If you're not a Mets fan, I'll give you the short version of what's happened lately - our all-star center fielder, our all-star third-basemen, our all-star shortstop, our first baseman (my favorite Met) and countless pitchers and other peripherally supporting team members have all fallen to injury. Our team is so depleted - I essentially spend my days staring at the telephone waiting for the Wilpon family to call me up, begging me to play.
As an aside, I got a phone call today from my wife saying that she was taking our son to the emergency room. Apparently the lad (was goofing around and) fell, causing some massive laceration to his elbow.
As my car was doing 85 mph heading to the hospital, it struck me.
My son's little league team name...for which he was an outstanding 3rd baseman? The Mets.
That's right. My house is plastered with photographs of the little guy in his orange jersey and blue cap. He's #12 and a standout player no less.
Whatever cosmic voodoo is floating about, it has now come to my home, perhaps drawn by the kinetic neurosis I project for this team. I can not be angry by what has transpired...it is merely a continuing exigence, something that clearly no one - not even the finest major league baseball physicians - can fight off.