So Last Night Counted Right?

Anyone who has seen a lot of sporting events with me would know that I have a tendency to get antsy during blowouts. Don't get me wrong, they're fun. And I'd rather be on the long side of one than the short one, but whenever I see the Mets pile 11 or 12 runs on some unsuspecting team I can't help but wish they were saving some for the next day. Particularly considering that 2006 is really the only year I've ever seen the Mets have an offense that seemed somewhat relentless.

When it happens in football the scoring doesn't seem quite as effortless and I don't get quite so nervous that the offense is being wasted, though as New York's big blowout in Seattle last season proves, the effectiveness of an offense from one week to the next can really be meaningless. But it was a special breed of uninteresting meaningless when the Giants absolutely walloped the Chicago Bears last night to the tune of 41-13 at New Meadowlands Stadium. Sure it was fun, and I never mind seeing the Giants reach the end zone, but it was also, you know, the preseason. And wins in the preseason and a quarter will give you 25 whole cents.

As the Giants ran up the score, I watched with a pretty mild strain of apathy, which certainly wasn't helped by the other fact that makes the preseason unbearable, you guessed it, injuries. And boy did the Giants get a fun one last night. The secondary is going to have to do some reshuffling after lynchpin cornerback Terrell Thomas tore his ACL last night in a flukish collision with Jason Pierre-Paul with all of 22 seconds remaining in the first half.

The Giants season isn't over, but Thomas' injury far outweighs the specter of victory, which was noted by one columnist who pointed out that Chicago left embarrassed, but they also left healthy. I would have taken that gladly. Such is the nature of the curiosity that is preseason football, an utterly meaningless affair that we still watch with full dedication because we are just so damn football deprived. In some senses I feel like an addict.

I imagine the side effects of actual addiction are worse than the disappointment of a frontline player being lost for the season, but it still makes you wonder if preseason is a sensible product to subject your better players to given the physical grind of the NFL. It almost seems as though keeping starters out in general, such as San Diego used to do with LaDainian Tomlinson, might be the wisest idea. That, however, is somewhat foolhardy. Freak plays like the one that sidelined Thomas could happen in any game at any time, which makes cherry picking games in hopes of avoiding them a tricky and borderline ridiculous process.

Still, things could be worse. The entire world could know that you almost missed your at-bat because you had to run to the toilet. Really, if you're reading the game story of a baseball game, and the word "bathroom" is in the headline, it must be the Mets in August.

In any event, when the dog days of August are pounding down on you, it's important to remind yourself that the season won't be over because of one injury. Losing Terrell Thomas is a devastating blow to be sure, but the Giants have made a habit of losing impact players before the regular season.

In 2007 the significantly now less venerated Will Demps was lost for the season before it started, and New York won the Super Bowl. In 2008, I assumed the hopes of a repeat were done when Osi Umenyiora was lost for the year, and while the Giants didn't win it all again, they went 12-4 and took the NFC's top seed, spending much of the season as world beaters. Last season New York still won 10 games despite a significantly battered secondary that spent most of the season without Corey Webster and Aaron Ross.

Essentially, what I'm convincing myself of, is that the season is far from over. In fact it hasn't even begun. And I'm still excited and optimistic for Big Blue's 2011 campaign.

Now if Eli Manning, Ahmad Bradshaw, Hakeem Nicks and Justin Tuck all go down next week in New England, maybe I'll change my tune. But it hasn't happened yet. I'm still holding on.

Zach Parise Has Been One-Upped

As I wait patiently for the Giants' next preseason game to come around -- and it's still five days away -- there is very little to hold my interest. At least not with the Mets' season being pretty much done midway through August, although they did have some exciting news this week. More on that later.

Because of the dearth of interesting stuff going on I struggle from time to time to focus on all that the world of sports is presenting me with, though the impending start of Northwestern's football season, which is just 17 short days away, does give me something to get excited about. Unfortunately, though, that's pretty much all of it. Or so I thought.

Thank the lord for Jeremy Roenick.

Roenick is one of the greatest American-born hockey players of all time and a man who is known for his emotion, honesty and, I can assure you, a pretty good quote just about any time you talk to him. Also, he was really good. And in video games he was really good. Anyone who wants to get an idea of just how good Roenick was in NHL '93 need only troll around on YouTube for any number of clips of his electronic prowess. But more than his abilities on the ice, his abilities in the virtual world are immortalized by two phrases:

"It's not even so much me as it's Roenick. He's good."

And:

"There it is, Mikey. Check it out, his head's bleeding."



Both of these of course come from the indie film classic Swingers, starring the underrated Jon Favreau and an astonishingly thin Vince Vaughn. One of the most famous scenes from the film involves the main characters playing NHL '93 and after Vaughn displays Roenick's electronic prowess, he then checks Wayne Gretzky from behind to make him bleed on the ice.

So why bring this up now?

Well, as you all saw last week when I talked about Zach Parise's very silly commercial, I love when athletes show some personality. I should note, this is not simply limited to hockey. But in this case, hockey does it again as Roenick shows a good sense of humor -- and some pretty decent acting ability -- in this bit right here.



Yeah, that's the exact same scene from Swingers updated with Roenick himself in the mix and, amazingly, not playing as Roenick, though he does make a few amusing references to how great a human being Jeremy Roenick happens to be. This is great and there needs to be more of it. Sure there was no real reason why this video had to happen, but it did.

And we're all better off for it.

Lastly, if I can take it back to the Mets for a few minutes, because really, why keep this happy, they had the best news this week that they've had all season when it came out that there will be changes to the uniform set next year. As someone who owns, roughly, 10 or so Mets jerseys from the current set, this is a bit angst-inducing as I have hundreds of dollars worth of clothing that's about to be out of date -- some of them already are -- but it seems the changes to the home uniforms are coming mostly for the franchise's 50th anniversary and thus may not be permanent.

That's all well and good, but the coolest thing, by far, is that the Mets may be introducing a standardized version of their all blue Los Mets jerseys from this year's Hispanic Heritage Night. The blue and orange duds can't be the official alternate this coming season due to deadlines for submitting uniform changes, but they're likely to be broken out a handful of times and will probably assume the full-time alternate duty in 2013. They are crisp, they are clean, they are the franchise's traditional colors and they are beautiful.

Bizarrely, I cannot wait to spend $250 on one of them. Granted, it's not so much money that it will change my life. As Roenick knows, though, it just might be enough money to make my head bleed.

Back To Your Regularly Scheduled Programming

Alright everyone, you can stop worrying. I'm back in the U.S., we can all breath sighs of relief, the world is back to normal. You'll have to excuse the lack of updating over the last three weeks, but as I mentioned before leaving, I was busy running around Europe for a while. Over an 18 day stretch that ended with an interesting 24-hour period in which I dragged a 25-pound bag of chocolate through four countries, I saw five countries, 11 cities, some 25 museums, 20 Cathedrals and spent more money in ATM fees than I'd really like to admit.

Naturally, as you can imagine, this trip left me somewhat out of the loop as far as the sports world is concerned though I kept as regular tabs as I could on the major things, namely the Women's World Cup, the NFL lockout resolution (which, if you pay attention to logic, should have been no surprise whatsoever), the Mets and the Carlos Beltran trade. At least those were the events important to me. So in between my attempts to figure out how screwed I would be on the exchange rate if the U.S. debt talks continued to go south, whatever twitter could tell me is whatever I got.

But what I want to talk to you about is a particularly interesting phenomenon that I experienced on Sunday night, July 17, and that was the experience of watching the United States in a national sporting event among fellow citizens in a foreign country. You with me? I speak of course about the positively brutal experience that was watching the U.S. Women come up short in the 2011 FIFA Women's World Cup. For a while I had started to believe the Women's World Cup might be a defining aspect of the trip in general. Sitting in the Airport in Boston I saw the U.S. take an early 1-0 lead in its quarterfinal against Brazil and then boarded a plane. Then I landed in Philadelphia, walked off the plane and right up to a sports bar as this thing happened.



Not that I want to tell any sort of tales out of school, and I don't want to give the impression that I'm a soccer expert by any means, but that just may have been the most dramatic moment in a American soccer that I've seen -- and maybe ever -- which is a tough slot to take given Landon Donovan's amazing goal a year ago and the U.S.'s dramatic penalty kick-victory over China in the 1999 Women's World Cup Final. With the eventual win in penalty kicks against Brazil to move on I was in an upbeat mood on my way to Europe (though a disastrous plane experience would change that) and I knew there was a chance I'd have to watch the U.S. potentially win the World Cup while on Germany soil.

I was in Berlin the night of the Final, not in Frankfurt where the game was being played -- and I would have bought tickets if I were -- but I and my cadre of American cohorts numbering a total of four found an American bar in the ground floor of a Belushi's hostel in northeast Berlin off the Rosa-Luxemburg Platz U-Bahn stop to watch the game in hopes we would be among friends, or at least countrymen. For the most part, this went off without a hitch as we were indeed among Americans, many sitting in chairs in front of a big projection screen, and we managed to snag a booth with our own TV. To boot, the beer and food were stunningly cheap for Europe, though hamburgers in Germany have a bizarre, overseasoned meatloaf-like quality to them.

What we saw was, for the most part, a dominant display of chances, goal posts and an awful lot of bad luck for the U.S., but we thought we had finally reached our deliverance when Alex Morgan finally slotted the Americans ahead in the second half. This, understandably, brought up many cheers in the bar, and some camaraderie among the patrons, but what was interesting was that when Japan would equalize, there were more cheers coming from around the bar. Were they Japanese this might have been understandable, but it was actually a group of Brazilians who had gathered to watch Brazil's men's team face off with Paraguay in Copa America. After Wambach's extra time header put the U.S. ahead again there was more cheering, which was responded to by even more cheering from the Brazilians after Japan's dramatic equalizer four minutes from time.

Whether the Brazilians were doing this out of vengeance for the quarterfinal loss or pure schadenfreude I couldn't say, but when Japan stunned the world by taking the championship in penalty kicks, thanks in no small part due to the U.S.'s shocking difficulties from the penalty spot, there was uproar from one side of the bar, and it wasn't ours. It is a sobering feeling. One that is particularly unique when you're in a highly charged group of several nations in a foreign country. With alcohol. I had been looking forward to the moment of watching that game all week in hopes that we would drunkenly be singing the Star Spangled Banner through the streets of Mitte, but it wasn't meant to be. And being in a place that wasn't decidedly friendly to your jingoist sporting aims was an unusual experience.

We got a measure of some revenge when Brazil dropped its own penalty kick showdown to a lesser foe, and considering they didn't even cash in on one spot kick, one American patron casually pointed out that the American Women's team must be better than Brazil's men's team. We cheered obnoxiously to each foul-up, attempting to deliver the same cruelty, rewarding hubris, but for me the same zeal was not there. I don't generally take the same joy in the pain of others -- unless they play in Philadelphia I suppose -- but even then it's not out of joy so much as relief that I won't have to hear about the conquests of a foe.

It was a new sporting experience for me, and while it will stick out prominently, it won't define the trip -- there were dozens of other great, positive experiences. But that might have made the trip just a little bit better.

As for the Mets, some of you may have noticed the last blog post I wrote where I described how the Mets always seem to do well when I'm in Europe. Prior to my trip they were 16-2 all time when I was on the mainland continent. They did not repeat the success this time around, or at least not to the same lengths. The Amazins were 7-6 while I was on European soil, which is not terribly impressive, but still a winning record nonetheless. The far bigger news was the Mets playing for the future (though as of today they've won five straight and are only 6.5 back of the Wild Card) by sending Carlos Beltran to the San Francisco Giants.

Supposedly, Zack Wheeler, the prospect received in the deal, has the potential to be a solid Major League starter, but watching Beltran go is an odd feeling for some of us. His legacy will inextricably be linked with Game 7 of the 2006 NLCS, a game that featured the greatest defensive play in franchise history, but also Beltran striking out looking on an impossible curveball to end the game. To much of the fanbase this has made him look like a whimpy disappointed who couldn't deliver on his seven-year $119 million contract. But lost in that is that during his tenure as a Met he made four All-Star Games (including both his first and last season with the team), won three Gold Gloves, two Silver Sluggers and finished fourth in MVP voting the same year he struck out to end New York's World Series dream. As a Met he hit .280, had a .369 OBP and an .835 OPS.

In short, he was the most underappreciated player in the franchise's history, almost entirely because of one strikeout, which, ironically, happened in his finest year with the team. One day, Mets fans will realize how lucky they had it.

Now that you've all stopped reading, I will leave you with one final note. I like Aussie Rules Football, and in particular, I like a team called Geelong FC, or the Geelong Cats. They are pretty good, having won two of the last four AFL Grand Finals, most recently in 2009 when they beat St. Kilda, 80-68. Last night, or early this morning, more accurately, they played Melbourne, a team not quite as good as them. Geelong won, but that wasn't surprising. What might have been surprising is that they outscored Melbourne by 114 points.

In the first half.



Yeah, you read that right. Most of you, I know, have no real grasp of just how many points that is since you don't watch much Aussie Rules Football, but let's try to hammer out a rough equivalent to the final score which was 233-47. Granted, this was the second-highest halftime margin and fifth-highest total score in the League's history, but that doesn't quite do justice to the dominance. AFL is somewhat more prone to high wild scores than American sports but not quite on this level. So for Geelong to beat Melbourne 233-47, were this American football let's take a guess at what it would be like. My guess is that you'd be looking at something like the Giants beating, oh, let's say the Browns, by a rip-roaring score of 140-10. Or perhaps it would be like the Marlins falling to the Mets 35-1. It's that kind of dominance.

I doubt we'll ever see anything quite like it in American sports, but perhaps we can hope. In the interim, now that I'm back in the States, I'll be watching for it. At least until the next Women's World Cup when I might leave the country again. Fortunately, that one is only in Canada.

Scotty Doesn't Know

As many of you know, and really considering how much I've talked about it as all of you should know, I will be going to Europe tomorrow for my first hop across the pond in five years and my first wild youthful-indiscretion filled backpacking trip, well, ever. As a result, I've basically been playing the movie Eurotrip in my head for the last several days and quoting some of my favorite lines in it like, "You brought a guide book to a party?" and "I saw a gay porno once. I didn't know it until halfway in. The girls never came. The girls never came!" And to think, the only reason I saw the movie when it came out was because it was the only one playing after Starsky and Hutch that we could sneak into.

Oh college.

In any event, this wild whirlwind trip will take me through Rotterdam, Antwerp, the Hague, Amsterdam, Berlin, Prague, Vienna, Munich, Aachen and Brussels in roughly two and a half weeks, so I'm going to be out of the loop a little bit and sparsely updating here if at all.

But that's not the real concern that is weighing on all of our minds. The real concern, obviously, is "How will Dave's wild Eurotrip impact his favorite baseball team, the New York Mets?" It's a question we've asked ourselves for ages, with great minds often going mad in the process. In fact, it was St. Thomas Aquinas who at one point said, "A Met has free choice to the extent that he is rational," which one has to assume that the Amazins and myself, really, operate independently of one another.

However, a look at some of the evidence argues otherwise. See in my last few entries I noted this impending concern by expressing relief that I won't be in the U.S. to see what I can only assume is likely to be the Mets' inevitable downfall and tumble in the wild card standings. After all, I had mostly mentally checked out before this season began expecting an 82-win season at best (which is about what they're on pace for at the moment), but that doesn't take into account how well they've played over the last month and since the first 18 games in particular, which would indicate an increasing rate of productivity and wins. Essentially, their likely win output over a broader sample size is hampered by their horrendous start, but if we take a derivative of the data set, we'll see that the rate in change in the function when X=July 9 is obviously much higher than it was on April 16.



Did I lose you? I got all calculus-y on you for a second. It's been a few years. Essentially, what I'm saying is the increased rate of change means that if they continue to improve exponentially, they're likely to win more than 82 games. Unless this is a parabolic function. I think. I was a history major, what do you want from me.

I'm getting off track.

Here is the key information you need to know. I was wondering if I stood a chance to miss out on the Mets' season free fall by being in Europe but if the past is any indication that chance seems... not so likely. This will be the third time I have traveled to mainland Europe. My first trip was in April of 2000 when I went to France with Madame Said's French class in 9th grade. The second was in April and May of 2006 when as a junior in college I went to an academic conference in Metz, France and Saarbrucken, Germany to discuss Germany's national identity at the 1936 Berlin Olympics as compared to the 1972 Munich Olympics.

If you're a Mets fan the years 2000 and 2006 should clearly stick out to you as the last two times the Mets went to the NLCS, in the case of 2000 they reached the World Series and in 2006 they should have (and I'm convinced would have won the whole thing if they did). Of course those teams were far better than the one playing now, but here's the real question. How did the Mets do exactly while I was in Europe?

I don't remember the exact dates of my trip in 2000, but I do know that every morning I went to a news stand to get a copy of the International Herald Tribune so I could see the score of the Mets game and every day they seemed to win. In fact, over the nine days I was in Europe, the Mets won nine games.

In 2006, my trip took me to Europe from April 25 to May 4, and if we glance at the Mets' schedule that season we find that they went 7-2 over that span.

So essentially, in the 18 days I've spent on mainland Europe, the New York Mets are a combined 16-2, good for a sparkling .888 winning percentage. I'm about to double those 18 days and I guess we'll see if the Mets can double that impressive mark. I'm assuming they probably won't but all in all a man can dream -- particularly since going 13-2 in the 15 games they'll play while I'm out of the country will seriously thrust them into the middle of the Wild Card, and possibly divisional, race. And that would be something wholly unexpected when the season began.

If it happens, I think it's pretty clear they'll have me to thank.

Enjoy the rest of your July everyone. I'll try my best to check in while I'm prancing around Europe. If I don't, you can be sure I'll write a follow-up to see if my trip actually helped the Mets chase a pennant.

They're Still Equivocating And I Can't Take It

There we were on Sunday afternoon, one strike away from having some clarity and relieved anxiety. The Mets were losing to the Yankees in the bottom of the ninth, 2-1, facing the greatest closer in the history of the game and potentially, their season was on the brink. A loss would have given the Mets a demoralizing sweep at the behest of their crosstown rivals, and a fourth-straight loss overall, dampening any of the positive feelings we had gotten from a recent and surprising offensive outburst against the Tigers.

Then it happened.

The Mets rallied off Mariano Rivera, won the game in extra innings, and have since responded with two impressive wins to open their west-coast road trip in Los Angeles, which brings them to a season-high two whole games over .500 (although they've actually lost some ground in the Wild Card, where they're 6.5 back). Either way, the Mets haven't rolled over and died just yet, which is surprising to many for a few reasons and is also making me wonder about a few things.

A) Is this team for real? Like, are they going to make us think they're in the race longer than just the All-Star Break?

B) Is this the real Jason Bay? The outfielder was a disappointment last year up until he spent the latter part of the season, and the first part of this one out with a concussion. But in the last 10 games, he's hitting .359 with 13 RBIs, 8 runs scored, 3 homeruns and 2 stolen bases. Oh and his six homers this season are equal to his total from last year. Maybe the last three years of that contract won't be quite the albatross we all feared it was.

C) Why am I so damned anxious about this team?

That last one is the real question. I'll chalk it up to my Jewish neuroticism, but it makes me uncomfortable to not know if this team is going to suddenly get my hopes up only to dash them again or if I can comfortably ignore what's happening on the field. That's a terrible perspective to take. What I should be saying is, "I expected nothing and I'm getting something. It's all gravy."

And really that's quite true. This is an unexpected joy to watch all things considered. The Mets are a scrappy bunch exceeding expectations that you want to actually root for, which is a pretty stark contrast from years past. And let it also not be forgotten that if the team falls apart in the midst of its three-game series against the Phillies after the All-Star Break, I won't have to witness it first hand because I'll be off in Europe for two and a half weeks.

Yes, on a side note, I'll be off in Europe in approximately four or five days depending on where you want to draw territorial lines. I'm going to be in the Netherlands, Germany, the Czech Republic, Austria and Belgium, and it should be a hell of a time and there will be lots of pictures, but the catch is that updates may be few and far between. I'm not sure if you can all manage without my writing a new blog post for roughly three weeks but you're going to have to manage and get your Mets-centric neuroticism elsewhere.

In the interim I should note that while I do plan to take a look at the Berlin Olympic Stadium, site of such events as Jesse Owens' performance at the 1936 Olympics and the 2006 FIFA World Cup, I will not be seeing any sporting events. A bizarre notion considering that I almost always see a sporting event while on vacation and that during my stretch in Europe I will just be missing the 2011 FIFA Women's World Cup, where one team has blamed a loss on lightning -- guess who, and the American Football Weltmeisterschaft in Austria. Oh, how I wish I could see a bunch of men from France and Austria compete on the gridiron so poorly that my high school team could have beaten them.

Well maybe we couldn't have, but at least saying so still isn't the dumbest thing anyone has said in a public forum this week.

At the very least those people are actually playing football, which, I suppose, is still theoretically up for debate in the U.S. this fall what with all that lockout business. Of course, I've never really believed the lockout would last long enough to cancel the season and I figured most of it was harmless sabre-rattling and if you need a curious sign as to why, here you go:



This is a pretty funny little parody here with high production values, but the intrigue lies in that several NFL players, members of the NFLPA, are in this video. So are Rich Eisen and Marshall Faulk, who are commentators for NFL Network. That is to say, they are employees of the NFL, which means that during this lockout, technically, they're not supposed to be associating with members of the NFLPA. But here we are. Why would the NFL approve letting these people associate with the enemy? I suppose in theory it could be because they don't want to take it too seriously or get any bad press for taking protectionism to an extreme, but maybe, just maybe, it's because they all know the lockout isn't really that serious and it's only a matter of a week or two before the big, bad millionaires decide how to appropriately split up their billions.

Either way, I suspect there will be football. Rant over. Back to vacation talk.

The only real sporting connection I can find to my trip beyond the Berlin Olympic Stadium is that the Women's World Cup Final will be Sunday night July 17th, when I will be in Berlin. The game, unfortunately, is in Frankfurt, but with Germany the host nation, favorite and two-time defending champion, I'm hopeful that there will be some fun outdoor square with a public viewing area for us to watch in and feel the crowd. If that's the case, I will write something long and poetic about watching sports in another country.

Kind of like everything else I write. If you take out the whole part of it being poetic.

You Know, I Really Just Don't Get This Team Sometimes

Pick one. Seriously, just pick one. I can accept if you're bad. I'd love it if you're good. But I can't deal with uncertainty, and if the Mets continue to stun and surprise me by being competitive without their ace pitcher, all-star third baseman, slugging first baseman and, well, any competent hitting out of left field or a member of the rotation who before the season would have gotten you excited, I'm going to have no clue what to think.

Doesn't this team realize I planned my summer around them not being interesting?

This was supposed to be something of a rebuilding year, and while the Mets did have talent on the roster this spring, that delightful injury bug which always seems to snag them was surely going to keep them from competing. Hell, Johan Santana was already out before the season started. Given the likely hardships in Flushing this year, I planned accordingly, purchasing a season ticket package in which all of the games were done by mid-July.

When the season started the Mets opened with a robust 5-13 record through their first 18 games, David Wright and Ike Davis both went down with injuries, low risk/high reward pitcher Chris Young went out for the season and Jason Bay returned to perform as if he may as well never come back.

But all of the sudden, that all seems like ancient history. The Mets have only lost one series in the month of June, they just took two out of three from the defending American League champions -- on the road, no less -- the offense has scored 36 runs in the last three games, and New York is actually over .500 for the first time since April 6 at 40-39. The Mets are five games back of the Wild Card with 83 games still left in the season. Of the four teams ahead of them two (Pittsburgh and Arizona) are probably good bets to fade over the course of the season, one (St. Louis) will be without its best player for 4-6 weeks, and the last one (Atlanta) lost both series it played against New York in the past month.

Don't these people know I planned a three-week trip to Europe for next month assuming I'd miss nothing of interest?

As if all that wasn't zany enough, yesterday this happened. Yeah, that's right, the Mets, who had gone nearly two years without hitting a grand slam, hit two in back-to-back innings in a 14-3 shallacking of the Detroit Tigers. That's absurd even if they weren't the only people to do it yesterday. They're hitting, they're slugging, they look, dare I say, happy, Terry Collins looks brilliant, and they're still missing two perennial all-stars and one potential future one.

What the hell is going on?



I'm as speechless as the next Mets fan, and it's probably because I just can't figure it out. I mean, what could the secret be? Are they removing pieces of clothing one by one off a cardboard standup of Fred Wilpon? At this moment that's the only solution I can come up with.

I do want to make it clear that I'm not complaining about this. I'm just confused. The 2011 New York Mets, through almost half a season, are showing an amount of pluck and moxie that I'm simply not accustomed to seeing from them. Whether or not they can keep this up is something we'll probably find out in the next two weeks. New York's current pre-All-Star Break schedule is not exactly a pleasant one. After the current three-game set against Detroit, who is leading the AL Central mind you, the Amazins wrap up the Subway Series with three games at Citi Field against the Yankees before going across the country to face the Dodgers and NL West-leading/defending World Series champion San Francisco Giants.

Honestly, how many teams have to visit both of the previous year's World Series participants in a three-week span?

Oh, and after the All-Star Break, the Mets put the rubber on the road right away with three games against the Phillies. So yeah. It won't be easy. And somewhere around July 18th, we'll have a reasonable idea of whether or not this current hot streak is reality or yet another painful mirage. Don't look for an answer from me though. The morning of July 18th I'll be waking up in an apartment in Berlin. At that point, I'll have been out of the country for eight days so I may not be the best person to ask.

Then again, I may never be. After all, I wasn't expecting this.

This Is A New One. Even For Me.

Ladies and gentleman, I am a Mets fan. You know this. I don't keep it a secret even though perhaps I should. But being a Mets fan means I have seen a lot of bizarre things, both in person and on TV. But all that said, I'm pretty sure I've never, ever, ever seen a baseball game end the way it did last night.

Yeah, you read it right.

The Mets defeated the A's -- and their totally awesome yellow jerseys -- when, with the bases loaded, Justin Turner fashioned the Amazins' first walk-off win of the year with a bases loaded hit by pitch.

Sometimes you just can't make these things up.

That is, I suppose, the beauty and wonder of baseball. It is nearly impossible to predict everything that will happen and there is always a bizarre chance that something totally unusual like this will happen. Of course, in a sport where, as we've found elsewhere last night, even the mascots are as tough as they come, it doesn't seem so crazy that a man would be willing to surrender his body for the good of the team. In fact, sometimes I wish they'd do it more often.

Still, this was a most peculiar way for this, or any game to end, even if it apparently has happened before with the Mets falling on both sides of the ledger. However, keep in mind that this was already a pretty odd night at the ol' ballpark. For starters, the game was delayed an hour by a fairly unrepentant rain storm that swept through and left puddles through a stadium that has shockingly uneven concrete for a building that's only in its third season of use. Also note that Mets starter R.A. Dickey was utterly brilliant for eight innings, at one point making us furious that a dropped ball by center fielder Jerry Hairston Jr. in the second inning had already put the kibosh on a potential no-no.

Add into that that with both Dickey and A's starter Gio Gonzalez throwing pills all night, the Mets were in line for a 2-1 win courtesy of Jose Reyes' eighth-inning triple and Justin Turner's single afterward that set Francisco Rodriguez up for a save -- a save that almost sent us home in a relatively lightning quick two hours and 20 minutes.

Almost.

Instead, what proceeded to happen was a comedy of errors that stretched on for two more hours and didn't end until Turner's utterly heroic HBP in the bottom of the 13th. I stuck it out through all of the poor hitting and zany outs. Doing so meant that last night's crazy outing tied for the longest game I've ever attended in person to go with a Mother's Day clash between the Mets and Rockies in 2002 in which New York lost -- shockingly not because Steve Trachsel was starting.

I was glad to get home when I finally did, but my friend Frankie and I were still somewhat disappointed we didn't get to experience that rare moment known as a 14th inning stretch. Then again, I suppose I should be thankful I've never experienced a 21st inning stretch like the Rockies and Padres did in 2008 at Petco Park.

Then again, these days I'm just thankful I'm not a lesbian in Nigeria or a minority partner for the Mavericks making an utter fool of myself.

So yeah. That baseball game happened. Amazingly, the Mets and A's are going to be back at it in about 30 minutes for the finale of their three-game set. I'm going to be mighty impressed if these two teams actually have the energy to, you know, play baseball today -- or if they are willing to show their faces after last night's outing, which was, frankly, a terribly played baseball game.

My guess is they'll be on the field. Unfortunately for all of us, however, they probably won't find an ending that's quite as interesting.

Well This Throws A Wrench Into Things

Surely if you're here and you have the patience to read the header of this blog, you know what the whole point of it all really is. This is a running account of my adventures and journeys to see all 122 teams in the NFL, NHL, MLB and NBA play a home game. The goal is to get it all done by the time I'm 55, and with 41 teams down, I've made some significant progress in my years, but there are still some outstanding issues. I get asked a number of questions about my plans and my adventures and there are two that show up more than any others.

1) If a team builds a new arena, do you have to go see that team again? Yes, I do.

2) What happens if a team moves?

That second one is slightly more complicated. Well, the answer isn't really all that complicated -- yes, I need to see them again -- but for record keeping purposes will I have to assume that there is suddenly 123 teams to keep track of? If I haven't seen that initial franchise, well, I guess not, and it appears I won't have to answer that question just yet, but it appears I may have my first test on question No. 2 today, with the announcement that the True North Sports Group has agreed to a deal to purchase the Atlanta Thrashers. While the franchise is not officially on the move to Winnipeg, Manitoba just yet -- that can't be formally done until the board of governors approves the deal on June 21 -- most parties involved seem to expect that that will be the case from the NHL, to the Atlanta Thrashers, to even the more comically social media savvy players.

So, with a team likely moving to Winnipeg and out of Atlanta, I'm sure the big concern for all of you is, "I wonder what this means for David Kalan." Don't worry, I'm going to tell you. I've thought about this often because earlier this year it appeared painfully obvious that I was going to have to account for a team moving this summer, although I didn't expect it to be a hockey team. Of course, that move wound up not happening, and possibly do to some, uh, outside resistance. But that move wouldn't really have been so bad because a) I've been to Sacramento before and feel no real need to go back, and b) a cluster of three NBA teams in the Los Angeles/Anaheim metropolitan area would have made for a convenient and fun little swing through southern California.

This move is completely different because Winnipeg isn't near, well, anything really, but it does actually excite me somewhat because I now have a reason to go there, and I like being able to see new cities. It is somewhat unfortunate in that had the Thrashers stayed in Atlanta, I have several friends I could stay with whereas I know no one who currently lives in Manitoba. There is the chance however that I could try to tack Winnipeg onto the beginning of a Western Canadian hockey tour that I am planning on doing at some point, one that would take me from Calgary to Edmonton and then to Vancouver via a train that goes through the Canadian Rockies which are supposed to be, you know, gorgeous. It's worth noting of course that Winnipeg is some 824 miles from Calgary, roughly the same distance from New York City to Chicago, so taking it onto that trip could be ill-conceived, but how often am I in Western Canada anyway?

Either way, there is some sadness here for the Atlanta organization and its fans, though I suppose they'll always have a memory of Dustin Byfuglien lifting the Cup in his Thrashers jersey after being traded by the Blackhawks last summer, or Lil Jon dining with it. Byfuglien, incidentally, hails from Roseau, Minnesota, which is just 116 miles or so from Winnipeg.

So, in the end, with this news breaking it looks as though I'll have to add Winnipeg's MTS Centre onto my list of arenas, which given what it looks like, actually should be pretty cool when I finally get there, though it will be interesting to see a game there if, for no other reason, it only holds a little more than 15,000 people. And if I do manage to put Winnipeg onto my Western Canadian hockey swing, it will be particularly fun to go through each city and see the differences before winding up ultimately in Vancouver, which, if none of you have noticed, is also in the hockey news these days because it's hosting Game 1 of the Stanley Cup Final.

And it's hosting it tomorrow.

Yeah, the Stanley Cup Final, one of my all-time favorite things to watch or experience kicks off between the Canucks and Bruins Wednesday night, and while some mediocre sportswriter is giving you the ins and outs of some meaningless statistics, fan-related angst and video game predictions, there really is nothing quite like just sitting down and watching the game. Personally, I'm of the mindset that Vancouver is just too good and will take the series in six games, but Boston is certainly no slouch of a team after pulling off a gutsy Game 7 win over Tampa Bay in the Eastern Conference Finals Friday night.

If nothing else a good, hard series between these two will be a great distraction from the messiness of Mets land, where, despite two wins in a row now, things have kind of gotten sticky due to some comments from the man in charge right around when he's selling a chunk of the team to a guy that, despite his great name, could probably use a little better fashion sense when he's playing poker. Many are hoping David Einhorn will stick around long enough to get majority ownership and end the Wilpon regime, or at least long enough to continue the flood of Ace Ventura jokes.

Another particularly awesome aspect of the whole thing is that if Vancouver finally wins its first Stanley Cup, it will likely do so in large part due to the efforts of Ryan Kesler and Henrik and Daniel Sedin. The upshot of that, is that Canada will finally get its vaunted Cup back for the first time in 18 years, but doing so would require the charge being led by an American and two Swedes.

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure they'd be plenty happy and the Canucks roster is still made up of a vast majority of Canadians, but relying on the Americans to get your achievement would still be pretty fun -- almost as fun as knowing that Qatar, which famously and quite possibly corruptly beat the U.S. for the right to host the 2022 FIFA World Cup, is doing so largely on the basis of ideas that are not just being stolen from America, but being stolen from American television. That's right. Qatar's plan to block out the sun during its insanely hot summers is essentially lifted from The Simpsons, which on a side note, after re-watching this episode from the "Who Shot Mr. Burns" Saga, I am still convinced was the greatest show in history in its prime.

So yeah, I'm excited about the Stanley Cup Final. I hope you are, too.

It's a Subway Series!

So yeah, the Mets and Yankes play tonight. For those of you who don't know or care much for New York baseball perhaps you can understand that these are incredibly fun games to watch or attend, even if they are all a painful reminder of the dark angst that can happen when you're 15 years old. Still, with that fateful series some 11 years in my rear view mirror, I'm willing to take these biannual matchups as what they are.

Baseball games.

That's really all they are, and people can talk about "bragging rights" all they want, but all things considered, they're really no more significant on the calendar than any other.

Why is this?

Well, to be completely blunt, as much as people want the Yankees and Mets to be rivals, they really aren't. They play six times a year, a whopping 3.7% of their 162-game schedule. They don't play after early July, they don't compete directly against each other in their divisions, or or any playoff spot at all for that matter, and for the most part, at least for me, once these games are over it's out of sight and out of mind.

But like I said, that doesn't mean they aren't fun, and it's certainly enjoyable to have one of those rare times during the baseball season when a Mets fan and a Yankees fan can go to a game together and each have a vested interest in the outcome. And so it is with that in mind that I'm particularly keen to be headed up to the Bronx tonight for the opener of the 2011 renewal of the rivalry. This was made possible yesterday when I noticed that tickets had dropped precipitously on stubhub and decided, "What the hell? I'll pay $28 to sit behind home plate in the upper deck."

It'll be interesting to see if tonight becomes one of those great memories I have of Subway Series games past that I've attended, memories that include:

1) Being taken out of school by my mother to attend the rubber match of the first ever Subway Series in 1997.
2) Seeing Mike Piazza hit a massive grand slam to dead center field off Roger Clemens at Yankee Stadium in 2000 in an eventual 12-2 win.
3) Seeing numerous fights break out in the upper deck during that game, as well as seeing one Met fan stand up and repeatedly smack his ass because the Mets were winning by such a large margin.
4) Seeing Shawn Estes miss his opportunity to bean Clemens in 2002 in misguided vengeance for beaning Piazza in July of 2000.
5) Seeing both Estes and Piazza hit home runs off of Clemens anyway.

Indeed, even the Subway Series games I haven't attended have had a whole host of memories. Whether or not there are some new ones created tonight remains to be seen, but either way I'm looking forward to the evening, provided the weather holds out.

Another thing that should make this series interesting is that despite profound differences in payroll, expectations and, well, talent, the Mets and Yankees aren't actually too far apart in the standings this year -- not right now anyway. I'm not fool and I suspect that come September the Yankees will be battling Boston and Tampa Bay for the AL East title while the Mets are at least 10 games back, but for now the Amazins have played quite well of late, going 16-9 since a 9-1 win over the Astros on April 21, a game I should note, was the first I attended this season. As a result, the Mets are just one game under .500 after a miserable start, sitting five games back of first with a 21-22 record, and just 2 1/2 games back in the overall standings of the 23-19 Yankees, who have been slogging through a brutal month.

What that means for this weekend, well, I can't really say, but I'm somewhat optimistic of the Mets' chances. This is probably irrational of me, but as I've learned recently, optimism is necessary to truck on sometimes, and I will do just that. Multiple times. With photographic evidence, no less.

Lastly, even if the Mets lose tonight, I am somewhat excited about getting to go to Yankee Stadium for the second time this season -- and second time in 10 days. This is odd considering I hadn't gone to the Bronx for a game all last season, but I remembered last week what I miss so much about the new Yankee Stadium, and to be quite honest, it is not the building itself. Yankee Stadium does not impress me for a few reasons. While I enjoy that they brought the frieze back around the top of the stadium and I can see what they're going for with the limestone walls intended to evoke the original Yankee Stadium facade from the 20s, but this building makes me feel like Hal Steinbrenner is sitting on my shoulder everywhere I go reminding me how good his building is.



The other thing I can't help but think of when I see Yankee Stadium is that it must be the most Republican stadium in the Majors. Allow me to explain. I acknowledge that Republicans, by and large are probably nice people and have great senses of humor even if I don't agree with them on politics, but one moment that has always stuck out in my mind as representative of the party was this horror show from the 2004 RNC when the Bush twins came on and told a series of absolutely terribly unfunny jokes with poor delivery.

What that moment showed, at least to me, was a desperate attempt to show Americans how Republicans actually had a great sense of humor, but the execution in fact proved the exact opposite. The New Yankee Stadium, to me, is a building that intends to show you it's sense of class, distinction and grandeur, and while the franchise that plays there does, in fact, have all of those things, the building's falseness indicates that as a structure, it has the opposite.

It's a distended metaphor, I know, but it makes sense when you think about it. Really, I swear it does.

However, I am still happy to go to the Bronx tonight, and there are two big reasons. The first, obvious one, is that I just like going to baseball games. The second one is that for all of its faults as a building (the phony exterior, the disappointing museum) the new Yankee Stadium does have my absolute favorite ballpark food item that I've come across yet, barely beating out the Gilroy Garlic Fries at AT&T Park in San Francisco. That, my friends, is the Lobel's steak sandwich, available on the field level near Sec. 131 at the left field foul pole. I know that with this delicious pile of fresh sliced prime rib, au jus and optional horse radish sauce on a brioche bun I will leave Yankee Stadium tonight feeling like a winner.

Frankly, being a Mets fan these days makes that a rare thing. But being a winner at the Subway Series will always be a little sweeter.

Now That's An Entrance. And An Exit.

Let's assume for a second that last night, Friday, May 13th, you were actually watching the Mets-Astros game. No, I know, no sane, rational person would be doing that on a nice Friday night in the spring time, but that's not the point of the exercise. Let's assume that you saw fit to watch to baseball teams that are probably going nowhere duke it out for three hours.

Although, as I point that the Mets are going nowhere I should also note that aside from an interminable 2-12 stretch earlier this season the Amazins are actually 16-8. And their four-run eighth inning last night did show off some rather exciting moxie.

But I digress. These are not good baseball teams. And given that we know that already in May, it's pretty clear that this game is not worth watching when you could do more productive things with your Friday night like see friends or stare at a wall.

However, one of the great things about baseball is that every game gives you the opportunity to see something you've never seen before, and while a late comeback to win a baseball game, or even a Mets victory, are things I've seen before, I had never seen something like this.

Yeah, that's a crazy fan running onto the field, something that has happened numerous times before, and while this particular incident won't inspire a silly debate about the necessity of tasers, or point out just how dumb Philadephia sports fans are, it's easily the greatest attempt to evade the authorities that I've ever seen from a stands jumper. That's what the Astros get for having that stupid hill in center field. And the best thing about it, beyond the acrobatics shown by the fan in question, is that, seemingly, no one really got hurt. It was just a fun-loving fan livening up the crowd.



Steve McQueen would be proud.

Now that said I don't want to imply that I'm suddenly encouraging fans to jump the stands and run onto the field. Far from it. More often than not these events wind up being potentially or actually dangerous to at least one if not both people involved.

Obviously we don't want that.

But if you, as a fan, absolutely have to be a reckless ass and run out on the field, when you do it, at least do it in a way that is most importantly not dangerous and almost as importantly, awesome. And this was pretty damn awesome. Even some of the players enjoyed it.

Of course, the one big problem with this is that all 15 Major League games today might get stopped by some schmuck hoping to duplicate the impressive feat. I'm guessing that it'll happen at at least one game somewhere this week. While that will be infinitely irritating, I'm at least going to revel and cherish this moment, almost as much as the Mets actually playing sort of ok lately or Geelong winning its big showdown with Collingwood Friday.

After all, how could I not enjoy the second funniest news item to come out this week?

Waiting On A Sunny Day

I was telling dirty jokes in my study hall with Brian Caliccio when the planes hit the towers on September 11th. It's truly bizarre years later to look back at that exact moment, to know what was happening and not have had a clue. In fact I didn't even get a whiff of the attacks until I walked to my fifth-period English class when on the way there, Harry Shuldman stopped me to warn of concern that a plane might crash into the school. I was blissfully unaware, and being my snarky self -- and in a big Manchurian Candidate phase -- I told him to "play a little solitaire" continued to class, and at that moment my friend Mike Wong told me the news.

I was naturally baffled and incredulous to it all, as was another classmate, Anoosh Montasser, who like me refused to believe this was feasible, but I soon found out it was and then found that the entire school was being released at noon though, for some reason, we were never told why.

The details of that day are permanently etched in my brain and will be until I die or Alzheimer's gets the better of me some decades down the road, and while I was fortunate enough to lose no one personally connected to me that day, it was and still is impossible to think that anyone in the New York area didn't lose something, be it a loved one, their innocence or their naivete. This was a day no one who lived near this city will ever forget for better or worse.

Last night it was impossible not to have my mind go back to that day when I heard the news that Osama bin Laden had been killed in a firefight with U.S. forces. There is an immediate part of me that wanted to relish vindictively. After all, this was the man who orchestrated the greatest horror our country had seen in my lifetime, and anyone who has lived in New York knows that it is a weight that sits on our shoulders -- always -- even if we don't realize it.

I first became aware of the news, like any good Mets fan, while I was in the middle of watching the Mets play the Phillies on Sunday Night Baseball. The game itself wasn't where the news came from, a friend IMed me to tell me to turn on the news, but watching it through that lens was as interesting a picture of the American reaction as any. In no uncertain terms, the visuals of fans chanting U-S-A as the word spread through the crowd was highly surreal, and it took me back to a Mets-Braves game I attended on the first weekend that baseball was back in New York after the attacks. Throughout the game, montages of first responders were shown on the jumbotron and jingoistic cheers rippled through Shea Stadium.

If the hair didn't stand on your neck, you weren't human.

But what happened last night was different for me. Unabashed national pride was the obvious reaction after September 11th, but last night was a far more complex emotion to interpret, particularly since nearly a decade has passed since 9/11. So much has happened both in my own personal life and the world -- though the Mets still haven't won the World Series and the Knicks still haven't won a playoff game. To be someone whose formative years -- high school and college -- came in the shadow of 9/11 this is a highly significant and intense event to acknowledge and the sanctimonious and vindictive immediate reaction most would, and did have was to celebrate. I don't fault people for celebrating. To take joy in society being rid of a monster is human. But to take joy in a man's death is a different matter, one I'm not sure I am comfortable with.

Furthermore, while many scenes of people cheering in massive crowds with American flags were uncomfortable for me to witness -- particularly since tons of college students cheering and high-fiving that were seven years old in some cases when the attacks happened seemed ignorant and disingenuous to me -- I can't say I was bereft of some satisfaction.

I don't like the idea of celebrating a man's death, but in my mind for points of justification the thought is clear. Osama bin Laden deserved to die. When you deliberately murder thousands of innocents you have lost your right to be part of a free society, and while bin Laden's death doesn't bring men, women or children back who passed away at his behest, it does bring a measure of justice to the occasion. This was an evil man, who got 14 more years on this Earth than he deserved, and I say 14 because he lost his chance to participate in the circus that is humanity with killings that took place even before he orchestrating bombings of U.S. embassies in Nairobi and Dar es Salaam.

To relish the salving of death with more death is odd, but we're all prone to a human response, and I know that I uncomfortably cracked open a beer to mark the moment as I watch President Obama's speech to the nation late last night. I wasn't sure if it was the right move, but as a friend of mine who pays more attention to the War on Terror than anyone else I know said, this was an execution of justice. Today is a good day.

Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. I'm still bothered by the videos I saw of hordes of college students, most of them probably drunk, screaming in celebration. Images of firefighters cheering the news bother me less so, as they understand the price that was paid by the colleagues and brothers that lost their lives in the World Trade Center. But to ignore the obvious catharsis this was for most, 10 years in the making, would be foolish.

In a somewhat odd twist for me, the first sporting event in New York after bin Laden's death will be a Mets-Giants game on Tuesday night, a game that I, and Mike Wong, who was the first to break the news of the attacks to me, had already made plans to attend. The Mets played a memorable role in the recovery of New York's psyche in the weeks' following the attacks, and I'm interested to see what the scene will be like, but it's odd that life sometimes has these full circle types of events.

Either way, I, and I'm sure others, are left with a bizarre and uncomfortable feeling of satisfaction through it all. As kids we're always told that two wrongs don't make a right, and one would have to assume that murder begetting murder falls under that heading. But as I keep telling myself and those around me, I am comfortable with the feeling and understanding that this is justice carried out. Whether or not this is victory in the War on Terror is subject to debate, and people are quickly jumping to both sides of the argument, but regardless of what happens now, there is no denying that all of us have witnessed a moment we will remember and tell our children about.

I got home at noon on September 11th and immediately began calling my brother, who was a junior at New York University. Phone calls were nearly impossible to get into the city in the early hours, and I got nothing but busy signals as I started to panic, not knowing where my brother was or if he was ok -- though in retrospect it seems irrational to think he might have been near the financial district. I called my father next, who told me immediately that Elliott was ok -- he had sent my parents an e-mail -- and he then told me words that stuck with me. They were simply: "You're going to remember this day for the rest of your life."

Truer words. It was no exaggeration to say that 9/11 was the JFK assassination for my generation, but what the death of bin Laden becomes in stature is unsure, as is the impact that it will have on all of our lives, though one newscaster this morning called it my generation's V-E Day. I think that might be a bit extreme. But it's hard not to think that the world is a better place today than it was yesterday.

And as I walked to work this morning, there was no doubt in my mind that New York has its chin up today.

Get Your Overpriced Ephemeral Merchandise Here!

Some of you probably noticed that there was a huge television extravaganza on recently with some royalty involved. Yes, the first round of the NFL Draft was last night, and boy howdy was it a party. I know, I know, you probably thought I was talking about some other royal TV... thing, but come on, we fought pretty damn hard to free ourselves from the yoke of these imperial oppressors, no matter how fabulous their sense of humor might be.

The brilliant, and not at all crazy, Jack Edwards knows exactly what I'm talking about.

So no, the royal wedding in the wee hours of this morning was not the exciting TV event I was talking about, although I really did enjoy when NBC's camera lingered over Australian Prime Minister Julia Gillard and Matt Lauer and Meredith Viera clearly had no idea who she was. Come on, people? Even Dust and Sand knows who she is. Frankly, I think it's awfully nice of her to even bother making the trip to the wedding considering all of Australia was probably emotionally spent from Geelong's stunning win over Hawthorn earlier this week. Of course, the Cats have done that before.

But I digress. The draft. The Giants had the 19th pick in the NFL's annual selection gala, and chose to use it on Prince Amukamara, so named because he was the first son of a Nigerian chief, and if you don't think this qualifies him as royalty, you should check out the names of his sisters. Interestingly, he's not the first Giant draftee to be a sort of African royalty, although he grew up in Arizona, but what struck me most about the evening, aside from the fact that many Giants fans weren't sure we needed another defensive back (Ed: You can never have enough defensive backs), was that within moments I got an e-mail from the Giants offering me the exclusive opportunity to purchase what might just be the most useless piece of merchandise I've ever seen from a sports team.

You see, at least draft hats and the like can still be worn easily. The Giants are probably never changing their logo. But this was advertised to me as a "Prince Amukamara draft jersey". I understand this is a business and that sports teams need to make money where they can, but this just seems over the top. To buy this jersey would be a painfully silly purchase. And there are more than a few reasons why.

For one, and perhaps most importantly, we know nothing about how Prince Amukamara will be as an NFL cornerback. He may be the next Champ Bailey, but he may also be the next Rashard Anderson. We don't know. Personally, I don't really understand shelling out $85 for a player who may wallow in obscurity.

For two, Prince Amukamara may not even make the team. Sure that's unlikely, but it's certainly possible, and if that's the case, well, personally, I don't really understand shelling out $85 for a player who may never actually be a Giant.

For three, the number on the jersey is "No. 1". If Amukamara makes the team he will almost certainly not wear No. 1. Some of you may thing this is a place holder and that those who purchase this jersey will get a jersey with his actual number, but no. The description actually says, "made to look like the exact jersey given to Amukamara on draft day", which means it will be No. 1. And, uh, personally I don't really understand shelling out $85 for a player who may not actually wear the number on the jersey I'm purchasing.

For four, it's a replica. It's not even nice! It's just a thin piece of mesh with the No. 1 and Amukamara silk-screened on it. Personally, I don't really understand shelling out $85 for a player whose jersey may have the numbers rubbed off after five times through the wash.

So yeah, basically what I'm telling you all is that the NFL is asking me to pay $85 for a piece of merchandise that has the shelf life of, oh, two weeks. Who, exactly, is buying this jersey? Well, not me, but as we know, in service to the almighty dollar, the NFL has had a tendency to do what it can to get as many premature dollars as possible.

Far be it from me to stand in the way.

Of course, once the Giants picked I mostly tuned out from the draft, which is fine since some Giants were preoccupied anyway, and for most of the first two hours I was flipping between it and the Mets, who, tragically, saw their Major League-high six-game winning streak come to an end in Washington. It is worth noting after that winning streak that the Mets are still under .500. Once I tuned out I moved on to the NHL playoffs, which, duh, you should all be watching. All sorts of fun stuff could happen, and many prognosticators are putting their opinion in.

As are the brilliant scribes reporting on it. And that doesn't even include the awards nominations which, surely, you've all paid attention to.

If you haven't, there's a chance for you to jump on the bandwagon tonight when the Capitals and Lightning open up a doubleheader that will later feature the Red Wings and Sharks. And if you don't tonight, I won't blame you.

You're probably too angry at yourself for spending $85 on that short-lived Amukamara draft jersey.

Oh This Won't Be Depressing At All

Yes, fair readers, I know it's been a while since I've posted here and that surely you're all very upset at me for it. I apologize. It's been a busy week you see. A number of important and wild, crazy things have happened, such as the Knicks losing not one, but two soul-crushing playoff games in their first postseason appearance in seven years, some wild comebacks in the opening round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, and the NFL's 2011 schedule release, an event that has left me wondering if my two designated road games this season will actually be feasible given that they're in back-to-back weeks.

But friends, I come here to talk about none of those right now. Because those are good things. Fun things. And what I have to tell you is not fun at all.

I'm going to my first Mets game of the season tonight. It won't be pretty.

See, I've had several seasons when the Mets fell into mediocrity -- and did so early -- but it's rare that I've been living in the New York metropolitan area and seen them fall so quickly that I haven't even gotten out to a game yet. And fallen they have. After losing two straight to the Astros, the Amazins and their sparkling 5-13 record are at the very bottom of the Major Leagues, meaning that unlike last year's team, which simply plodded its way through injuries to a mediocre 79-83 record, this year's squad, with mostly the same roster, is downright awful.

The team is so bad that New York Daily News beatwriter Andy Martino actually got away with two of the more scathing -- and at the same time brilliant -- game stories I've ever seen, capturing not just the Mets awfulness, but the ambivalence of the fans that are currently watching. I'm generally disinclined against Martino since he grew up a Braves fan, but he does a masterful job of tiptoeing the line between truth and bitter sarcasm that apparently has eluded other writers in recent days.

And he hits the nail right on the head. This team is bad. Really. They're not good. We know it. They know it. And yet here I am ready to pull up stakes around 6:00 pm tonight and ride the 7 train to Citi Field for what is sure to be the first of several times this year. The positive to all of this is that when you know the team is bad you can at least laugh at it to make the pain dull itself. Also those $6.50 bags of fresh Kettle Corn they have at Citi Field are a tremendous deal.
Seriously. They're enormous.

So yeah, I've got that going for me tonight as I start my weekend, but on the plus side the Stanley Cup playoffs have been so good that I'm almost able to forget about how bad the Mets have been. I'm not sure how many of you have been watching, or keeping up with the very exciting awards announcements, European hockey news or top playoff performers, but it's all been pretty sweet -- in particularly Tuesday night's utterly wild Game 3 between San Jose and L.A. that saw the Sharks rally from a four-goal deficit to win in overtime.



And last night's double-OT games between Washington and New York and Pittsburgh and Tampa Bay weren't bad either. All in all the hockey playoffs are shaping up to be pretty tremendous so far, which is good because they might be the only distraction I have to keep me from watching baseball other than planning out my potential European vacation this summer or my two Giants road games I have planned.

If you're curious I'm looking to hit up New England on Nov. 6 and San Francisco a week later.

So hockey is what I will rely on for now, and the great thing about that is that they last for six more weeks. The only downside?

Baseball season lasts six more months.