7/2/19

Tom Brennan - OH, JOY! IT'S YANKEE - METS TIME AGAIN!


EXUBERANCE!

All they could talk about after the G 20 Summit 
was - no, not China, not N. Korea, not Germany, not Brexit.



They talked TURKEY - no, no, not Erdogan...

They talked Mets - like, how could they be Turkeys? They WON on Sunday!

And in come-from-behind fashion too.  But now...



As the Mets stand like a battered, bloodied fighter, leaning against the ropes in hopes of weathering the round they find themselves in, up steps Mike Tyson in his prime, the murderous, pre-ear bite fighter we all loved.  

"Murderous".  With Yankee tattoos all over him.

Aren't you as glad as I am that the Mets play the usually far superior Yanks EVERY SINGLE YEAR?  You know, the Yanks that are now Brits, having scored 29 runs in 2 games against the 2018 World Champs, who stupidly only scored 21 themselves.


I am SO GLAD...yes, since the Mets love to receive a good, regular beating - it happens every season - blood and spit flying from the Mets' pugilist's mouth onto fans in the first and second row as Yankee clean up man Tyson connects.

THUD, THUD, THUD.  

Ribs cracking faster than a Yoenis Cespedes leg bone (in whose case, the leg bone is clearly NOT connected to the head bone).

No trainer that can stop the Mets' bleeding.  Phil Regan is our bullpen Mick, the ancient trainer in Rocky's corner during the first Clubber Lang fight ("Cut me, Mick, cut me!!!").  

Really nothing Phil can do when the collective heart of the Mets pugilist is soulless and defeated already - at least on most nights.

Somehow, the fighter, Mr. Met, will get through the next two rounds on Tuesday and Wednesday against Yank Tyson, even further battered, most likely, then under MLB fight rules, the out-on-their feet Mets pugilist will face the fresh and fierce Phillies for 3 rounds before the All Star break arrives.

A lot may start happening to change the face of this mostly moribund franchise before the All Star break ends.

While other teams proceed to the post-season, the Mets will likely enter their offseason at the All Star break in an induced coma.   

Hopefully, with a prognosis for success for the 2020 season.

But my advice?  Avoid Yank Tyson at any and all costs.

The broken ribs are not worth it.


BEFORE I GO:

What great news that Pete Alonso and Jeff McNeil made the All Star team due to their stunning play in 2019, joining Jake deGrom on the team with his Mets-induced 4-7 record, while the whole baseball world knows that if Jake was hurling for the Yanks right now, he would be 13-3 instead.  Go get 'em, boys!


8 comments:

Reese Kaplan said...

I think that the Mets actually would do better if they have a horrible week and get spurred into making roster changes than if they have a good week and delude themselves that all is well.

Mack Ade said...

I agree with Reese.

Thinking this team has the talent to compete is like saying the Knicks had a good free agent signing season.

Tom Brennan said...

The only way this team could turn it around right now is if Familia, Justin Wilson and Avilan came back this week like their old selves. The likelihood of that happening is infinitesmally (?) small. Get battered, then sell, baby, sell.

John From Albany said...

Are we talking 2017 selling where they dump salary and bring back suspects not prospects? Or smart trades like Lee Mazzilli for Darling and Terrell? Bob Bailor and Carlos Diaz for Sid Fernandez? If we are talking about the 2017 version I would prefer they stand pat.

John From Albany said...

I am thinking you will see more "Broxton" type trades where the Mets give up Frazier and Wheeler types for International signing pool money. As long as they keep signing good International prospects, this may be the best we can hope for.

Hobie said...

I do not/cannot root for my team to lose. Period.

Tom Brennan said...

John, what, you didn't like the 2017 sell off? I know Reese sure didn't, right from the very beginning, and he was right about that right from the very beginning.

Reese Kaplan said...

Thank you, Tom. I'm like that proverbial broken clock, right at least twice a day (unless I'm digital in which case I'm completely in the dark).