running on several cylinders at present.  Daniel Murphy remains a semi-beast.  Luis Castillo is, as mentioned, not a horrible man.  And given that Chowdah looks and smiles a bit like David Wright and is hitting in the five-hole, maybe pitchers are just confusing the two.
  7. The Mets should look into acquiring Doug Davis: I don’t recall if I made mention of this on the blog, or to people within shouting distance.  But Mr. Davis hasn’t been any great shakes, and his salary leaves a bit to be desired given what seems to be dangling out there now.
  8. And 9. And 10. The Mets bench cannot afford to be so short as to only hold four players, let alone three: According to Jerry Manuel, Livan Hernandez took batting practice yesterday just in case he’d be called on to pinch-hit.  Why the hell not?

Note that I’ve been wrong about these things thus far.  I could be proven right.  But I’d love to be proven wrong about my negatives and right about my positives.  I’d be the happiest wrong guy in New York.

Game Two starts in a little under three hours.  Your line-up, as reported by Metsblog (sorry, Mr. Cerrone, for cribbing off your paper; I’m in a pinch and can’t find it elsewhere):

Angel Pagan, CF
Luis Castillo, 2B
David Wright, 3B
Jeff Francouer, RF
Fernando Tatis, LF
Daniel Murphy, 1B
Angel Berroa, SS
Omir Santos, C
Jon Niese, SP

I’ll be sleeping off this headache after the game, then at tomorrow’s game against the Diamondbacks. 

Let’s go Mets!

A roommate of mine (while The Wife’s in extended grad school mode, I keep the house stocked with rent-paying professionals) lived a good portion of his life in a part of West Virginia which is on the extreme fringes of commuting distance from D.C.  He is aware of the Nationals’ existence.

I work for an organization which has an office in the District of Columbia.  I also enjoy giant foam representations of our monument-worthy presidents.  I hear they’ve taken on Beatle-like significance: Washington is John; Lincoln Paul; Jefferson George.  Roosevelt is Ringo.

As the eighth inning began, we mused on the possibility of going down to see a game.

Me: My God. It’s deserted out there.
Roommate: Truth.
Me: I wonder how much tickets are.
Roommate: It’s a new ball park.  But I wonder if they’d care if you bought seats in the nosebleeds and moved down.
Me: I’d think they’d want to do that for safety’s sake.  Cut the security squad down, but keep everyone together.  It’s not safe to wander the upper deck of Nationals Park alone at night.

There, but for the grace of God, go the New York Mets.

No sooner did our conversation devolve into serious derision of the Nationals and their plight did Nick Johnson drop a single into left, bringing the tying run to the plate in the form of Adam Dunn.  Shut me up but quick.

However, Daniel Murphy hit to both sides of the field today.  He scored runs.  Hell, he even made an error, just to keep things interesting and Mets-like.  And with Dunn at the plate and Feliciano on the mound, he was the key to turning a 3-6-1 double play. 

Daniel Murphy: beast.  Daydream of cheap field level seats in a different ball park: untainted.  Sean Green threw seven pitches to rid the Mets of Cristian Guzman and, most importantly, Ronnie Belliard on third.  I’m almost willing to let Sean Green out of the doghouse (see walking-in of run in May, while I watch, on vacation, via jacuzzi).

Frankie Rodriguez closed it out, but not before Chowdah hit his first Mets home run to rob the man of his save opportunity.  I think Frankie’s just glad to be getting regular work.

Tickets are not severely discounted, but they’re not bad.  We’ll see.

Tomorrow sees the arrival of the first Amazin’ Tuesday, hosted by Two Boots of Grand Street and Faith And Fear In Flushing/Mets By The Numbers.  Details here.  I will be there, with full knowledge that I am now 0-3 at organized Mets events not held in a ball park.

Reverse the curse!

Lord, I’m tired.  If any readers are interested in attending, I will be the exhausted-looking chap with the David Wright T-shirt and the lager in his hands.  But Paul Lukas of Uni Watch will be there.  That goatee he’s got means he’s a fun guy.

Let’s go Mets!

Some time ago I was given a book to read by a colleague.  The book is titled A Fan’s Notes, and its author, Frederick Exley, does a remarkable job of barely speaking about sport in the two-hundred seventy pages I’ve read thus far.  (I write like a fiend, work a full-time job, and watch baseball.  Time rarely presents itself for reading anything but the paper while cooking or in the W.C.) 

Really, the book is a memoir, detailing the author’s institutionalization during the mid and late ’50s.  Conformity issues.  I don’t imagine being lent the book was meant to send a message of any sort.

When Exley does speak of sport, he speaks of the Frank Gifford New York football Giants.  He speaks of getting far too fired up about them, about clapping grown men repeatedly on the back, on jumping and screaming and praying and slapping his hand on the bar.

That was me yesterday afternoon.  I became the living embodiment (Mistah Exley–he dead) of Frederick Exley.  I was in a safe place to be such a Loopy Lou–Pacific Standard on Fourth Avenue in Brooklyn–but goddamn.  I need to calm down.

Others, however, seemed to feel differently, because I put on quite a show during the top of the ninth:

Alex Cora singled off Manny Acosta.  I clapped hard and whacked my knuckle against my wedding ring, letting out a sharp, “Nnnneeeeowwww!” which amused everyone and no one at once.  Angel Berroa hit for Brian Stokes and sacrificed to get Cora to second.  I stood on the support rungs of my stool and beat the bar with my fist.  Chuckles abounded.  The small crowd there that afternoon had decided it would be best to laugh at me than wait so they could laugh with me.  There is little to laugh about when watching the Mets these days–at least with anything more than gallows humor.

When Pagan ripped that ball past Martin Prado and out to right, I had fully intended to punch the air in excitement. 

However, my face got in the way.

I didn’t stop screaming, “Go, go, go!” though I felt a sharp pain in my cheekbone and my glasses were now nowhere to be found.  Turned out that in the excitement and scoring of the insurance run, I’d punched them off my face with such ferocity that they flew off and behind my head, dropping to the floor behind me and causing one of the lenses to pop out of its half-wire frame.  I also sliced the top of my right index finger.  I could photograph this, but I think I’m going to pass.  Respectfully.

When I gathered myself in time for the next batter–the eyewear being crucial in actually SEEING what’s onscreen–I had a flashback to the old “poking the eyes” bit that the Stooges pulled.  I didn’t think my day would get wackier.  Then Castillo executed the best suicide squeeze I’ve seen in my admittedly limited history of witnessing suicide squeezes.  I can count them on one now scarred hand.

As Acosta prepared for David Wright, I muttered a barely audible, “Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk.”

**

Speaking of David Wright: the Braves seemed to have it all worked out for him yesterday.  Walk the poor *bugger.  Here’s how that strategy panned out (ordered by plate appearance):

  1. top of first, two out, 0-0: intentionally walked; Chowdah grounds out.
  2. top of fourth, no one out, 0-0: strikeout.  Given that he led off the inning, it was an acceptable deviation from the plan.
  3. top of sixth, one out, Castillo on second, 0-0: intentionally walked.  Chowdah reaches on an infield single to load the bases.  Jeremy Reed walks (unintentionally), scoring the lead run.  Wright would then score on a Santos sacrifice.
  4. top of eighth, no one out, 2-0: Wright singles, then steals.  Nothing really comes of the inning; he’s stranded at third.
  5. top of ninth, two out, Murphy on second after a walk and a steal: intentionally walked.  Chowdah would then get Murphy in on an RBI-single.

I don’t believe the strategy of intentionally walking David Wright, even given the state of the team at present, will bear much fruit.  Or, if it’s to be done, perhaps best to do so only if there are outs and no one on.

The Mets may be bloodied and bruised, and jokes abound about their not-ready-for-prime time players.  But don’t treat them like they absolutely don’t know what they’re doing.

**

Sheffield left Friday with a cramp.  Now it’s a tweaked hamstring.  Sure it is.

*I had a different “b” word in place there, but apparently the MLB censor drones believe it unfit for mass consumption.  Very well.  Lame.  But very well.

Because I’m between items on my agenda this Saturday (the humidity’s calling into question my desire to finally repaint my hallway), I thought I might take time to clean house here, a bit.

Example: I’ve been negligent in responding to comments, which is rude of me.  So, here they are, condensed:

After having the flu the other day, Ryan Church did have a great night last night.

Fernando
Nieve just had a bad night. It is going to happen in a young career, at
least it did not happen against a divisional foe like Philly.

But that is why we play three games series, the Mets just have to buck up and take the other two games.

Should be a great game tonight.

Rays Renegade

That from the owner of Rays Renegade (obviously).  Also, almost two weeks ago.  You can tell because, back then, Ryan Church played for the Mets.

“Pennies make dollars” is what my dad used to tell me, and wins like the one not had in this game are what hurt come late September.  It’s the same as the Phillies winning by 21 runs one night, then losing by one run the next.  The games don’t have to be against a divisional rival to have an impact on the race–and I don’t think Mr. Renegade was implying that–but they matter just as much as saving face and picking up slack a whole game at a time, rather than a half.

And God, is Nieve still kinda crummy.  Carriage, meet pumpkin.  He didn’t embarrass himself last night, but the start he had prior was abysmal.  The thing about Niese–indeed, the thing about the AAAA Mets as a whole this year–is that there seems to be no object lesson in teaching the opposition that they need to press.  With any pitcher not named Santana, the guys in the batter’s box must be thinking, “It’s just a matter of time before I get my pitch to hit.”

That profile photo, Mr. Renegade.  Fantastic.  I’ll need one similar, now.

This comment came the next day, as I tried to will the Mets to a win.  They were two games below .500 then; it only took a week to go five games below.  (That just means they can take them back in a week, too.)  From Susan, at Perfect Pitch:

Good advice. Just hard for them to follow. But here’s hoping!

My tactic? Laughter:

http://perfectpitch.mlblogs.com/archives/2009/07/fowl_play.html

I’m Section 314, by the way…most every single game. Say hello anytime!

Susan

I gave Susan a shout-out when the Mets won, saying we’d done it together.  However, for those trolling for hard luck writing who’ve stumbled onto this Mets blog and don’t know much about Citi Field, here’s something: those with seats in the 500s can’t really go down to see people in the 300s.  Trust me, I’ve tried.  You get a hard time from the ushers who think you’re trying to work a seat upgrade.  It’s more politely handled at Citi Field than it was at Shea, but it’s firm.

So, Susan, I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by.  I try to be a gregarious guy; I try to make strangers friends, because it’s one of the few natural thrills in modern comfortable life.  But I can’t get there from here.  Come by 528 anytime; no one cares if you stop by up there.  Row 6, right across from the start of 529.  

This one from Dillon, of Living The Baseball Life:

Injuries have been the biggest reason for the Mets’ non-success this
season. And yesterday Johan didn’t get a bunch of calls that he should
have gotten.
-Dillon

Amen, and no kidding, Dillon.  Since then, the Mets have lost Fernando Martinez to knee swelling, so the injury bug is spreading to the replacements.  I get the sense that David Wright’s pride is wounded, as well.

As for being a Yankee fan in Beantown… woof.  And I like Boston a lot; I’ve made good money there and have some good friends who still live in the area.  My favorite bar named after a writer (Charles Bukowski) is there, too.  But I can’t imagine not even really being able to see games.  Last time I checked, the cheapest seat for a game at Fenway was more than my total beer consumption on a Flushing night (and that’s not an inconsiderable amount of cabbage).  Perhaps you do better than I.  Good luck to you, sir.

This from mrmetnoel@optonline.net, on Tuesday’s day off:

That was a great article I enjoyed reading it & I agree some Mets gave up way to early still got 80 games left. LETS GO METS

I don’t think there’s necessarily a give-up with players; I meant that there was no game played that day, and that’s why they didn’t lose.  Thanks for the comment.  Let’s hope they don’t give up.

This from birdland of Birdland Blog:

hhahah, you have a very nice blog here. Sorry that the Mets are not in
first this year though. Who knows? Maybe they could make a push and win
the East? Maybe! My blog is birdland blog if you wanna comment! 🙂
-O’s birdland blog

Thanks for the kudos on the blog.  I don’t think we’re yet at the point of desperation.  Certainly they need to get on a good run and hope the Phillies and the Marlins and the Braves run short of steam, and both things happening are quite possible.  However, they both need to happen at once.

**

If the Mets offense can give the opposing pitching reason to be cautious, that’ll go a long way towards re-establishing parity in match-ups.  But veterans can’t catch up to the pitch they know they could hit, and rookies and super-rookies are too impatient to wait for them.  Prime-time stars are left hanging.

This is the long-term result of injuries.  It wasn’t by design.  It wasn’t on purpose.  But it’s what’s happening.  For all the back and forth on whether the trade for Francoeur was bad or good, we’re not addressing the fact that the team approach is incorrect at present.  Strong pitching, yes.  Flaweless defense, yes.  But offense: sit in there and work counts.  Make those games four hours long.  Tire them out on the other side.  Learn what’s coming from the pitcher and how the defense is going to play you in various situations.

If that program is sound, then I don’t know that getting Francoeur is going to help it.  I don’t know that getting young for the sake of getting young is reason enough to make a trade.  If the knock on Omar Minaya is that he prefers older players over younger players, then shouldn’t we be doubly grateful that he didn’t bring in another Hispanic player?  I mean, while we’re perpetuating myths and stereotypes…

Let’s see if bringing back that old chestnut stirs some conversation.

…The opposition may not yet be able to ascribe a narrative to your line-up, in part because they don’t have to: they can pick you off one at a time.  But you, Mets bats, need the team narrative.  Like when Jose Reyes would get on base, steal second, get bunted over (for better or horribly worse) by Luis Castillo, and Carlos Beltran would get him in with an opposite field double.  Then David Wright gets Carlos in with an RBI single.

It’s at this point that Delgado would hit a home run.  But, y’know.  Anyway, that was nice reliving those days.

Fellas, you need a story.  You need to write your movie.  The injuries are Act One.  The swoon is Act Two.  The rise is Act Three.  Work counts to get on base or extend the game and knock the opposing pitcher out.  Once you know that story and can tell it well, the opposition will try and upend that story.  The only way I can see to defending against a team that consistently works at-bats is to throw heat past the rookies and crafty stuff against the veterans.  And the rookies will hit the speed balls while the veterans smack that garbage around the field.

See?  It’s that easy.  Why am I not a manager?

**

David Wright should bat third only in emergencies.  This situation is a crisis.  It’s not an emergency.

Troubles rank in the following order, from least to most dire:

Issue
Problem
Emergency
Crisis
Ragnarok

Crises are prolonged emergency situations.  Problems are solvable in situ; Ragnarok is the destruction of the Gods. Which I guess means that, should we get to Ragnarok, the Wilpons will have to do battle with the evil Norse wolf Fenrir and Jormungand; think they traded those two for Shawn Green.  

Think about it: Ragnarok is to be preceded by three winters with no summers.  I’d say 2007 and 2008 qualify as winters of the nuclear variety.  And it’s pretty cold out in Flushing these days.

I can’t count how many line-ups Jerry Manuel has presented but I’m sure the number rivals the number of games won, if not games played.  But this lefty-righty nonsense has got to stop; these hitters have no margin for error on the bench, and need to learn to hit pitches from right handers and left handers.  Regularity will breed familiarity.  Familiarity is important, as the alternative–mixing and matching on a day-by-day basis–is obviously not working.

David Wright hitting third in a line-up does not give him the opportunity to produce, given the poor hitting usually placed ahead of him.  And look at the man: he desperately wants to produce.  He feels better when he does.  He feels looser.

I don’t have an answer as to how the line-up should be constructed beyond this, because we’ve not seen a consistent line-up, especially since the loss of Beltran.  Can Daniel Murphy be a great hitter in the two-hole?  How do we know?  He doesn’t hit in that position every day.  Can Gary Sheffield be trusted to hit doubles while in the three-hole?  I doubt it, but who’s to say he won’t instead hit a homer?

David Wright needs not the protection of power hitters ahead of him and behind, but the ego boost of contributing to the team offensively and defensively.  Captains need to feel useful.

Tonight’s line-up, as posted by David Lennon of Newsday:

Luis Castillo – 2B

Nick Evans – LF

David Wright – 3B

Gary Sheffield – RF

Fernando Tatis – 1B

Ryan Church – CF

Omir Santos – C

Alex Cora – SS

Livan Hernandez – SP

I know I made mention awhile ago about David Wright not batting third, then didn’t bother to follow it up.  I will soon, I swear.  That’s not what this is about. 

This is about not playing Daniel Murphy. 

According to Metsblog, Mr. Manuel believes it prudent to get Fernando Tatis a start against a left-handed pitcher before the three righties before the All-Star Break.

Fernando Tatis has not excelled in a bench role this year.

He has not excelled in a starting role this year.

Starting him every now and again is like being a super-bencher, which I liken to being a super-freshman: not enough credits to be a sophomore; too many to be a freshman.

Nuts, Mr. Manuel.  Nuts. 

Bring Tatis in off the bench in a regular capacity, or play him in a regular capacity.  But don’t start him every now and again as though you’re giving someone a day off.  The only person that needs it also swung the bat pretty well last night.  At least you had the presence of mind not to sit him, too.

Just… just… I don’t… I can’t… too many reasons why… this is horrible… I can’t… I can’t…

And why is Luis Castillo batting lead-off?  Was he that great batting eighth last night, or was Alex Cora that bad in first?

Brain… melting… too much… can’t… compute…

(Dana cannot locate the “crash-and-burn” sound effect for the show)
Casey: EEEERRRRRRRRR-BWOOOOOOOOH! That sound?
Dana: Yeah.
Casey: Really?
Dana: Yes!
Casey: Make the sound that you made.
Dana: Casey, I made the sound!
Casey: Make it!
Dana: …Oooooor-kssss!
Casey: Ah…
Dana: What?
Casey: That’s not the sound.
Dana: That’s the sound!
Casey: (walks over to the tech’s desk) Chris? Will? Be with me now: EEEERRRRRRRRR-BWOOOOOOOOH!
Will: Crash and burn.
Casey: Can you do it?
Chris: Got it.