Gotta Believe?

by Hirp

How’s the ol’ saying go? Something about walking in another man’s shoes, and it never really seemed all that plausible. I can’t walk in someone’s shows, and that’s just a tad bit gross. Well over the past two weeks my New York Mets have some how pulled of some Houdini move, and replaced my familiar footwear with that of Cub fans and Red Sox fans. Both of those fan bases have a long, well documented, history of being let down. Historical collapses, and amazing series of events that would torture them in a way that George Bush would be proud.

But that was their shtick. Other sports fans kind of felt sorry for them, but we also thought that they enjoyed it to some extent. They were the Rodney Dangerfield’s of sports. Bad luck, curses, the cosmos or whatever caused it all were their identifying features. Much like Jay Leno and his nose, Courtney Love and her tracks, or Donald Trump and his hair. It’s never flattering, but necessary.

They’ll probably be offended by this, being that it’s just once for us Met fans. But I have caught a glimpse of their hell. For the past two weeks, watching ESPN.com box scores every night has been like alternating between being punched in the stomach and kicked in the jewels. Blown leads, come backs that fell just short, fielding that resembles Little League, and a bullpen that has been as dependable as Britney’s parenting skills.

The details and stats behind the collapse of my Mets aren’t important here. Baseball fans know it, and I just can’t stomach explaining just how bad this is. The good news, if you can call it that, is t he season isn’t over and they still have a chance to make the playoffs. If that happens, I’ll be ecstatic, but unless they have a pill for it, I can’t get my hopes up.