Memory Lane
If any granule of consolation can be found in the piteous, limping start out of the gates for the Mess it might be the 30 year old memory of the 1973 Mets. Failing that, the daily narrowing of hope into a spiritual myopia will become inescapable, the losses will mount a progressive, fatal disease and the ride home on the #7 train from Shea will become an exercise in reflective misery.

The current issue of the Mess is a team unable to emerge from the psychic depths in which they writhe, springing more holes than Melville's Pequod, sinking fast, from Roger Cedeno's tumultuous, spasmatic fielding in center field, to Mike Piazza's two hop throws to second base, either 10 feet wide to the left or to the right, to Armando Benitez's emotionally fragmented disasters from the bullpen.

The $120 million payroll has resulted in an 8-12 record so far, four games behind the Expos from first place. For all the hand-wringing, it isn't implausible that the Mess might right themselves in time and with no NL East team assuming a commanding role in the division yet, whatever early season wallowing they appear to have hitched themselves to, it doesn't spell an insurmountable burden. They are fortunate in fact. If they were in the AL East, they'd already be 9 games behind the Yankees.

The 1973 Mets were in last place in the six-team National League East, 11 1/2 games behind the St. Louis Cardinals on August 5th. For the current Mess, this would spur a pale, caustic finish with rampant speculations on what sort of disasters Steve Phillips could add to his growing list of failures before he was finally shoved out of Gotham and back to baseball obscurity where he belongs.

But the 1973 Mets, the "Ya Gotta Believe" team rallied, winning 29 of its final 43 games and fortunately for them, no team ran away with the division. Yogi Berra's club rallied from last place by going 18-14 in August, 19-8 in September and 1-0 in October to win the division title on the last day of the season. They finished with an 82-79 record, 1 1/2 games ahead of the Cardinals.

82 victories is not going bring a division title in the NL East this season.

Moreover, for the Mess, 82 victories at this point would require a Herculean transformation from sad sacks to believers which, to date, they have given no indication they are capable of. In the first 20 games of the season the Mess have shown a greater inclination toward mediocrity than mastery. While they flounder on the field, they have become artful in their ability to emit half-hearted enthusiasms for the potential of the future. They are well-versed in the pollyanish double-speak of those who understand the futility of their destiny. But the desperation is beginning to taste like a familiar meal. Stale, cold leftovers from the season before; the same unheated lack of clutch hits, the rubbery gristle of shoddy fielding, and the unpalatable breakdown in simple fundamentals.

In short, the "ya gotta believe" slogan of the 1973 Mets is translated by the current Mess into something along the lines of "what kind of fool am I?". There are no miracles on the horizon. Only the painful, daily gashes of reality poking through the thin flesh of hope.

The '73 Mets had NL Cy Young Award winner Tom Seaver anchoring the rotation with a 19-10 record and a league-leading 2.08 ERA and 251 strikeouts in 36 starts. The Mess have a competent duo in Glavine and Leiter. But the '73 Mets also had Jerry Koosman (14-15, 2.84), Jon Matlack (14-16, 3.20), George Stone (12-3, 2.80). The Mess have nothing better than question marks to round out their rotation. Tug McGraw, much like Armando might hope to emulate, struggled as a closer in the first half of the '73 season but finished strong and was an integral part of their reformation.

The '73 Mets weren't fast. Their leading base stealer was third baseman Wayne Garrett, who stole six bases all season. The Mess have six stolen bases to date, half of those coming from Cedeno, whose enemic hitting and ghoulish play in the field has resulted in an off and on benching.

Second baseman Felix Millan, who was acquired in the offseason from the Atlanta Braves, led the '73 Mets with a .290 batting average, 82 runs and 185 hits. Outfielder Rusty Staub topped the Mets with 76 RBIs and first baseman John Milner was the team leader with 23 homers.

It's impossible to see where the Mess will begin to show some life at the plate. Their power is sporadic and unpredictable. They add another link in the chain of weak hitters infecting the lineup every night. Piazza is beginning to appear as though he's woken up out of his early slumber but beyond him, their two best power hitters are Burnitz, now injured, and Tony Clark, making a mark as a pinch hitter but proving otherwise unworthy of daily appearances in replace of Fat Mo.

The first thing the Mess should do at this point is bring up the phenom, Jose Reyes. People pissed and moaned about his lack of pitch selection in Spring Training, but the current shortstop, Rey Sanchez, is suffocating at the plate with a .129 batting average. Surely Reyes can do better than .129 and even if he can't, he brings flash and speed and the kind of youthful enthusiam that the currently moribund Mess sorely lack.

The next thing to do would be to put the best defensive team out on the field as possible. The current defensive liabilities are not hitting well enough to justify their presence in the lineup not to mention the dread the pitching staff feels every time a ball is hit. While the Mess aren't hitting, at least they can put guys out on the field who can keep the score close by not artificially inflating every deficit with each subsequent bonehead fielding debacle. It's no fun wincing when a fly ball is hit to center field. Cedeno should be relegated to a pinch-runner's role.

As for Armando, the diaphanous Dominican with the delicate emotions, there isn't much to hope for. You might be able to trick him into believing he is merely suffering from a slight mechanical breakdown which he can work through in a role other than closer while auditioning the rest of the bullpen to replace him. There are jackals lusting for the return of John Franco, the 42 year old former closer coming off of Tommy John surgery who thinks he'll be ready in a month. Why not cast your pennies of hope over your back into the Trevi fountain, or rub magic bottles and hope the mythical genie of closers pops out of one of them? If Armando doesn't recover, the bullpen is shot and the season will morph into a sad series of failed, unhappy endings.

It may turn out that memory lane will be the only lane Mess fans can rely on if they want to sniff the saga of success.

*****

I'll be leaving tomorrow for a two week celebration in Holland devoid of NFL draft coverage, the misery of the Mess, the NHL and NBA playoffs. It will be a nearly unbearable void but hopefully, I'll stumble through it somehow. By the time I return, I fully expect a Mess team firmly in first place, the Jets to have landed Andre Johnson in a blockbuster draft day trade, Milwaukee to have eliminated the Nets, and the New Jersey Devils beating on the Flyers in the Eastern Conference finals. If none of it happens, I'll settle for a cold beer and a hot massage.