A ROSE OF THIS NAME SMELLS LIKE CRAP

Nice win last night. Duque throttling a good-hitting team. Lots of hitting against a dreadful pitcher in a good hitters park. And yes, the Mets can win non-one run games. Nice.

Now, I wanna tell you right up front, this post is a labor of love. A "labor of love?" you ask. Yes, a labor of love. (That was a hint for you to pause from your coffee and actually say, "a labor of love?" Did it? Good.)

You see, these west coast games have been killing me. Late start times, ending in the wee hours of the morning. Can't stay up to watch em, can't write about what I didn't see, all that bad stuff. So last night I was determined to make it through the game, which started all of 20 minutes earlier than the previous three in L.A. Woo-hoo!

I didn't actually make it all the way through, though I did make it through 8 innings before nodding off & drooling on my notepad. (Was that too much information? Come to think of it, don't answer that.) The game still went too late, was too damn boring! Boring? What was the problem, actually? Let me count the ways:

1. Howie Freakin' Rose.
2. No Keith.
3. D-back hurler, Jose Vargas, works more slowly than Steve Trachsel.
4. The long stretch after the Mets got the early lead where neither team had even one baserunner.
5. Howie Freakin' Rose
6. No Keith
7. Howie Freakin Rose

Gary Cohen: get well. Keith: get your ass back in the booth. Howie: get back to . . . wherever the hell it is you usually are. Radio? Your mother's living room? Listening to the tape of "Matteau! Matteau! Matteau!" I don't know, I don't care, just go away.

I'm telling you, I can't take it. He never shuts up, he doesn't know how to get Darling out of his shell, he's a total dork, he's self-righteous. He's boring. Without Keith, with just Rose & Darling, the game could've started at 9:40 A.M., and I'd have been asleep by the 8th inning. Ugghh.

A few specific examples, then let's move on to happier subjects. And before I continue, let me say that I like Darling as an announcer. He's smart. (he's a "Yale Guy," right? How often did we hear that during games back in the 80's? About his "intellectual" approach to pitching, which ostensibly included walking 100+ guys a year? About his famous duel against Johnny Franco from St. John's in the 1346 B.C. College World Series, or whenever that "famous" game was.) He knows pitching technique. And he has a nice rapport with Keith when we have the three man booth.

But Keith wasn't there last night. And Howie Freakin' Rose was! Rose, who joins the growing list of announcers who call our centerfielder Bell-trahn. Even though Darling says Bell-tran. Even though Rose admitted, during an especially incomprehensible Darling anecdote, that he "didn't study Spanish," and somehow didn't know that rojo means "red."

Doesn't know the Spanish word for one of the primary colors (know what adios means, Howie?), yet needs to pronounce Beltran in the correct, pretentious, "Spanish" way. Not to mention, he actually went off on an extended riff, expressing shock, astonishment, and no small dose of moral disapproval, that a large percentage of young Olympians said they'd willingly give up a few years of their lives -- by using peformance enhancers, presumably -- to win gold.

And this is shocking why? Can anyone find a 20 year-old, training for years on end, with one & only one goal in mind (Gold Medal), who wouldn't at least say he'd give up a few years in some distant & abstract future in order to achieve his ambitions now? Of course you can't. Because he doesn't exist! Except in the mind of Howie Freakin' Rose. Ok, this is making me too angry. Let's continue, shall we?

The D-Backs are a pretty funny looking team, you know? Luis Gonzalez (he would be the veteran with 53 years of major league experience, the one who was thrown out trying to steal while down 5 runs in the 7th inning; the one the Mets ran on, as if his name was Piazza) is funny looking. Eric Byrnes is funny looking. Manager Bob Melvin is not funny looking, but his last name is "Melvin." Think about it for a second. You'll see the humor. Right?

Or maybe you won't.

But there are two fellas that look so damn ridiculous, I have to show you comparison pictures. First, we have Johnny Estrada, who's taken the Apollo Ohno Soul-Patch thing to new heights. Let's see how we can say this? Hmmmm . . . ok. Think of Super-Stache Valentino's surrogate career. Yes, the career that involves fluffers & viagra & silicon. Yes. Heard of "The Landing Strip"? Yes, that's what I'm talking about. And think of Estrada's chin. Sorry, I don't have an updated picture of his latest.

And, hell no, I'm not showing the "comparison pic"!

But I will show these comparison pics. Heh, heh. Here's picture number one, of D-back shortstop and designated World Series Winning Run Scorer (also known as "The Luckiest MoFo in Baseball"), Craig Counsell:

Ok. And here, the man to whom I see a shocking resemblance:

And now, since last night's game went into the AM hours (not to mention since I've already taken a large chunk of your life just getting this far), a brief set of Random Thoughts. Brief, yeah right.

Calling Rickey: After an auspicious start, drawing 12 walks through 100 official at-bats in April, Jose Reyes dipped to 9-in-132 during May, and has taken but one free pass so far in June. The Jose Reyes Walk Comparison Counter -- that awkwardly-titled attempt to create something remotely funny from a boring topic like bases-on-balls of a young shortstop -- is starting to show an alarming trend.

The trend? Jose returning to his roots, swinging at pitches over his head, in the dirt, on tosses to first base. With 22 BBs through June 8, Reyes is no longer demolishing last season's totals. In fact, the JRWCC shows that he drew his 22nd walk sometime in early September of last season. That is an advantage of three months. But, let's admit it. After his start this year, we thought he'd have passed last season by now. Not to mention, we've all seen those 125 at-bat stretches where he never strolls to first.

Jose, if you're out there, wandering the streets at night with Dante Bichette, Rob Picciolo and Shawon Dunston, listen to me. Come home! Rickey's here. He want to speak to you. In the third person. He wants to help you. Free swinging may seem fun, but it's never the answer. We only want to talk to you.

Anyway, I haven't given up on him of course, and he still needs a nickname. "Wheels"? "Flash"? "The Human Lightning Bolt"? "Newmar Moreno"? (get it? the "new," Omar Moreno? Because, well he's like the old . . . ok, never mind.)

Get This Man a Movie Contract: Not only does Super-Stache Valentino sport the porn star facial hair, not only has he raised his production nearly to the magical ".300 with power" level, not only did Willie declare him "My Favorite Player Ever," but he seems to possess the best "Man Tan" since George Hamilton. He Can Not Be Stopped.

And, no, Willie didn't really say that, though he did make that awkward comment where he insisted that Lastings Milledge was not the second coming of Willie Mays. Uhhh, ok, whatever you say, Mr. Randolph. And speaking of our favorite braid & gigantic cross-wearing five-tool rookie . . .

Will This Hot Start Last(ings)?: How about that double in the second inning? Man, was he motoring. Soooo-weet. That's it, not only has he passed Reyes, but if he gets one more extra base hit in the next two games, David "Derek Who?" Wright could become the second most popular Met.

What can Lastings not do? Cool name? Bingo (though he, too, needs a nickname). Cool hair? Got it. A batting stance that looks just like Sheffield? Done. A droopy, shambling gait, complete with expressionless face that makes him look like Manny? Covered. The only thing left for him to do is flub a catchable ball, somehow knock it into the air and catch it anyway. And then, dripping mustard, relish and hot onions on the outfield grass, flip the ball back into the air intentionally, to snag with his bare hand. That would top it all.

Oh, wait. He did that last night. But the nickname. Suggestions? For him & Reyes? Let's make this happen. Put any thoughts in the comments, and let's see if we can't run with this. It could be more dangerous than running with scissors, but that's where the fun comes in, right?

And finally . . .

More wackiness from Met announcers not named Rose or Hernandez: Two brief points. First, who esle is s-i-c-k, sick, of Chris "Not Welcome Back" Cotter, and his asinine "human interest stories" during the game? You too? Good. Firemen are great, especially when they're . . . you know, putting out fires. But interviewed during professional baseball games? Not so good. I'm funny that way.

And (drum roll please), after Rose narrated some silly pre-game video of some goofball's effort to fry an egg on the Arizona sidewalk, Ron Darling said, and I quote, "No one eats their eggs sunnyside up anymore anyway. Flip that egg over."

Uhhhh, whatever you say, Ron.

Keeeeeiiiith! Come back! Keeeeeiiiiith . . . !

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Update, 8:17 A.M. -- Valentino's influence is even greater that we thought. The man truly cannot be stopped!