Saturday, September 30, 2006

THE WRIGHT STUFF

Ok. Now this is what I'm talking about. Uhhh, Mike? What are you talking about? I'm getting there; gimme a second. Am I talking about good hitters hitting? Nah. About leads for the bullpen to protect? Not exactly. About Johnny Maine throwing strikes? I wish I was, but I ain't. Yes, that's how you win ballgames and all. I know that. But, far more importantly . . .

David Wright is back. Uhhh, Mike? Wright didn't play last night, you know that, don't you? Oh, ye of little faith, I am certainly aware of that fact. You think there was a chance in hell I'd fail to notice that Willie would throw momentum to the wind and decide to rest both his young stars a mere four days before the post-season began? Puh-leese.

Young Mr. Wright may not have played the game last night, but man-oh-man he played the press like a Stradivarious! Check this out (talking about Pedro):
"He's an emotional leader and a leader off the field . . . . We will come together as a team and pick up the slack."
(Ellipsis in original) The Prince has returned. "Emotional leader." "Leader off the field." "We will come together." "Pick up the slack." Two sentences. Four cliches. Four good ones. And an affirmative statement that the Mets will come together as a team. Now, if only he'd declared he'd start hitting home runs again. But, he's still young, he can't do it all.

And if that fine demonstration of sports cliche facility wasn't enough, please note the ellipsis in the quotation. The editors of this article felt the need to whittle down what Young Mr. Wright actually said. In other words, folks: There Was More.

And he didn't even play. He's back. Beltran hitting. Maine throwing peas. Trachsel nowhere to be seen for two straight days. Mota looking scary. Wagner giving up only one hit. Willie not throwing Heilman in back-to-back games as the post-season beckons. Uncle Cliffy injuring no parts of his body over a 24-hour stretch. Heath Bell eating only 7 slices of pizza for his after-game snack.

The pieces are in place, folks. The worm has turned.

(Or I'm on one of my manic jags. Could be either.)

Let's. Go. Mets.

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