dinosaur jesus

A total Coors Field creation. A pretty good player, but not an All-Star if he played anywhere else. No way you give up someone with Syndergaard's future to get him.

Magadan.

Bret Saberhagen.

What does "greatest" mean, anyway? Since Seaver is obviously the greatest by so many criteria, it's tough to say which particular criteria we're talking about. Being a really, really good player? Being utterly Metly, in a positive way? Winning awards? Playing on championship teams? (That rules out an awful lot of great Mets.) Having a nickname taken from a cartoon character? We need some kind of greatness formula, like the one for quarterback rating. The more complicated and arcane the better.

I'm okay with Girardi getting some votes. He had less talent to work with than those other guys.

As long as no one thinks he's a savior, I'd take him. He's a good player. He's kind of the prototypical Citi Field hitter, actually--he doesn't try to hit home runs, and playing there he won't, but he'll hit a ton of doubles.

Eschew S. Choo.

Always a bit better than you think he is, and sometimes quite good. I like Bronson Arroyo.

Randy Johnson

Can someone explain that bit about David Ross's grandfather? Did the old guy just give him a scare, or does he mean something a lot nastier than that?

"So he takes the pizza from me, opens the lid, gives the pizza a death stare. And I'm shaking, because how do I know the guys if the guys in the kitchen remembered the green peppers, or put goat cheese on it instead of mozzarella slices, or whatever. God, I should have checked. Am I about to get electrocuted? But then he nods and closes the box and hands me a twenty, and waits while I give him his fifteen cents change. Then he pats his pockets--he's wearing these plaid flannel pajama pants--and says he's sorry, he doesn't keep small change around. And I say that's okay, could he just give me an autograph? And he says no, that would be worth way more than the tip on a pizza. As I'm going back to the car, I'm thinking, I just got stiffed by the greatest relief pitcher who ever lived! I've been stiffed by Mike Stanton, Steve Karsay, Randy Choate--but none of them ever did it with such class. There's Mariano, and there's everybody else."

Books I would totally read: Facing Phil Hughes Shut Up about Mariano Already: I'm Trying to Watch a Ballgame Shadow over the Bronx: The New York Yankees in the Roberto Kelly Era

That's a great read. Thanks for the link.

I've always wanted to see a 9-3 putout, and Freese almost gave me my wish. Is that just some weird instinct that makes players slide into first, or does somebody actually coach that?

Not to mock a Marine or anything, but that "God Bless America" was cheesy in a way you don't hear a lot anymore.

Some of these might seem like a shot in the dark, but I've got my sources. Robinson Cano: Troy Haymakers Stephen Drew: Chicago Whales Mike Napoli: Brooklyn Bridegrooms Omar Infante: Philadelphia Quakers Juan Uribe: Kansas City Cowboys James Loney: Toledo Blue Stockings Mark Ellis: Montreal Expos Jhonny Peralta: Rochester Broncos Outfielders Shin-Soo Choo: St. Louis Maroons Jacoby Ellsbury: Brooklyn Robins Curtis Granderson: Louisville Colonels Kendrys Morales: New York Knights Nelson Cruz: New York Mammoths Carlos Beltran: Columbus Buckeyes Marlon Byrd: Troy Haymakers Chris Young: Kansas City Packers David Murphy: St. Paul White Caps David DeJesus: Brooklyn Tip-Tops Nate McLouth: New York Mutuals Catchers Brian McCann: Baltimore Terrapins Jarrod Saltalamacchia: Wilmington Quick Steps Carlos Ruiz: St. Louis Perfectos AJ Pierzynski: Chicago Orphans Starting Pitchers Matt Garza: Keokuk Westerns Ricky Nolasco: Newark Pepper Ubaldo Jimenez: Pittsburgh Rebels Ervin Santana: Cleveland Naps Hiroki Kuroda: Providence Grays Scott Feldman: Louisville Eclipse AJ Burnett: Brooklyn Ward's Wonders Josh Johnson: Houston Colt 45s Tim Hudson: Buffalo Blues Bronson Arroyo: Kansas City A's Scott Kazmir: New Haven Elm Citys Phil Hughes: Brooklyn Superbas Paul Maholm: Seattle Pilots Bartolo Colon: Baltimore Canaries Relief Pitchers Joe Nathan: New York Highlanders Grant Balfour: Hartford Dark Blues Juaquin Benoit: Cleveland Spiders Fernando Rodney: Washington Senators Edward Mujica: Boston Beaneaters Koji Uehara: Tampa Bay Devil Rays Joe Smith: Syracuse Stars

Will Middlebrooks.

Vic Sage wrote: In terms of value of offense at SS over defense, Davey used to play Hojo a significant number of innings at SS each year (from 1985-1990, over 1 full season's worth overall during those 6 seasons), even when Kevin Elster was there. And when GG shortstop Buddy Harrelson took over from Davey early in 1990, and managed through most of `91, he continued to play Hojo there about the same amount, sitting Elster on occasion. Frankly, i would've played him there every day and let him become Ernie Banks, while also making room for more ABs for Gregg Jeffries at 3b. But that's me. Except Ernie Banks was a good fielder. Davey tended to choose offense over defense (Wally Backman over Brian Giles, for example), but HoJo and Jefferies on the same side of the infield every day was probably too scary a thought even for him.

If the base had been four feet closer and a foot to the right, he would have made it. Just Prince's bad luck.

I know we hate Victorino here, but geez. That was an all-time postseason moment. The Tigers are just getting worn down in this Series.

Ashie62 wrote: Career Stats Reyo 973 Games 767 Hits 339 K's .246 BA Buddy 1533 Games 1120 Hits 653 K's .236 BA Ordonez: .246 BA, .289 OBP, .310 SLG, .600 OPS, 59 OPS+ Harrelson: .236, .327 OBP, .288 SLG (!), .616 OPS, 76 OPS+ As weak-hitting shortstops go, I see Harrelson in the second tier, with Larry Bowa, Don Kessinger, Roy McMillan, and Dick Schofield (both of them). First tier is guys like Maury Wills and Ozzie. Third tier is, like, Roger Metzger, Rafael Santana, Ozzie Guillen. Rey is in the fourth tier with Dal Maxvill--about as bad a hitter as you can be and play every day. After that you're in Ray Oyler territory, where the best glove in the world won't keep you in the lineup.

I like both AL teams. I'd be happy to root for either of them. It's funny--for some reason I want the Red Sox to beat the Tigers, but I'd be more excited if the Tigers won the Series. It's hard to say why I don't like the Cardinals. Their players seem fine, and I'm fond of the city, where I lived for nine years. Maybe I'm just tired of them. Or that red is too cheery, in an Up with People, turn that frown upside down sort of way.

Edgy MD wrote: I could certainly be wrong, but I'm thinking yellowjacket is Chub Feeney. Looks like Dr. Strangelove to me.

You remember how old Casey Stengel said they'd put a man on the Moon before the Mets won the World Series? Funny how that worked out. I would've bet on the Moon myself, but then Koufax and Drysdale had that big holdout, the Dodgers told 'em what they thought of that by trading the both of them for peanuts, and the next thing you know there's Koufax and that kid Seaver mowing down the Sox in the Series, while me and the other Apollo boys are still puking up Tang in the module simulator. Now if I hadn't broke my arm my first year at N.C. State, and had to give up on baseball and go into the military, they might have made it even sooner, if I'd been there to help 'em. No regrets, you understand. I did all right for myself. I mean, I walked on the Moon. You might not know this, but it wasn't supposed to be me up there. It was Armstrong, Neil Armstrong. Good friend of mine. Only he got sick. Well, not sick, what he had was hives. Said it didn't bother him much, he got it all the time. But man, it was unsightly. Looked like a topographic map of the Ozarks. And you couldn't send someone up in space for a whole week without the chance for a proper scratch. So it's "Suit up, Roger, you're going for a little walk." What was it like, walking on the Moon? Oh, I've told you all about it a thousand times. It's the getting there that I've been thinking about lately. Those nights with just me and Buzz and Mike in the capsule. Buzz Aldrin and Mike Collins. Houston's just signed off, nobody feels like sleeping yet, and it's like when you're a kid in a tent with your buddies, looking out the flap at the Moon, only instead of the Moon it's the Earth up there. We'd talk, just whatever came out of our mouths. About movies, say, but that'd always end up with Mike telling us every damn thing that happened in some movie with Elsa Martinelli--Mike had the biggest thing for Elsa Martinelli--and what she was wearing in it, and how cute she looked. To get him off of that, Buzz would bring up this one bar in Seoul where me and him used to go. All Koreans except us, big, tough ugly guys--girls, too--but they treated us nice. Then Mike, who wasn't in Korea, would start into some story about when he was a test pilot and he had to crash land right by a convent. And that would remind me about when I was test piloting too, and the Russians sent that Sputnik up, and how I said, "Boys, just point me up there with a Sidewinder and a good head of steam behind me, and I'll knock that old grass burr back where it came from." Then Buzz would start on about that table he was going to make when he got back home, and the new saw he was going to use, and what kind of wood, and the scroll work, and on and on. Buzz is crazy about sawing stuff--it's how he got his name, you know. And by then Mike would be snoring like a buzz saw himself, and I'd turn over and practice in my head what I was going to say when I stepped down off of the lander. But then Buzz would be sucking down one more shrimp cocktail before he turned in, and it was no use trying to concentrate. You couldn't help but picture those little things squishing and squashing up the tube. It would make anyone sick. I don't know if I've told you this, but I had a big long speech all ready. All about one baby step for old Roger, one great big skip and a jump for the human race. And lots more like that. Buzz and Mike both said it was a fine speech, they didn't know I had it in me. "I'm eloquent," I said. "All my folks is eloquent. It's just no point wasting good oratory on the likes of you." But I tell you, when it was time to say it, with all those people listening around the world, it just didn't feel right. I wasn't nervous or nothing, I just thought I ought to say what I really felt right then, not some words I'd made up. So I did. You probably know how it goes. "Hum baby, what a ride!" That's better than some old speech, don't you think? That's usually the first thing people say to me when I meet them, and it still gives me a kick every time. Roger and out!

Zvon wrote: They were lucky as hell too, but did you ever think of this? Did you ever think that maybe we weren't really quite as good as everybody thought we were?" What a dick! I'm not sure how to read this. Is he saying that the Cubs weren't really that good, so it's no big deal that the Mets beat them? That's kind of a weird dig. Or is he saying that the Mets weren't good, just lucky? That just sounds dumb. I do respect that he never got over being pissed about 1969--none of that "We did our best and the better team won" crap.