Holy crap, Bob Klapisch

Sometimes I actually think people are a little too hard on Bob Klapisch. He at least thinks differently than his hordes of mainstream media columnist brethren, and sometimes he stumbles upon an interesting idea. And I think it’s become sort of a knee-jerk reaction among Mets fans to assume everything he’s written is bad and dumb and too harsh against the Mets without giving it a fair shake.

Then he writes something like this.

Holy crap, Bob Klapisch. First of all, this is completely pointless. If the Mets were going to move in the fences, they’d be working on it by now, and they most certainly wouldn’t have said yesterday that they decidedly weren’t moving in the fences. So this column is useless.

Second, holy crap. I’m sorry but some things require the ol’ Fire Joe Morgan treatment. Here’s to heroes Ken Tremendous, dak and Junior. Bold words are Klapisch’s. Here we go:

Whatever you think about the $66 million the Mets have invested in Jason Bay – whether it could’ve been better spent on John Lackey or tucked away for a run at next year’s elite crop of free agents – this much is irrefutable: Home runs have become the most critical currency at Citi Field.

Is that irrefutable? I could refute that. Wait, I don’t know if I can. Hold on a second. I’m not entirely sure what you’re saying here, Bob Klapisch. Why are they the most critical currency? Because the Mets didn’t hit many? Other teams did. Other teams hit plenty. Everyone forgets that.

It’s a ambitious change in philosophy, considering the Mets hit the fewest HRs in the National League last year.

No, silly! It’s an ambitious change in philosophy. Plus, I’m not sure the Mets’ decision to hit the fewest home runs in the National League last year was a philosophical one. Actually, I’m pretty sure it had to do with everybody in the freaking lineup getting hurt. But whatever, let’s move on.

With Bay coming off a 36-homer season in Boston, Mets now have the potential to rival the Phillies in sheer muscle. That is, if Carlos Beltran can stay healthy all year, if Carlos Delgado returns and David Wright finds his 2008 stroke.

And we haven’t even mentioned Jeff Francoeur, who could bat as low as seventh in this power-laden lineup.

Wow. And guess what? If the Carloses Beltran and Delgado were healthy all last year and David Wright had his 2008 stroke — even without Bay in the lineup — the Mets would not have hit the fewest home runs in the National League. They’d actually probably have landed somewhere right in the middle of the pack, and so your whole premise would be shot, and so no one would need to be writing columns about bringing in the fences at Citi Field. That’s the whole thing.

But wait, here comes my favorite part:

The Mets don’t appear to be close to any significant up grades [sic] in their starting rotation, so if they want to improve their run-differential why not maximize their HR quotient by reconfiguring the ballpark?

Differential? Maximize? Quotient? Klapisch must be onto something smart here, right?

Oh, wait. He’s just using big words to shroud the dumbest f@#$ing thing I’ve ever read. Reconfiguring the ballpark around the same crappy pitchers will not alter the home run quotient. Reconfiguring the ballpark will only make those pitchers allow more home runs. Yes, the Mets will hit more home runs, too, but they’ll be yielding more at the same time, since they’ll be playing in the same ballpark as the other team, no matter how it’s configured. Unless Klapisch has some plan in mind for a radical newfangled wall that changes heights between the tops and bottoms of innings, the home run quotient will stay exactly the same.

And then, the kicker:

According to ESPN.com’s park factors that were released Tuesday, Citi was the major leagues’ seventh-easiest place to hit a triple in 2009.

Holy crap, sir. You found your way to ESPN.com’s park factors? While you were there, did you miss the part that showed Citi Field played as a slightly homer-friendly field in 2009? Or, worse, did you see it and think, “meh, it doesn’t really aid my point about how the Mets should move the fences in so they can hit more home runs like the Yankees and Phillies, so I’ll pretend I didn’t see it and cherry-pick this tidbit about the triples”?

I’m done here. There’s more fodder for comedy, but I’m bored with it.

Look: I don’t know the truth about whether Citi Field squashes home-run totals and I don’t purport to. I don’t think anybody does. It certainly looks big and it’s obviously earned that reputation. But there’s no evidence yet that it plays big, and everything we’ve learned so far says that it takes years to reach a definitive conclusion about a park’s effect on ballgames.

It’s baffling how many people think otherwise.

The Big Unique

You might have heard that Randy Johnson retired last night, giving me as good a reason as any to link up this guy. This might be the craziest thing that’s ever happened:

That moment has honestly been the subject of as many late-night debates amongst me and my friends as any in history.

One of my buddies is absolutely convinced it should serve as proof of the existence of some higher power because, as he points out:

A) How many times have you ever seen a bird fly between a pitcher and a batter during a pitch before, and so what could be the chances that the one time it does, the bird (briefly) occupies the exact same space as a baseball moving 100 miles per hour?

And B) What are the chances that if, should any pitcher hit a bird with his fastball, it’s going to be Randy Johnson, the guy with the reputation for throwing about as hard as anybody in baseball who just so happens to LOOK EXACTLY LIKE A SCARECROW, a device created to discourage birds from entering an area?

It’s as if Randy Johnson wanted to up his scarecrowing game to a whole new level and wanted to make an example of that one bird to make sure that no other bird ever dares come anywhere near a pitcher’s mound again. Because that one bird, ahh… it didn’t work out so well for that one bird.

Anyway, I’m not trying to hate on Johnson with the scarecrow stuff because I really did love watching the guy pitch, which is odd as I usually prefer smaller, puppetmaster type pitchers like Pedro, Santana and Maddux.

But how Johnson looked was a big part of what made him such a sight to behold, plus I always got the feeling it fueled his fastballs at least a little bit.

I’ve got no evidence, of course, but looking at that pockmarked face and that awkward body, I couldn’t help but assume every one of those heaters came with a little bit of extra mustard from so many lonely middle-school lunches.

And so I read stories like Jeff Pearlman’s, asserting that Johnson was a jerk who deserves to be treated as such, and I actually just feel bad for the guy. And I read anecdotes like this totally unconfirmed one in the Amazin’ Avenue comments section and I really hope they’re true, and that Johnson’s just some misunderstood metalhead with a heart of gold who’d help you out when you’re sick and is interested in photography, because that’d all jive a lot better with the sad former seventh-grader Randy Johnson I’ve created in my head. Although I guess that guy could grow up to bully reporters, too.

Anyway, his baseball legacy is as follows: one of the greatest pitchers of his generation, one of the greatest lefthanders ever, that really tall dude, anecdotal evidence that tall pitchers mature late, the guy who’ll be labeled “the last 300 game winner” until the next “last 300 game winner,” World Series hero to Diamondbacks fans, postseason goat to Yankees fans, and, of course, that guy who totally destroyed that bird that time.

Items of note

Hat tip to Amazin’ Avenue for pointing out the awesome work Patrick Flood is doing at his relatively new blog. His weeklong look at David Wright’s weird year continues.

Earlier this week some highlights of an 1980s basketball game were on, and I told my wife that — if my hair would do anything like comply — I would totally try to bring back the hi-top fade. Good for Brandon Jennings.

Jay Mariotti volunteered to be kicked out of the BBWAA. I’ll take his spot if I get the “get-into-every-baseball-game-free” pass.

Apparently Aroldis Chapman is close to a deal somewhere. Doesn’t sound like it’s with the Mets or Yanks.

Mets add tons of International League experience

In addition to rolling out Jason Bay today, the Mets announced that they signed Russ Adams, Mike Cervenak and Mike Hessman to Minor League contracts and invited them to Spring Training, according to a press release that I actually got during the Bay news conference.

Hessman’s name, I believe, surfaced earlier this offseason. I hadn’t heard Adams’ or Cervenak’s thus far this year, but maybe I wasn’t listening closely enough, or something.

Hessman is a big, right-handed three-true-outcomes masher in the Val Pascucci mold, only probably not as good a hitter as Pascucci. Adams was actually the Blue Jays’ starting shortstop in 2005 but has been mostly a Triple-A second baseman for the past three seasons, and Cervenak could probably best be described as the Ty Wigginton of the International League.

What’s most interesting about the three acquisitions, I think, is that all three bring lengthy International League resumes to their (presumed) new club in Buffalo.

Check this out: In the past three years, Cervenak has played a total of 374 games in the International League. In the past four, Adams has played 404 games in the International League. And over the past eight years — eight seasons — Hessman has played 899 games in the International League.

That means that today, the Mets added 1677 games of International League experience.

I imagine this is part of that whole “do better by the city of Buffalo” effort they spoke to last summer, when the Bisons (yeah, it’s plural) were trotting out one of the most embarrassing clubs imaginable. And pretty clearly the Mets have determined that the city of Buffalo wants to see familiar International League heroes prowling Coca-Cola Field.

I mean, far be it for me to understand the mind of the Triple-A fan. But hey, Buffalo: I hope you like Mike Hessman, because that’s what you’re getting.

Does anyone have a free car to give me?

You know what? Living in Brooklyn was the balls. There was a ton of cool stuff around, and you could walk to all of it. Plus you could walk to the subway, and from there, you could walk to all sorts of other cool stuff.

In the suburbs, up in Westchester, no matter where you go, the first stop is your car. Out the door, to the car.

And so your car becomes like a weird extension of your body, kind of how I imagine a turtle feels about its shell. And you start keeping stuff in the car that you know you’re going to need when you’re outside of your home, because anytime you’re outside of your home you’re going to have your car. That’s suburban living.

Some parts of it are good. With my car, I can get to Taco Bell and 7-11, and they don’t have those things in Brooklyn. Those places are awesome because they have Volcano Tacos and Slurpees. I missed them so. Plus, like I said, I can use my car for storage, so I don’t have to carry around a backpack or a manbag or anything like that.

But a car is also a giant, resource-sucking pain in the ass, especially when things start going wrong. Matt Cerrone pointed out to me not too long ago that a car is basically the only major investment we ever make that starts losing value as soon as we buy it, but at least the first couple of years are fun.

My current car is pretty clearly hitting the breaking point at which all the little minor repairs required for its upkeep start adding up to more than the value of the car itself, and at some time soon it will no longer be worth spending any more money on.

I realize I should probably suck it up and invest in a new or newer car, but I, like the Mets, tend to hang on to my things for too long, trying to coax every last bit of value out of it before I move on. So I’m driving around in the Luis Castillo of automobiles, thinking, “oh, but it got me to DC and back just fine a month ago, it’s got to be good for at least another road trip, even if all the red flags are there.”

Is cash for clunkers still going on? Did I just miss that? Crap. If anyone has any suggestions for a good, inexpensive car, I’m all ears. I’m still trying to figure out how to make a Segway work for Westchester, but those things are unreasonably expensive, even if they’re also completely hilarious.

The Jason Bay article you must read

If you only read one article about Jason Bay, ever, let it be this one, by Mark Herrmann in Newsday. And if you can’t use your one free Newsday article per day or figure out a way around Newsday’s paywall to read this, I feel for you. It’s so amazing and Canadian.

Herrmann catches up with former Islander Ray Ferraro, who used to hang out with Bay’s mother’s sister in tiny Trail, British Columbia. Check it out:

Folks in Trail realize the value of earning your way. It is an earnest hardscrabble village less than 10 miles north of the U.S. border. People think nothing of working seven days a week in a family owned cement plant, as Ferraro’s father did. Or working at Teck Cominco, a zinc smelting firm that also handled gold mining. That is where Bay’s father Dave worked.

Readers of this blog know I usually have little patience for praise lavished upon players for their “blue-collar” mentalities, which is exactly what this piece does for Bay.

But what separates Bay from Alex Cora is the actual ability to play baseball, so that’s good, plus — and this must not be understated — once the verb “smelting” comes in to play, all bets are off. His father is a zinc smelter? That’s badass.

Jason Bay: Officially a blue-collar, badass, hockey-loving Canadian who’d probably be smelting zinc if he wasn’t playing Major League Baseball.

Items of note

Minor rumors are swirling of a Luis Castillo for Mike Lowell deal. What I want to know is this: Better ESPN mustache — Jerry Crasnick or Jayson Stark in his heyday?

Aditi posts some pretty awesome off-field video at the Big East Sports Blog. The only problem with back handsprings is that I’m not sure they necessarily make you a good football player. I’m sure Vernon Gholston can do plenty of ’em.

Howard’s got a nice piece about the nature of Mets fandom, and the recent trend toward blanket negativity.

The Indians have signed Shelley Duncan, ruining my plan to have the Mets unite pitching coach Dave Duncan with the army of meatheaded sluggers he sired.

The Jets, the Mets, and the perpetually doomed

I wrote a joke for The Nooner last week about how the Jets’ path to the playoffs would be made easier by the fact that the Bengals had nothing to play for on Sunday, but made more difficult by the fact that they are the Jets and are perpetually doomed to finish 8-8.

I didn’t think it was all that funny, but I thought about it later that day when I read a column by Mike Vaccaro in the Post detailing the intersection between fans of the Jets and Mets and how it always seems to end poorly for those fans.

And I am, of course, one of those fans.

The problem is, I don’t believe there’s any sort of ingrained or inherent problem in either club that can’t be explained away by some bad luck and some bad management. Because while I know teams can be crappy, I don’t know teams can be cursed.

So I wanted to write a column in response, something redeeming about free will and my whole spiel about how no professional athlete could ever really be a loser, and about how I could remember a time when the Red Sox — the big, bad, well-run, two World Series in the last six years Red Sox — were the perpetual suckers.

It was going to say how the aughts were just a bad decade for Mets and Jets fans like me, but that there was no reason at all, save further mismanagement, the teens couldn’t be a great one. I was going to write how any talk of a hex was just mumbo jumbo — all in our heads.

But when I sat down to write it, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to jinx the Jets.

I guess that’s the whole thing about being a fan. No matter how rationally you try to think things out, no matter how sensibly you attempt to approach a sport, there’s always going to some part of you operating completely devoid of logic.

There almost has to be; otherwise, it’d be impossible to care so passionately about some group of men you don’t know getting paid tons of money to compete against some other group of men you don’t know.

I want to believe that I don’t believe in jinxes and curses and cultures of losing. But somewhere deep down, I have no idea what I really think. Maybe I’m afraid to admit I’m not as rational as I hope I am, or maybe I’m just profoundly confused.

I know I feel as confident in this Jets team as I have in any in recent memory, but I also know that if someone asked me to put down money on the Jets’ chances of beating the Bengals for a second straight week, I’d hem and haw and balk and eventually walk away.

So what’s the grand conclusion? I’ve got none.

I’m rooting for the Jets and hoping they’ll win on Saturday. Having watched a whole lot of the NFL this season, I know they can. And I don’t actually think there’s any culture around the team — or any team — that should prevent it from happening; I only fear, in some tiny corner of my soul, that there could be.

J, E, T, S.

Brian Bassett, by telephone. The bags under my eyes are from being too excited to sleep, thanks to the Jets. I have a lot of growing up to do:

From the Wikipedia: Globster

I’m not going to lie: Today’s “From the Wikipedia” does indeed stem from a chain of Wikipedia links related to Rex Ryan’s Gatorade shower last night.

From the Wikipedia: Globster.

Before today, I had never heard of Globster. This is odd and somewhat troubling, as I consider myself an amateur expert in cryptozoology. Anyway, globster is the term given to any unidentified mass of organic material that washes up on the ocean shore, usually leading to wild and hilarious speculation.

Usually, it turns out, globsters are leftover adipose tissue from dead sperm whales, as was the case with the Chilean Blob of 2003, the Nantucket Blob of 1996, and Bermuda Blobs 2 and 3 in 1995 and 1997, but oddly not the original Bermuda Blob — that was a dead shark.

In rare instances, though, as in both the original Tasmanian Globster and Tasmanian Globster 2: Revenge Of Tasmanian Globster, the globster appears to have organs or flippers or tusk-like protuberances and could be more than just the remains of some massive dead sea creature we already know about; it could be the remains of some massive dead sea creature we don’t even really know about yet.

Like the Stronsay Beast. That do anything for you? No? Maybe a gigantic octopus then. Or Trunko.

They all could be out there, in the sea, just begging for us to study them and hopefully domesticate them in some way we haven’t figured out yet. And then they wash up dead on shore, and people are just like, oh hey, it’s just another globster, probably just some adipose tissue from another dead sperm whale.

But what if those are the keys to unlocking the mysteries of the deep, and we’re just dismissing them as more dead whale fat? Maybe if we could come up with a name less silly than “globster,” we’d take them a little more seriously.