Raising a Mets Fan
While I think there’s room for innings limits, I don’t think it should be a doctrine. If you watch a game, you can tell the difference between easy pitches and tough pitches. Also, there’s an inherent flaw in counting innings with pitchers because the real issue is pitches thrown.
Perhaps this is the reason the fabled “Verducci Effect” has been disproven. What has also been disproven recently is my belief that Noah Syndergaard does not have an innings limit problem. As Steve Gelbs pointed out to me, I only included his major league innings this year. I could give you reasons for the mistake, but the fact is I was just wrong. When you’re wrong you acknowledge it, and you correct the error.
The underlying math on what the innings limits are is correct. However, his innings pitched is incorrect. I missed 29.2 innings. That’s fairly significant. In the majors, Syndergaard is averaging just about six innings per start. Therefore, these minor league innings eat up about five Major League starts.
The bigger issue is these innings put Syndergaard at 152.0 innings pitched for the year. As I’ve stated earlier, his innings limits are between 159.0 – 163.0 innings. If there’s a five man rotation, he has six starts remaining. At six innings per start, Syndergaard will finish with 188.0 innings. That’s well past his limits. If it’s a six man rotation, that will only shave off one start, which means he will finish with 182.0 innings.
This is a really bad situation. He has been seven to 11 innings before he hits his limits. If the Mets were out of it, he would get one more start, and then he would be shut down. Instead, the Mets need to find a way to keep him going and effective into October and beyond.
Normally, right here is where I would offer up solutions or discuss why I disagree with the solutions proposed. This isn’t the post for that. I made a mistake, and I need to rectify it by correcting the information I put out there. I apologize to the Mets for questioning them. I apologize to whoever read this and relied upon the information. I thank Steve Gelbs for pointing out my error.
Overall, I want to be an example to my son. I could’ve let the error go by without anyone really caring or noticing. However, I noticed it. Frankly, I’m embarrassed by the error. I aim to be better than that.
So in that vein, I’m not offering up excuses, I’ve hopefully corrected the error, and I’ve offered my apologies. I’ll try to be better in the future. That’s all I can do. That’s all anyone can do.
i was looking over my blog the other day. I think it’s a good idea for anyone who writes to do that. You learn what you like, what you don’t like, and any crutches or patterns you have. If you’re being honest, whenever you read something you wrote, you want to edit and/or rewrite everything.
On thing I’ve noticed is this blog has been a little more Mets-centric than I anticipated. I suppose it’s only natural. Baseball is pretty much a daily sport, and it takes a lot of time and energy – blog or no blog. With that said, when re-reading my blog, I really wish there were some more pieces on my son.
I want this blog to be a snapshot in time. I want to go back and be able to see my thoughts at a particular time. I want my son to see it as well. What I lament most thus far is I haven’t really spoken about how proud and amazed I am. Each and every day, he does something that amazes me.
I guess it’s easy to be complacent with my amazement of him. He’s advanced. In daycare, he was promoted to the toddler room ahead of older children. He’s the only one in his class that knows all of his colors, all of the animal sounds, can speak in sentences, and can count to three. The teachers and other kids love him.
Also, he’s adorable. That’s mostly because he looks like his mother, but with my eye color . . . hey there was a reason a mook(ie) like me could actually marry a beautiful woman. Not a day goes by that I’m not stopped by someone telling me how cute he is. That’s not hyperbole. I really get stopped at least once a day. At today’s Mets game, it happened several times.
I assume most people, other than my wife and other family members have stopped reading by now. That’s fine. This piece is reall for my son when he’s much older. If you’re reading this buddy, I am so proud of you and love you very much. I may not say it enough, but that’s because if I said it as often as it needed to be said, I wouldn’t be able tosay anything else.
Anyway, back to talking about the Mets and how much fun it is raising a Mets fan. Before I get back, I’m proud of you, and I love you buddy.
When I saw today’s game on the promotional schedule, I knew that I was going to this game. A 1986 Jesse Orosco Bobblehead giveaway on a game against the Red Sox? Amazin’.
The fact that it’s only available to 15,000 fans? It may me think – same old cheap Wilpons. Teams like the Brewers order enough Bobbleheads for everyone with some left over for donations and the like. The average cost of a Bobblehead to a team is $3. Therefore, the cost to the Mets is $45,000. Citi Field has a capacity of 41,800. It would cost the Mets $125,40 to order enough Bobbleheads for everyone.
Bobbleheads can increase tickets sales by 6,000 tickets. The tickets for today’s game ranges from $41.00 for standing room only to $410.00. Let’s assume all 6,000 people purchase a standing room only ticket. That means the Mets generated an additional $246,000 in revenue. That doesn’t include the price of parking and food. I know teams have their budgets, but as you can see, Verizon sponsorship aside, the Bobbleheads pay for themselves.
I’ve never missed out on a promotion. I’ve always been there for batting practice. I like going early because I can settle in. I hate going early on Bobblehead days because people get there early too and they become unnecessarily aggressive. That’s not fun when you have small children. Speaking of small children, is it good business to limit a promotion creating a chance a small child doesn’t get one?
I’m not taking that risk. I’m getting there early because I get to games early. I’m getting there earlier due to the Bobblehead. I’m getting there even earlier because of Arthur Ashe Kid’s Day. My son loves his Lucas Duda Growth Chart, and I hope he’ll love his new Bobblehead.
Mostly, I hope we’ll have fun today. As I’m going to be at the game, my game recap today will be quite late. It’s worth it because I’m going to a Mets game with my son. It doesn’t get better than that . . . Bobblehead or no Bobblehead.
My favorite part of this year is seeing my son becoming a baseball fan. At night before bed, he asks to watch baseball. He says, “Go Mets!” He’s starting to understand what is happening.
Last night, right after his bath, he identified his second baseball player, Daniel Murphy. In the fifth inning, Murphy hit an RBI single briefly putting the Mets ahead. When it happened, my son said, “Murphy hit ball.” Later in the game, my son was again able to identify who Murphy was.
This is special to me because of how great Murphy was when I was lucky to meet him and what he personally had to deal with when his child was born. Upon meeting Murphy, I told him my wife was expecting. He signed an autograph for him and gave me a baseball that I could use to teach him how to play.
So no matter what happens, I’ll always root for Murphy. He was incredibly kind and generous to my and my then unborn son. I’m glad my son now recognizes him so he can root for him too.
Hearing about the recent Little League scandal, I went back to my days in Little League. I made me question when did this win at all costs approach start?
The sad, ugly truth is that it’s always been there. We ignore that until we get to this point. I remember what happened my second year of Little League. I was on a team that was almost half boys-half girls. This was in the days before softball. If you remember those days, the girls on your team were mostly an automatic out. There were some good female players, but for the most part, they weren’t very good.
Well, we surprisingly made it to the playoffs. Shockingly, we made it to the 3rd place game. The coaches wanted to win. They wanted the players to get that trophy (this was in the days before the participation trophy). Then something truly awful happened. The coaches didn’t tell the worst players, including the girls, about the time and location of the 3rd place game.
We won resoundingly. However, what sticks with me most was not the victory, but how upset my teammates were at missing out on the game. Some skipped the year end awards celebration. Others cried when they were given their trophies. At what cost did we get those trophies?
It should be said out coach was a good man. He was a very involved dad. He was a Little a League coach, a scout master, and a volunteer fireman. All season he never got down on anyone for making a mistake. He gave everyone time each game to play their favorite IF position. He allowed the less talented players to have some time batting at the top of the lineup. He made the best players play the OF. All of this doesn’t change the fact that he made a mistake. A bad mistake. However, I refuse to let that mistake define him.
I’m not going to pass judgment on one Little League coach for one ugly moment. I don’t know him as a person. I suspect he thought he was helping his team. I know good men and good coaches can make mistakes. It doesn’t change his egregious error in judgment.
This is why when my son is old enough I want to coach his baseball team. First and foremost, I’ll coach them to win the right way. You win by always playing hard and always wanting to beat the best. You win by giving everyone on your team a chance to succeed. If you do your best, everyone hustles and plays the right way, and everyone improves, you’re a winner.
You’re a winner even if you lose the game. However, if they lose, I don’t think the players should deserve a trophy just for showing up.
My son loves Sesame Street. He knows all the characters by name. I justify it to myself because he’s learning his letters and he is able to count to three. I’m learning that he’s everywhere.
My YouTube account is full of Sesame Street clips along with my subscription to the Sesame Street channel. My Netflix only suggests Sesame Street episodes now. It’s Sesame Street everything.
I had one respite away from Sesame Street . . . Mets games. Not anymore. As my son is dozing off watching the Mets game with me, the inning ends, and it cuts to commercial. Sure enough, it’s a Sesame Place commercial. The sleepy little boy (my wife says he’s still a baby), jumps up and screams “ELMO! COOKIE! GROVER!” Yup, he’s not falling asleep.
I never thought I would ask for more Cialis and beer ads during games. Speaking of which, why is it beer ads are the only ones you can’t skip on YouTube? And by the way, kudos for them and YouTube for playing before Sesame Street clips.
Anyway, I digress. For you parents out there, you’re not escaping Elmo, especially now that Elmo is moving to HBO. Why Sesame Street and not Fraggle Rock, the first ever series on HBO, I’ll never know. Maybe it’s because Elmo is getting edgier (0:37 mark):
All kidding aside, I wish the Mets could incorporate Elmo and Sesame Street to a team promotion. I’m sure my son and every kid out there would love a Mets Elmo hat or t-shirt or bobblehead. Let’s make it happen.
Today is National Lefthanders’ Day. The day made me think of my son and his baseball future.
If you’re a baseball fan, and you have a son, you want him to be left-handed because seemingly there are more chances for left handed pitchers. Left handed pitchers throw the ball with more spin. They seem to have longer careers. Mets fans need look no further than John Franco and Jesse Orosco.
Plus left-handed batters are described as having beautiful swings. There is Tony Gwynn, Ken Griffey, Jr., and Ted Williams. For Mets fans, we think of Darryl Strawberry and John Olreud. Oh yeah, the greatest baseball player of all time was left handed.
Now, I know children will not truly have a hand preference until they are about four. Right now, there are some things he does right handed and some things he does left handed. However, it doesn’t stop me from dreaming or playing baseball with my son. When we play baseball, I have him switch hit.
I may want him to throw the ball left-handed, and I may occasionally put it in his left hand, but he really throws with both hands. I joke with my wife that ultimately it doesn’t matter because he’ll throw lefty when he’s older. You may not know this, but Billy Wagner is naturally right-handed. He began playing lefty when he broke his right arm. It reminds me of when I broke my right thumb playing baseball around the same age.
I went to a yard sale and got a left handed glove large enough to fit over my splint. I would practice throwing lefty and catching with my new mitt until I got caught. I would sneak out of the house and ride my bike to my Little League games (my splint hidden in my bat bag). My mom would arrive in just enough time for my name to be scratched from the lineup. I never got the opportunity to be like Billy Wagner. Something tells me my wife won’t let that happen either.
Anyway, that is how much I loved baseball (and still do). You couldn’t keep me off the field without a fight. I already see glimpses of that with my son. He loves baseball. He was watching the game last night telling me when the players hit the ball. He knows a double and a homerun.
I’m glad he loves the sport. Lefty or not, I’ll be there playing with him, and hopefully, one day I’ll be there when he suits up for his first game in the majors. If he doesn’t, I’ll still love him and be proud of him . . . it’ll just mean I’ll have to buy my own tickets.
Growing up, I became a New York Giants fan. I think it had something to do with the fact that my Dad was still bitter over the Jets leaving Shea Stadium and heading to New Jersey. I remember he claimed to be a Buffalo Bills fan declaring them the one true New York team. However, his heart never really was in it. On the other hand, my mother was a Giants fan. She got me the Giants helmet and jersey set growing up. Between that and the Giants winning Super Bowl XXI and XXV when I was young, I was hooked.
However, unlike the Mets, I was never raised with any sense of the history of the NFL. To be fair, the NFL doesn’t really seem interested in it either. Anyway, I remember sitting there one day and watching a Monday Night Football game with Frank, Al, and Dan, and I asked my father if Frank Giffords got the job because of Kathy Lee. You see at that time, Kathy Lee Giffords was huge, and I was a little boy who never had any clue as to who Frank Gifford was. My father informed me that Frank Giffords was a great football player, a Hall of Famer, who played while my grandfather was alive. He was a big Giants fan (even had season tickets before he was married). Sadly, my grandfather had passed, so I did what every other kid would do . . . I went to the library to research Frank Gifford’s football career (remember when people used to do that?). Well, I discovered that Frank Gifford was an incredible player, who at that time was the best player ever to put on a Giants uniform for a full career. I was stunned and in disbelief. How could I never know this happened?
I thought of that day as I learned of Frank Gifford’s passing on Sunday. It was remarkable that this man could be so great, and I had no idea about it. It also made me think of Keith Hernandez and Ron Darling. I grew up with these players. I love those 1980’s Mets. If I had enough money, I would buy the team and bring back the racing stripe uniforms. I would celebrate them (and the 1969 team) constantly at Citi Field. With the passing of Frank Gifford, I came to think of a better way to celebrate those teams.
I need to let my son know that Keith Hernandez and Ron Darling were not only terrific broadcasters, but they are also two tremendous former Mets players. I need to share with him their careers as he becomes old enough. Luckily, Keith and Ron do a better job talking about baseball when they were playing together than Frank Gifford ever did. This is no slight at Frank Gifford, rather, it’s just an observation on the difference between the styles and how each sport views its history. If I do my job right, my son will know about Keith and Ron. If he wants to learn more on his own, I will encourage it. I only hope that the internet will back up my claims on each player.
So with that said, I will keep the memories alive of those players I cheered for and adored as a child and as an adult. That’s the best tribute I can give to Frank Gifford, a man who I knew as someone who excelled only in the broadcast booth. I wish I was there to see him excel in the field. Frank Gifford, Rest in Peace.
I know two years ago, I don’t miss yesterday’s game. Ten years ago, my brother and I would’ve built the whole day around it with getting some good beer and firing up the grill. Yesterday, my brother came over, and we missed most of the game because we were doing something better – playing with my son.
Sure, I had the radio on in the background. I was aware the Mets blew a 3-0 lead. I remembered cursing under my breath at the Richie Shaffer homerun off of Bartolo Colon. However, I was more consumed with playing baseball, playing with the water table, and playing whatever games came into that imaginative little head of his.
As the game progressed my brother asked me how was I going to do a game recap. My answer was I couldn’t. When I do the game recaps, I try to do them as contemporaneously as possible – not to be first, but rather to try to recapture my impressions as the game was being played.
So I skipped the game recap because while I knew what was happening, I had no real feel for the game. You know kind of like that person who shows up to your Super Bowl party wearing the wrong jersey regurgitating whatever Chris Berman said earlier in the day. Anyway, at least the Nationals didn’t capitalize.
So even though the Mets lost, I would say the whole weekend ended on the upswing:
I hope your weekend did as well.
If you haven’t yet, you should read the New York Post today and see the story about Yoenis Cespedes’ defecting from Cuba. It’s reporting at its best.
I remembered growing up hearing about the oppression of communist countries like the USSR and Cuba. However, I never truly had context. Sunday’s Post story allowed me to do that. It’s hard to imagine for no reason a government trying to take away your dream of playing baseball. It’s unreal that you couldn’t use the Internet as freely as you can here. Lastly, it’s unfathomable you would have to leave your son behind to seek a better life for everyone.
For most people, our ancestors came to America because it was the land of opportunity. Most sought out this land of opportunity because they were escaping something. I think no matter how far removed you are, you need to remember your roots and make sure your children are aware of them as well.
My son comes from a line of survivors. On my side of the family, my ancestors escaped the English oppression of Ireland and the potato famines. My family’s story is mundane compared to my wife’s grandparents’ story.
Her grandmother was similar to Frank McCourt in that she was born in America, but she returned to her native country, the Ukraine (she returned because she was born while her mother was visiting family in the U.S., not due to extreme poverty). Therefore, when the Nazis invaded, she was able to return to America as a citizen. Her husband was not as lucky.
He couldn’t come to America immediately. So, while he waited to find a way out, he continued to run his tailoring business. Before he could escape, he was put in a concentration camp. He survived. When he and the other prisoners were freed, they were just released out into the wild. No one was given any help or support.
His ever-loving wife never gave up hope. She waited, and waited, and waited. Her American cousins told her to move on. Surely, anyone would’ve understood. The chances of his survival weren’t great. Them finding one another after all those years was infinitesimal. Years and years passed. Finally, with all of the searching, hoping, and praying her husband was located and brought to the U.S.
He became a proud American citizen. He and his wife saved money and purchased a home. He raised two daughters and put them through college. When he passed away, he left behind a loving wife, two daughters, and a smart, beautiful granddaughter. She, herself, was well educated, and very cognizant of her roots and her family’s history. She gave birth to an amazing baby boy. A boy who is fourth generation Irish-American (depending on which family member you select) and third generation Ukranian-American.
As you can see, we all have our stories. Some escape starvation and oppression. Others escape one of the worst dictators and atrocities the world has ever known. Some just want to play baseball.
Lucky for my wife, my son, and I, we were born in America, the greatest country in the world. We don’t know the oppression and hardships of our forefathers. We are here because of those who struggled and had to risk everything to come here. I couldn’t imagine them having to leave loved ones behind.
I feel pity for Cespedes not being able to see his son. No amount of money or phone calls can make up for that. I know I couldn’t do what he’s doing right now. I hope one day he and his son are united because as we see when families are united wonderful things happen.