A little too harried today to craft anything cohesive, so here’s a Twitter Q&A.

It’s Ochoa. Butch Huskey epitomizes many things, among them the general meaninglessness of Spring Training stats, what a 245-pound man can do to catchers when plowing into them at full speed, and baseball’s rich tradition of great names. But since Huskey enjoyed a couple of reasonably productive seasons as a Met, it’s hard to call him an utter failure as a prospect.

For whatever reason — perhaps because the Mets acquired him in the Bobby Bonilla trade — it seemed like Ochoa came up to a lot more hype than Huskey did. In fact, I remember that Ochoa was the first player I had ever heard referred to as a “five-tool guy,” which was about the most hilarious thing my 14-year-old mind could process.

Soon after the Mets called Ochoa up, I went to a game with my brother and a couple of his friends. We managed to sneak down to the field level in right field, where we proceeded to commend Ochoa for every single thing he did in the game, proclaiming everything as examples of his tools. He took a couple steps toward first base from right field on an infield groundout, and I yelled something about backing up first base from right field being the elusive sixth tool. Stuff like that, all game long.

Eventually Ochoa acknowledged us, and we went absolutely ape. But from there it was all downhill for Ochoa as a Met. Until right now, I had forgotten that he ever put up productive seasons with the Reds and Brewers after leaving Flushing. He did finish fifth in the NL in outfield assists in 2001, strong evidence of at least one tool.

I don’t drink very often. I know so little about beers that if there’s nothing I recognize on a bar’s tap list I usually panic and wind up with something that tastes like fermented tar, which I sip politely until it’s about 3/4 done then leave it and walk to some other part of the bar hoping it doesn’t follow me.

When I do drink, it’s usually bourbon. And I know plenty of people will judge the hell out of me for saying this, but I rarely drink my bourbon straight. At bars I usually order it with seltzer, and at home I mix it with unsweetened green tea and a little lemonade (about three parts green tea, one part bourbon, one part lemonade). That’s the Ted Berg — order it by name, then explain it to the bartender. I’d like for this to catch on.

I also like a good frozen rum drink, where appropriate.

Yikes, that’s a tough one. I’m trying to imagine life without my pinkie fingers, and it’s not great. I don’t use my left pinkie as often as I should while playing the guitar, but I still definitely need it for that. And obviously both pinkies are very necessary for typing with any rapidity. Plus — and not to be Debbie Downer here — I’ve got the MS, so my dexterity is at times already limited, and I don’t know how much more of that I want to give up.

I guess there’s an underlying question of vanity here: Would everyone know I had given up two pinkies for a pair of Mets championships? Like would that be something celebrated at the parade — here’s this guy who for some reason had to give up his fingers for this! — or would I just be some eight-fingered fan in the crowd?

Either way I think the answer is no. Maybe that means I’m not committed enough, but I’d say it’s just optimism. I’m confident enough that the Mets will eventually win a World Series or two that I’m not willing to part ways with my fingers to guarantee it.

Toes I’d do in a second. Especially if it came with the promise that headlines after the fact referred to the Mets’ victory as “digitally enhanced.” I don’t think we make enough digit/digital jokes in general.