Ground Control To Major Tom

It was pretty for about three innings, long enough for the Mets to grab a three run lead, long enough for Carlos Beltran to hear a few golden choruses of appreciation from the Astros Idiot Patrol who obviously believe, submerged from reality as they are in their crappy little baseball world, that every player who wears their creepy little uniforms will stay on for ever like Keeping Up With The Clemens', playing in a rubbish little ballpark formally named after the bastion of American corporate greed and filth simply so they can watch their pick-up drivin, Stetson wearin, Skoal pinchin spawn warble into yet another hopeless and oppressively mindless Texas night.


Feeling his fingers, Glavine tries out a subtle goose step to please the redneck patriot rabble assembled last night at Minute Maid Park

Yes, the Met won again last night and yes, Billy Wagner nearly choked down a blown save in front of his former fans, preoccupied, one presumes, with drowning the hillbilly music from his ears whilst the faint strains of Texas, Our Texas warbled in the background of another swampy Houston night.

More importantly, Tom Glavine was pack with all five fingers and whilst the fourth inning brought a magnificent collapse, these Mets, impervious as they are to adversity managed to squeeze yet another victory from yet another inferior opponent and the only thing I can say I'm disappointed about is that the victory didn't knock the Astros from the wild card race for good because if I have to suffer another postseason of hitless unimagination at the hands of these brick red, black and sand-coloured wearing pentagram hatted somnambulists, I think baseball should revoke their pathetically mewling franchise once and for all.

And how might these Astros have expected victory throwing chum like Wandy Rodriguez to the crowd in the hopes of sparking the pity of the baseball Gods - he lasted less time than it takes a Texan to spell his name, less time than the shelf life of the last Lone Star Beer in a truck stop café along the I-45 on a hot stinking humid August Texas afternoon.


Tell it like it is, you franchise-huggin little muppet, Biggio and the Astros lose again!

So yes, 8-7. Yes another pacel of road win squeezed into the carcass of the season and now that Tom Glavine's back to enjoy the rest of the show, we've only got the return of the El Duque and Pedro Show to look forward to.