If You Don't Have Anything Nice to Say

With the Mets battling as they are (which is to say, in a rather formulaic fashion these days, as Jeff "Mr. Roboto" Wilpon has instructed his family's team to produce runs in the amounts of either one or zero, in homage to the beloved binary that is his first and dearest tongue), I've opted to register my disapproval by writing with the same passion and consistency my Mets have brought to the field. There are, as you're probably aware, no new developments in the ongoing story of their mediocrity. In fact, the Mets have been losing by way of injuries and dreadful hitting in spite of good starting pitching for some time now; my sympathies go out to the newspaper writers who are forced to play soul-sucking daily games of Mets Mad-Libs:

__________ (AAAA middle infielder) has emerged as Art Howe's latest favorite for his __________ (adjective, rhymes with, means, crappy) play and tendency to leave everything on the field. "__________ (AAAA middle infielder) really battles out there," Howe said, "He just gives __________ (number > 100) percent out there, day in, day out."

Howe added, "Once we get __________ (injury-plagued offensive star) back in this lineup, I think we'll be fine. It's just a matter of him knowing his body and not coming back until he feels he is ready." __________ (injury-plagued offensive star) has said recently that he feels his __________ (noun, muscle) is only back to about __________ (number < 70) percent, and the possibility of a significant setback in the coming weeks has not been ruled out.

Any sign of a promising surge by the Mets has been derailed by a series of nagging injuries to key performers. Just yesterday, for instance, __________ (disappointing pitching prospect) reportedly tweaked his __________ (nonessential organ) while __________ (verb ending in -ing, bodily function) in front of a classroom full of preschoolers. His prognosis is not good, and it appears he will join the rest of the Mets in being shut down for the rest of what has been to this point a very __________ (adjective, euphemism for shitty) season.

I'd apologize for my lack of anything fresh or original to say about the Mets, but that presupposes the existence of something fresh or original about the team, a possibility I'm not quite willing to concede after such a small number of games have been played. I'll leave you with a story about my new favorite NL East third baseman, instead. A friend of mine had very good seats at Shea during the Expos series, located even with the third base bag and only a couple rows off the field. Tony Batista, he of the unorthodox torso-gyration powered batting stance, was hearing it from the lively Shea crowd all night long. My friend didn't relay the insults showered upon the new Expo, but I figure it's obvious that they were taunting him about the likelihood either Kaz Matsui or Mike Cameron will absolutely destroy him in strikeouts this season. Either way, they were screaming at him nonstop when he was in the field, to the point where Batista actually took time from outplaying the Mets to cast long, flat looks at his hecklers. At the end of the game, as he was walking off the field, they poured it on thick, and he paused and looked up. Stared directly at his tormentors. "Ok. Hang on a second," he said, and after holding the look for a beat, dashed into the dugout. What was he going for, they wondered? Was he running away? Getting security? Grabbing a bat so he could model his odd stance before crushing their heads in?

Batista emerged with a box of balls, walked over to his antagonists, and tossed them each a baseball, making a point of singling out the most vocal among them. Smiling.

Needless to say, their jeers turned to cheers, and they left Shea happy.

Maybe sometime soon, it'll be the hometown players putting smiles on fans' faces. But don't hold your breath. As of this writing, there's no timetable for __________ (injury-plagued offensive star)'s return.