After Years Adrift at Sea, Have Mets Reached the Sandy Shore?
"Why are you bothering me during the unlimited pasta and bread sticks early bird special?"
Every media outlet, fanboy blog, and a few farmers' almanacs are reporting that the Mets have selected Mr. Sandy Alderson to be their next GM. Any reservations the meek souls or full-on party poopers among us might raise ("he is 300 years old,""but he invented Questek!""Jeff Wilpon") are being drowned out by an aggressively optimistic exuberant mob bent on seeing a savior. This atmosphere is similar to what I saw around the Mets-blarg-o-sphere when one Mr. Omar Minaya was hired, back when he was still the guy that didn't trade K*zmir and had not yet become the guy who squandered the primes of David Wright and Jose Reyes in a storm of befuddling incompetence and mediocrity (are they still selling "In Omar We Trust" t-shirts?). I suppose this is understandable since we are "fanatics" and watch mostly to get excited and hopeful about things. And the respect, the competence and credibility that a week or two ago seemed like pipe dreams now seem within reach. But the wild mood swing the fan base is experiencing, from despair and hangman humor to triumphalism and wild hope, is too much for this humble blogger to take. I will sit this party out for now.
Ah yes, you're still here.
While the Yankmes and Philmes' demises made for one of the more pleasurable playoffs in recent memory, I can not bring myself to buy into another Wilpon-related front organizational scheme at the moment. As long as the pin heads are ultimately in charge (of course by this I mean team president Saul Katz, recently revealed to be the mastermind of this whole mess), I retain the right to skepticism, moodiness, and being not fun at dinner parties. And I will wait to see what innovative "clear direction" Mr. Alderson chooses for this team (pitchers with laser beams in their eyes? Jesus Christ playing second? a home run apple that works/is needed?) and how he plans to maneuver around large albatrossy contracts, key and maybe devastating injuries, a culture of losing loserness, and Wilpon meddling. I will not let the Wilpons play me like a fiddle, and manipulate my apathy levels simply by admitting what we all have known--they don't know what they're doing--and taking an action that was needed two years ago. I have earned that much.