Ping ping PINNNNNGGGG!....

[captainsblog]

That's the sound of a Richochet.... in this case, that of a bullet we thought we had dodged.

The outside freezer is dead. Dead like a dead thing. I heard its compressor fighting mightily earlier today and resolved to call an appliance repair place, but then it quieted down and the temp, which I checked, was a coolish 27F. But when Eleanor went to get something out a few hours ago, it was in the 50s and the lack of sound was permanent. We've retrieved some meat, but a lot is going to go by the wayside.

Did we have an extended warranty on it? Of course we did. Expired two months ago.  But they had a deal where, if we never used the extended warranty, they'd credit back half of the $119 we paid for it! (If we requested it within 30 days of the five years expiring, which of course we didn't.)  So now I'll still make that appliance place call, but likely the whole thing's going to be hundreds more down the drain. Wait, there IS no drain in the garage where the ice all melted:P

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This followed a thoroughly stupid argument with Eleanor earlier this morning where I was asking for some information for the latest home equity application- which turned out not even to be necessary. And it follows the end of a cluster of a weekend baseball series where the Mets lost their first place standing over Philadelphia on Friday night and kept on losing. The Mets are now sitting 2½ games behind the It's Always Sunniers, after one of our own former pitchers turned in a complete game two-hit shutout against us.

Here's why this especially hurts for me:

When I moved to Ithaca in 1977, at the nadir of my (and most peoples') Met fandom, I completely lost interest in the team for those first three years. But in 1980, we were told, The Magic Was Back™. The stars of tomorrow were on the way. Strawberry would be ripe soon. And by (more or less) this August weekend in 1980, the Mets sat just a game below .500, a mark of bare mediocrity rarely seen for the team in those dark days. They were in striking distance of the first-place Expos, and a mere 2½ games behind the Phillies, who were coming to Shea for a crucial five-game series.

I was in downtown Ithaca that weekend, meeting my still-friends Andy and Julie and the rest of the Sun crew to put the annual Freshman Issue together. For the first time in years, at least in public, my blood had begun running orange and blue.  Andy may have even come out of hiding behind his Royals hat to join in some unofficial rooting in the press box.

Four days and five games later, it was over. The Phillies won all five, none of them even close.  Former Met Nino Espinosa had started the carnage on that first night with a complete game 8-1 victory over his former team.  Tug McGraw got a save in the next one, which under present rules wasn't even close enough for one. The greatness of Carlton and the lesser arms of Christenson, Walk and Lerch did the rest.

Philadelphia went on to the first Series victory in their long history. The Magic went into hibernation as the Mets never came even close to .500 again, ending the year 27 games under.  It took four more years, three of them in Buffalo where losing is more acceptable, before I could bring myself to believe in any kind of Mets Magic- back, real or otherwise.

This is not quite that. This time, the Phillies came in from below rather than above, and they leave, their own ballpark this time, with the same 2½ game lead they had to start that 1980 series. And five losses is about 40 percent worse than the three we just endured. But having it end on a complete game victory by a former pitcher, where the offense couldn't get more than a pair of hits, much less bang a single ball out of a fucking bandbox of a ballpark?

Those former first-place former Expos, now relocated to DC with a trade deadline depleted roster, now produce the only solace for the Mets' future, for after our three home games with them this week, then it's 13 straight games against LA and SF,  the leaders of the West and the biggest stocker-uppers at the July 30 trade deadline. 

I'd ask the Mets to shoot me now, but someone would probably just injure themselves on the recoil. Or some vital piece of equipment in their clubhouse would stop working:P