In the interim I've been thinking about alot of other seasons of mediocrity that smell like bad pussy on your mustache on a Saturday morning (but only when you were a freshman at Uni of course...)
Art Howe, for example.
Art Howe was to the Mets like the 70s were to the American economy. Stale, stagnant and waiting to be over. I hated Art Howe so much I made a blog called Fire Art Howe Already!
The thing about Art Howe is that he was a strong man. A Stoic. A man who let players be men blablabla and proved almost as unimaginative as the GMs who brought the mules who played for him.
Art Howe, a disease, a malaise.
Art Howe probably could have won the NL East with this team though.
He won a few for the A's, after all. It's not like he never did it.
I worry about Willie Randolph having to face post season decisions he hasn't had to face yet. The funny thing about Willie Randolph is that he has the luxury not to have to make the kind of decisions where he could look good or he could look like an idiot. Omar Minaya sorted it all out for him.
Need a name? Here, have Pedro.
Need a five tool player quiet superstar with no big head? Here, have Carlos Beltran.
Need a closer? Here, have Billy Wagner.
Need a heavy hitting first baseman? Here, have Carlos Delgado.
Need a thick bullpen to back up an aged starting rotation? Here, have Duaner Sanchez, have Roberto Hernandez back, have Guillermo Mota, have Darren Oliver.
Need a catcher who can throw to second base in less than five hops and hit over .300? Here, have Paul LoDuca.
And there's smooth Willie Randolph with his jazz DJ's velvety voice running the Mets like a raft on a river on a warm summer day.
What would poor Art Howe have done?
Oh, and by the way, the music for this session leading up to the game:
Rammstein (but I don't think the bat is for baseball.)
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