“And where the hell were you?”
“Sorry, T; the highway was jammed with broken heroes on a last-chance power drive.”
“What, are you a comedian now?”—The Sopranos, “Long-Term Parking”
Lots of injury seen yesterday:
- Martin Prado comes out of the game with a headache;
- Oliver Perez tweaks his knee on a cover attempt at first;
- Derek Lowe gets hit on his glove hand trying to cover a hit up the middle;
- Anderson Hernandez goes down trying to cover second;
- Larry Jones goes hitless and hurts his pride;
- Jerry Manuel discusses the mess that was Ryan Church’s 2008 concussion and, as my junior high band teacher used to say, steps on his joint;
- Ryan Church does less than Larry Jones, and hurts his team’s playoff chances;
- someone (I’ve no idea who) slips on the slick rotunda floor and is taken to an ambulance on a stretcher.
Each of these points should be addressed before moving forward. I choose to do so in reverse order.
First: that floor in the Jackie Robinson Rotunda is a menace. It’s lovely and eye-catching and leads the fan to inserts detailing Mr. Robinson’s nine core values, but it’s slippery when DRY. And last night saw two sure signs of the Apocalypse: the current Mets line-up notching ten hits against the $60 million man, and a resultant flash thunderstorm. There was an easy quarter-inch of rain on the ground and no sign of decent drainage. Put that on the list for off-season adjustments.
Also add the completion of whatever this:
…is supposed to be, far west of the bullpen gate. (For orientation purposes, the window on the far right looks out onto the parking lot behind center field and, across the water, LaGuardia Airport.) Restaurant with thirty-foot ceilings? Mets museum? What up?
Next: Ryan Church had three ground-outs last night before striking out to end the game, leaving him 0-for-4 on the night.
I’m in the camp that believes Ryan Church’s concussions were handled poorly by the Mets–and I’ll get to my thinking in a moment–but in the Land of Put Up Or Shut Up (which is just across the border from Bring It, Turkey and shares a river with Yo Mama), Chachi was a beggar. Shame. He was afforded rounds of applause for each at bat. Had his output matched Chowdah’s and had the Mets still come out with the win, I’d’ve been cool with it.
Next: I don’t think Jerry Manuel had a leg to stand on in discussing the dueling concussion experiences of Ryan Church and David Wright. Hell, Mr. Manuel, Chachi had TWO of them, and in both instances he was playing hard, and in one, he was playing hard during SPRING TRAINING.
A man who plays like that is going to want to go out there until he can’t anymore. It’s management’s job to protect him. But Chachi’s situation was less complex than the chest-thumping war cries between man and other man. He’d suffered TWO CONCUSSIONS within three months. If you sprain your ankle twice in three months, you take it easier. If your right fielder knocks around his BRAIN twice in three months, you put the man on the DL.
I can’t believe I’ll pick a mild pun off the rack, but guys: it wasn’t like it was brain surgery. It’s common sense. Don’t listen to what the man says. He’s not Superman. His body slid, semi-conscious, past second base after hitting Yunel Escobar’s knee. I was watching as it happened and I grabbed my OWN head.
Furthermore, what does bringing all this up AGAIN get you but more aggravation and a series of day-job writers thinking your organization is rife with either incompetence or bullheadedness, from the trainers to the management to the press office? It’s the communications equivalent of intentionally walking a batter to get to the pitcher’s spot: you’ve only bought yourself more trouble.
Next: I’m awed and humbled that the derisive “Laaaaarry! Laaaaarry!” chant made it across the alley. This is the first Mets-Braves game I’ve been to all year, and hearing it made me feel truly, TRULY at home. No louder was it than when Omir Santos grounded to third on a fielder’s choice, and Jones bobbled it or couldn’t get a grip on it or was doing Chowdah a favor or what, and the ninth run scored.
I didn’t get a shot of it, but it appeared Larry gave a defeated shrug at the end of the play. Delightful.
He and Church were 0-for-8 on the night. That’s about as historic as a ten-hit Met inning, considering the team’s status at present.
Next: Anderson Hernandez.
I’d just gotten through talking about how Jose Reyes, Ramon Martinez, and Alex Cora were on the DL, and how it would behoove Anderson Hernandez to watch himself. And down he went.
It was about at this point during the game that, aside from derisive tomahawk chops and exhortations for the free-swinging to stop in the later innings, I decided to keep my fool mouth shut.
(For the record, I also called Adam LaRoche’s solo home run. The Wife can confirm that one, too.
Listen, I don’t report these things because I’m an ego-maniacal train wreck. I report these things because I find them scary. Though as my seatmate Mike reminded me, “Calling a home run off Oliver Perez is like calling the sun’s rise in the East tomorrow morning.” Fair enough.
By the way, have you seen The Wife? Here she is:
Next: Derek Lowe.
Probably would’ve helped, but here’s the video as captured by SNY, and the quote as caught by ESPN:
“That had nothing to do with it,” Lowe said, referring to his pinkie. “I was under every single ball flat.”
Very well, Mr. Lowe. You had a crappy night and your defense up the middle left a bit to be desired. I thank you for adding ten hits in an inning to my list of Mets History Witnessed, which includes Santana’s One Hundredth Win and Sheffield’s Five Hundredth Homer. Cheers.
Next: Oliver Perez.
C’mon, guy. Do you HAVE to look so goofy? Shouldn’t your hands be folded on a desk with a large vinyl reproduction of a library-scape hanging behind you? Perhaps with “2009” in white-on-black hanging upper left? Criminy.
To be fair, he walked only one ba
tter, and struck out four, and the Matt Diaz pitch looked from above to be a mistake, and I claim responsibility for the LaRoche home run. My question, really, is whether he was pulled after 78 pitches because of the tweak his knee got in the fourth inning, or because runners were starting to get on again as of said fourth.
I’m guessing a bit of Column A and a bit of Column B.
I will get off his case only enough to say he hustled to cover first, and he had me beat on the number of walks he issued. Whether his stuff was better than the Braves’ or whether the Braves were godawful… hell, how subjective IS this sport, anyway?
Here’s how subjective, both in amount and true nature: I was all ready to take a look at Derek Lowe’s record and Oliver Perez’s record, set them side by side, with no-decisions factored, and figure out just where the truth lay on who would be the better Met. But the Braves have not had NEARLY the spades of injury trouble the Mets have had. They’ve not had the same schedule. Hell, from what I see on his game log, he’s made each of his starts. Perez hasn’t. How do you reasonably compare the two without major question?
The only anecdotal way I know is this: from what I’ve seen, Derek Lowe throws first-pitch strikes. Oliver Perez oftentimes does not. It has been my experience that pitchers who throw first-pitch strikes get into less trouble, and last longer in games, than those who do not. Those who do not leave us with men named Elmer Dessens, and the ridiculous tactic of berating said Elmers for the purpose of reverse-psychology-derived gains.
That’s all I’ve got.
Lastly: Martin Prado–what’s going on with Martin Prado? I haven’t checked that had because, well, it’s Martin Prado and I care about Martin Prado just about as well as I can throw Martin Prado, which is to say not all that much. I care in that he’s a fellow human being and I don’t wish him any particular harm, but no one on the internet-box can tell me what his deal is with these headaches. Anyone know? Swine flu? The bends? Restaurant? Mets museum? What up?
Yes, lots of injury last night. Lots of potential for injury. We ran like hell for the Chernobyl-style stairwells from the Promenade overhang; we shoved past rubberneckers on the stairs in the rotunda; we ran like hell from the rotunda to the subway entrance, which was a SEAL-type operation in an of itself (I got to tell someone I “broke left” when running the after-action report).
You know it’s bad when the best I can do for my post-victory photo of the park is a runaway shot from the 7 Super-Express, above.
Hell, Big Man was in rare form and got a T-shirt for his ad-hoc mascot trouble:
As I’ve said in the past: great for branding. Keep that liver running, my friend.
As for me, I’m scheduled for a side session on Friday.
omniality
Section Five Twenty-Eight 