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METS ROTATION WORLD TOUR San Diego British Columbia Washington

Canha CF Marte RF Lindor SS Alonso DH Ruf 1B McNeil LF Escobar 3B Guillorme 2B Nido C - Carrasco RHP (12-4, 3.82)

If Newsday got a picture, I guess next winter's TCD is decided.

But I could, just the same, take it in a somewhat more easterly direction. Hard to pass over that kind of Egg.

[FIMG=555]https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52267085987_63794b02d6_h.jpg[/FIMG] Some would call this an Easter egg. I think of it as a Wester egg.

Peterson optioned to Syracuse. Medina rejoins us.

Tommy Hunter goes on the IL with “low back tightness,” replaced by day half starter David Peterson. Yoan Lopez is the 27th fella.

=kcmets post_id=102616 time=1659797607 user_id=53] Is Citi Field still cashless?

Unlike Messrs. Katoh, Alvarez and Clay, Kramer Robertson will not bide any post-roster time in Syracuse. He has been claimed off waivers by the Cardinals.

Kudos, John Nolan. https://twitter.com/john_g_nolan/status/1555557746610769923

=Fman99 post_id=102401 time=1659694136 user_id=86] I feel like we should be sharing Jethro Tull songs for every Ian Anderson start. I mean, you know, fuck ABBA.

Friday night and the lights are low Telling Atlanta ‘aw, hell no' It is the blackout scene Win in Queens By like seventeen Braves to meet their Taijuan Waterloo. Ian Anderson sends out an SOS. 7:10 on SNY. [media=youtube]xFrGuyw1V8s[/media]

Exclamation points are appropriate!

Reigning LAMSA (Longest Ago Met Still Active) Joe Smith has been DFA'd (designated for assignment) by the Twins. https://www.mlbtraderumors.com/2022/08/twins-dfa-joe-smith-select-sandy-leon.htmlhttps://www.mlbtraderumors.com/2022/08/twins-dfa-joe-smith-select-sandy-leon.html New titleholder is…Darren O'Day? Unless Joe gets picked up.

J.D. Davis has homered off Clayton Kershaw.

James McCann activated. Patrick Mazeika optioned.

George Vecsey on the transcontinental impact: At the end of the 1957 baseball season, Brooklyn Dodgers management packed up for a long-threatened move across the continent. Into the hypothetical moving trunks went the home uniforms saying “Dodgers” across the front, the creaky old heroes of Flatbush and much of the front office, plus Manager Walter Alston and his promising young players. (They were not quite sure whether the young lefty from Brooklyn, Sandy Koufax, would ever harness his velocity.) Baseball was moving to the Promised Land. The historic New York Giants were also moving, to San Francisco, taking Willie Mays with them. (The noive of them.) But nothing or nobody in the latter-day covered wagons would transport and transplant baseball to the Left Coast better than a young man not long removed from the Fordham campus in the Bronx and the broadcasting booth in Brooklyn named Vin Scully. More than anybody or anything, Vin Scully sent baseball floating into the ozone — first from the ill-shaped Coliseum, and then, starting in 1962, from the pastel oasis on a former Mexican camp nestled into Chavez Ravine. Scully was the warm voice wafting out into a warm climate, instructing the locals in the fine points of big-league baseball. (We sullen, forsaken Dodgers and Giants fans back east liked to think Californians knew nothing about baseball, Joe DiMaggio and Ted Williams notwithstanding.) On soft evenings in Chavez Ravine, the common denominator was not crowd noise or public-address announcements but the play-by-play narration of Scully and his sidekicks, discussing strategy as well as the past heroics of Messrs. Hodges and Reese and Snider and Erskine and Furillo, most of them operating on fading batteries. Scully's dulcet voice floated on stereophonic waves from new gadgets called “transistor radios,” easy to carry into the ballpark. He was not the normal homer baseball announcer who was prone to saying things like, “Let's get us a few runs this inning!” Vincent Edward Scully, who died Tuesday at 94, never shouted, never rooted, never patronized, never sermonized — just called plays and added personal notes about the players. His mellow, pull-up-a-chair approach was like having a beloved elder explain the game unfolding on the field. In 1958, only 30, Vin Scully was the repository for the history of a franchise beloved in another world. https://www.nytimes.com/2022/08/03/sports/baseball/vin-scully-dodgers.htmlhttps://www.nytimes.com/2022/08/03/sports/baseball/vin-scully-dodgers.html

Bryan Curtis on how Scully continued to thrive in the contemporary media environment: Long before his death Tuesday at age 94, Scully was the rare announcer who had something close to a 100 percent approval rating. Scully was loved by the graying keepers of baseball's flame. By Angelenos and non-Angelenos. By media writers, who beckoned him to come out of the bullpen and call an inning of the World Series before he retired. Even the proprietors of Old Deadspin collected his musings on socialism and drug paraphernalia. I believe there are announcers who can call a baseball game with a semblance of Scully's skill. Few will make viewers want to give them a hug. What was lovable about Scully, first and foremost, was his manner, which was avuncular until it was grandfatherly. Listen to Scully call Kirk Gibson's hop-along homer in the 1988 World Series. “High fly ball into right field,” he said, the electricity creeping through his voice, “she is … gone!” That “she” is something else, a pronoun Scully managed to smuggle into the '80s. Scully always offered a portal to baseball's past. He was like a Joe Posnanski column in a powder-blue sports coat. Curt Smith's biography notes that, as a kid, Scully liked to slide underneath the family's radio, so that he could be surrounded by the sound of distant games. Scully went to college at Fordham (later the way station for Mike Breen and Michael Kay). In 1950, the Brooklyn Dodgers gave him a spot on the broadcast team. Five years later, at age 27, Scully got to say, “Ladies and gentlemen, the Brooklyn Dodgers are the champions of the world.” Viewers may love announcers for their wiseassery (Al Michaels) or bracing, full-on confessional (Joe Buck). On the air, Scully offered nothing but smiles. “I'm the great cover-up,” he told Rick Reilly in 1985. “I don't talk about my sadness. … [Tommy] Lasorda always says to me: ‘You're always happy.' Well, I'm not always happy, but I try to act like I am.” Scully's career fell in such a way that allowed his fixed smile to stay in place. In 1975, when he went national with CBS, the Dodgers allowed him to remain on their broadcasts. Most announcers are known for their team logo or the emblem on their network blazer. Scully wore both and was bigger for it. On the night Scully called Gibson's home run, he was 60 years old—only seven years older than Buck is today. But NBC lost the rights to baseball the next year. It was the last time Scully ever called a World Series on TV. After that, Scully mostly retreated to Dodgers broadcasts, where he spent the next 28 years aging gracefully in front of people who loved him unconditionally. There were few critics wondering whether Scully had lost his fastball, no Funhouse Twitter account, no demand for a succession plan. It always amused me to see people who had never lived in Los Angeles talk about driving around and listening to Scully on a summer night. Tucked away on the West Coast, Scully became something bigger than an announcer. He became a collective memory. Study Scully's career and you'll see the TV industry showed him no more reverence than it did any other broadcaster. Scully called Dwight Clark's catch in the 1982 NFC Championship Game. “I got on the airplane, flying back home, and I thought, ‘You know what? It can't get much better than that,'” Scully said later. “That would be a great game to walk off on. And so by the time that plane landed, I had quit football.” In fact, that season, CBS had pitted Scully against Pat Summerall in a public bake-off to see who would make a better partner for John Madden. The network decided that Scully and Madden were volume shooters who wouldn't work well together. So Summerall got the midcareer turbo boost and the '82 Super Bowl; Scully got the NFC Championship Game as what turned out to be a parting gift. He left CBS for NBC. https://www.theringer.com/mlb/2022/8/3/23290525/vin-scully-foreverhttps://www.theringer.com/mlb/2022/8/3/23290525/vin-scully-forever

The bakery customer of tributes, as it takes the cake…

Steve Rushin on how Vin Scully connected his dots in his final broadcast, October the second, 2016: His life changed forever when he was 8 years old, as he recounted on one Dodgers broadcast six years ago, while Matt Moore pitched for the Giants against the Dodgers. The Dodgers are trailing 5–1 in the top of the sixth. We'll let Vin tell the story: “On this day, October the second, 1936, a little redheaded kid was walking home from school, went by a Chinese laundry and—I'll tell ya the rest of the story, but let's get back to the game. ... We'll talk about the redheaded kid in a minute, but right now another redheaded kid is getting into the box: Justin Turner, followed by Seager and Puig. So you can see how the game is so constructed for you. I'm telling about a little redhead, and here's Turner. Remarkable production. And the first pitch to Justin way inside ball one. Yeah, the little kid, not quite 9—8 and three-quarters—leaving grammar school, on his way home, and I went by a Chinese laundry—that's way outside, two balls and no strikes—and the line score of a baseball game was pasted on the, on the window, and it showed Game 2 of the World Series, with the Yankees beating the Giants 18 to 4, as Turner fouls the ball back. There it was, Game 2, imagine, a reserved seat cost five bucks. Well anyway, that little redheaded kid looked and saw, oh, poor Giants. That was my reaction. And so I became not only a Giants fan, but a big fan of baseball. And I was able to exercise my instinct—the pitch to Turner is away, 2-and-1—because my school was less than 20 blocks to the old Polo Grounds, where the New York Giants played. And because I was a member of the Police Athletic League, Catholic Youth Organization, I could get in a game free from Monday to Friday. We'd get out of school at 2:30, Giants games were at 3:15, and so I could go to the ballgame. And so I just fell in love with baseball. Most of the time I was in center field. Now center field in the Polo Grounds was 483 feet away, as Turner strikes out one down. So I would sit in the bleachers and I would cheer and I would watch and I just loved the Giants. Well, the point of the whole story is this: My first love was October the second, 1936, second game of the World Series. Today is October the second, 2016. A lot of time has gone by, exactly 80 years to the minute from the day I looked at the line score of that World Series.” Here, the analog clock at AT&T Park in San Francisco confirmed it was 2:04 Pacific time. “So when I looked at the schedule and I knew I was going to retire, I thought: I have to do that game,” Vin said. “It was as if it was ordained that I would do this game.” https://www.si.com/mlb/2022/08/04/vin-scully-daily-coverhttps://www.si.com/mlb/2022/08/04/vin-scully-daily-cover

Edgy MD wrote: I'm-a never going to equate making deals with "going for it." I'm biased, because I hate trades on principle, but going for it can also mean committing to and believing in who you have. Who did the 1988 Mets trade for at the deadline? Edwin Nuñez? Nuñez and Bob McClure, the latter of whom was the lefty specialist those times, like these times, demanded…and the lefty specialist who made little difference. Nuñez, meanwhile, didn't make the postseason roster.

First-place Mets host second-place Braves. Let's keep those statuses intact across the next five games, shall we? Carrasco vs. Wright, 7:10 PM, SNY.

For those who keep track...