To see what the ball looked like to me when I played baseball as a child, just look below. It wasn't a butterfly. Actually, this is what I imagined, since I mostly had my eyes shut. Needless to say, I never hurt the kitty.
So uh, talking about how excellent this guy Johan is is making me nervous. Let's talk about little cats instead. Sites filled with funny pictures of cats, such as the one I stole this picture from, really amuse me. I'm not exactly ashamed of this, but I'm not proud of it either. I don't even own a cat. I would challenge anyone who is not a dog to tell me to my face that kitty pictures are not in the top ten of greatest things the world wide of webs has given us. Anyhow, my last two posts, appealing to the literacy of web smurfers (something you could never do on a Br*ves site), and serving up awesome pictures of Billy Wagner and bagels didn't seem to do much for traffic, so now I'm going to the cat.
To drive the post's super clever meaningful title home, what Mets fan isn't getting a few butterflies in their stomach, what with all these injuries? Half the team still hasn't made it on the field, and the other has had to be helped off of it. Most troubling, in order: Carlos D-God's hip pointer, and the Delcosian tidbit that CD's hip has bothered him during the winter= not so comforting.
Poor Ruben Go, tay-it-on-the-Mountain looks fucked now that he twisted his ankle. Spring was big for his chances of following the Willie Randolph Elders north, so he can't be happy bout this.
Old Duque is either helping the Florida crew of beat reporters flesh out their submissions, or it is really time to forget him. Pelf pitched a couple more effective innings vs Atlanta today and has yet to acquire an ERA. So that's nice. It would be nice if Pelf could stay "Bat-free." Speaking of which...
Platoon leader Sgt. Ryan Church got his steeple rung, and concussions can be a real. What was I saying? Oh, right. Head injuries are unpredictable, as this blog demonstrates. Again, no one is talking as to why Marlon Anderson set foot on the field that day, although I assume St. Lucie police are investigating.
Omar is shopping Show-en-blow and So-So--not sure if this is such a great idea, since relievers never have the same year twice and these guys both left a lot to be desired last year. Letting these two dangle will smoke out the desperate GMs though, and I suppose that'd be interesting viewing. As for Jorge Sosa, I still get a little desperate when the Mets tenure of someone I know was picked up by John Schuerholtz at some point is in jeopardy. Except Mr. Not Devastated off course, but we all know Schuerholtz would never have resigned him.
This year's Rickey Henderson in camp is none other than the Straw man. Maybe Darryl can tell these youngsters about the times when ballplayers took performance degrading substances and still got the job done. Anyway, word is that Mex is bringing his mouthpiece to team photo day.
Jose is back, in more ways than one!
**UPDATE** (necessitated by events)
It isn't every day that someone so high up on the Metsfan hate list comes to such a hilarious end. Well, that's not true in the case of John Rocker, but you get my point:
Scott Spiezio and his wife, Jennifer Spiezio, went to dinner Dec. 30 at Ruth's Chris Steak House in Irvine. There, the player allegedly had six Grey Goose vodkas with cranberry juice while his wife drank champagne. After dinner, they went to Ten, a restaurant in Newport Beach, where together they ordered more vodka, food and an energy drink.
Spiezio left Ten alone in the couple's silver 2004 BMW 745 LI. A short time later, witnesses told police they saw the car speeding, cutting across lanes and crossing into oncoming traffic before driving over a curb and crashing into a fence at Campus Drive and Carlson Avenue.
Records in the court file say that when officers realized the BMW was registered to the Spiezios, they went to the couple's home, some 200 yards from the wreck, and two floors above Stuart's home.
The records gave this account: Jennifer Spiezio answered the door and said police couldn't speak to her husband because he was asleep, sick with pneumonia. She told them she would check on him but came back a minute later and said she didn't want to wake him.
After police told her they believed her husband had been injured in a crash, she said they could come in but that she wanted to wake him first. She returned crying, said he wasn't in the room and that she didn't know where he'd gone but that they could look for him.
Three officers went inside and couldn't find him. "However," one report reads, "there was what appeared to be a storage closet that we were unable to gain entry into. … It seemed that the door was being held shut from the inside, or was locked from the inside."
Another report read: "It is believed that Scott Spiezio was hiding behind this door."
(link swiped from CSTB)
If I feel the need to commit a crime, I'm pretty sure which municipality I will head for. It gets better, so be sure to read the whole thing. C'mon Scott, you know you can always call Tony LaRussa for a ride!!
While we all wait for Spiezio to come out of the closet, it looks like Wallace Matthews is writing under a clever nom de plume, about a new subject for him: how the Mets are a $145-million boondoggle! While the other bloggers titter away at Mr. Wallace/Matthews transgressions, I applaud his new found artistic freedom and wish him well as he launches into a new faze of his storied career.
Meanwhile, potentially reacting to Darryl Strawberry's addition to the Mets payroll, New York has banned crack-smoking at Shea this year.
Finally, Marty "Pants" Noble posits that Stash was key to Jose Reyes success! Something to keep in mind.