Archives for posts with tag: Gary Cohen

Gary Cohen called this loss to the Nationals “a head-scratcher.”  I don’t think so, Gary. 

Twice the Mets loaded the bases with nobody out, and nothing came of it.  Anderson Hernandez’s and Luis Castillo’s brains squelched so hard in the bottom of the eighth I heard it on my BlackBerry. 

Why the BlackBerry, you ask?  Because I’m in full Sean Green Evasion mode, and once Jerry Manuel came to retrieve Pedro Feliciano, I switched over to the Yankees game until my phone told me it was safe to return.

So a full inability to capitalize on prime run-scoring opportunities, some hideous errors, the usual blend of swinging at high fastballs (Chowdah) and junk down and outside (everyone else), and an amazing grab by Elijah Dukes to seal it.  That’s not a head-scratcher.  Head-bower, headbanger, head-shaker: all, certainly.  But not a head-scratcher.

If you want something that mildly confused me, I’m going for the digital board that makes up most of the right field wall at Nationals Park.  How is this not a game obstruction?  It’s bright as blazes and they like to run wacky nonsense on it just before the ball’s in play.  Horrible for anyone at the plate with halfway decent peripheral vision.  So it’s a good thing no one there’s expected to hit a ball that’s three-quarters the size of my fist that’s hurtling at ninety-plus miles per hour.

Also irritating for fielders.  Even if the thing isn’t dancing around like an epileptic on Red Bull, if I have to turn to make up distance to the warning track, then flip around to catch the ball on the fly, I’m going to hesitate for a minor second to readjust, so I can pick up that tiny white speck against inky black sky.  Onset glaucoma or no, you’re going to have trouble.

Ugh.  Weak.  Get ’em tomorrow.

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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.

I used to get carsick fairly frequently.  My father would try and distract me: “Hey, buddy; name your five favorite Star Trek episodes.” 

I didn’t care for the original series back then, and Picard’s gang of intergalactic hustlers had only been running around for one season.  By the third season, we’d gotten rid of the car.

I woke up today wondering what my walkout music would be, if I were a relief pitcher.  Because I have no desire to see Casey McGehee’s name as the first mention of substance on this blog, I thought I’d “open the topic up for discussion.”  What I mean by the quotes is that one has to be a member of MLBlogs to comment, it seems, and I don’t forsee anyone doing that for my little nook.  But if comments come, comments come.

If you believe the Mets season is making you carsick, jump in.  Imagine Gary’s asking Keith.  That’s what I do:

“So if you were a relief pitcher?”

“Whoo, boy… I have a fondness for the classics.  I can’t run out to ‘Thunderstruck’ since J.J. Putz has that… ‘Shut ‘Em Down’ has an appeal.  Hard for the crowd to sing along to.”

“Well, do you want them to sing along, or do you want them to sit in awe of your greatness?”

“Good point, Gary.”

“I think I’d choose something with a slow burn.  ‘Stranglehold,’ maybe.”

“My goodness; I never pegged you as a Ted Nugent fan. …The truck’s telling me that song’s got some bad words in it.”

“‘Shut ‘Em Down’ doesn’t?”

“No way, Gary.  ‘Shut ‘Em Down’ is a clean message that Public Enemy is sending to the masses.  He’s done taking guff.”

“Guff.”

“Uh-huh.”

“…Any bad words in ‘Sabotage’ by the Beastie Boys?”

“That word’s worse than the one in ‘Stranglehold,’ Gary!”

“I had no idea you were such a connoisseur of the music of that particular generation.”

“I was upset that I never got to Woodstock.”

“Probably just as well; I hear Aaron Heilman has a permanent lock on ‘Sabotage,’ anyway.”

“…The truck is laughing, Gary.  Good job.”

“Thanks, Keith… And Fernando Tatis grounds out to end the threat.  Top of the sixth coming up; Mets down 5-0 with the heart of the Diamondbacks order coming up.”

I watched the game last night against the St. Louis Cardinals (W, 6-4) in stages.  The first stage: Upper East Side of Manhattan, where I took notes in my head and quickly forgot them upon watching a plate of fried calamari get confiscated for… what?  Why take the plate away?  There was still food there; I was still eating it.  There was no signal.  I don’t care what you say.

Unbelievable.

The second stage, Brooklyn.  Pacific Standard on Fourth Avenue.  The MOST delicious microbrews.  I took full advantage.  And here now, are the full extent of the notes I took, unedited:

Different Stokes to move the world
Double paly on Pujols
How does castillo beat out that infield hit?
Guy Keith was demo-ing on was Schumaker
Dennys reyes can’t handle Fmart’s bunt
Yadier Molina has farty pants

I suppose he does have farty pants.  Let’s go down the line:

  • I feel like I watched Brian Stokes set up Albert Pujols in slow-motion.  It was satisfying turning to a fellow viewer, sitting to my left, and saying, “Double play.  Coming right now.”  And, sure enough.  Thanks for buying the pint, whoever the hell you are.
  • Hopefully I didn’t say actually say to her, “Double paly on Pujols.”  That would’ve been unfortunate.
  • I don’t know how Castillo beat out that throw for an infield hit.  I also don’t know how Omir Santos went 4 for 4, and I literally don’t know how Daniel Murphy hit that home run.  I was on the subway at that point, hustling to Brooklyn; as yet I’ve not watched the replay. (INSTANT UPDATE: he got a good turn on himself and powered through what appeared to be an unhealthy curve from Todd Wellemeyer.  Nice.)
  • I don’t quite know whether Keith was talking about Skip Schumaker, or Brendan Ryan, or Rick Ankiel, or what.  But I believe his pants were corduroy.  Anyone watching the game on SNY knows what I’m talking about.  The only thing more hilarious than seeing Keith Hernandez out of his chair in demo mode during a broadcast is how serious Ron Darling and Gary Cohen seemed to take it.  Ron was especially close to the danger zone.
  • I do know that Dennys Reyes didn’t look in any shape last night to handle a bunt, and sure enough he didn’t.  Can’t give Fernando Martinez a hit to help his average, but it helped the team, and that was enough.
  • I’ve already commented on Yadier Molina.

Think about the heartburn going into the bottom of the eighth, and think about how the bottom half of the line-up (though with these players, is there a bottom half of the line-up anymore?) manufactured a run:

Luis Castillo: infield single.

Fernando Martinez in for Stokes: bunt between Dennys Reyes and Yadier Molina.

Alex Cora: single up the middle on Dennys Reyes.  No extension on Reyes’s part to catch it because he can’t leave his feet; Cora safe; Luis Castillo scores.  Yadier Molina goes nanners.

The digital zoom on the camera catching the money end of the third base line had Castillo safe.  Molina catches it, Castillo geeks out, and grabs the plate as Molina tries to apply the tag.  It was close, but Castillo was in.

The run gives Frankie Rodriguez wiggle room against the middle of the Cardinals’ order.  Now, the middle of the Cardinals’ order isn’t exactly setting the world on fire, but today’s Mets aren’t sure things when it comes to putting out fires.  There was nothing more poetic, by the way, than yesterday’s crash on the RFK Bridge involving trainer Ray Ramirez, Jose Reyes, and a fire truck.  On the day that Carlos Beltran goes on the DL. 

I love a metaphor as much as the next guy, but c’mon.

I guess until Tim Redding loses a game, I can keep calling him Teflon Tim.  Dear Tim Redding: don’t lose any games.  We need them.  Love, Paul.  P.S.: Don’t call me.  Your facial hair is frightening.

**

Oliver Perez pitched in Port St. Luice yesterday.  Against the Charlotte Stone Crabs.

Here’s the recap.

I would review, but… no.  Just… no.

CHARLOTTE.  STONE.  CRABS.