Then we came to the end

In the top of the ninth inning at Citi Field on Tuesday night, with the Mets beating the Reds 4-3 and Manny Acosta vying for a two-inning save, my wife turned to me.

“I kind of want them to score here so we can see Reyes hit again,” she said.

“Well…” I said, turning back to the action. I didn’t tell her, but I felt exactly the same way.

Reyes, who had already hit 790 feet worth of home runs in the game, was due up third in the bottom of the frame. And we both knew — as everyone knows — that he might not have many more at-bats in a Mets uniform.

The Reds did score, tying the game. Reyes came up with two out in the Mets’ half of the inning and singled on a half-swing dribbler down the third-base line, then sped to second when Aroldis Chapman fired the ball wide of first. Sprawled out and smiling on second base, Reyes lifted his arm to flash the spotlight at the Mets’ bench. A couple pitches later, he stole third.

The Mets failed to get Reyes home, so the teams kept playing. With every passing inning, we moved closer to the diamond — starting 27 rows up, then 15, then five. Finally we were right up against the field, close enough that the players stop looking like swift-moving man-shaped uniforms and began appearing like the real, breathing humans that they are.

By the 11th or 12th, the once sparse crowd had dwindled into an intimate gathering of slaphappy die-hards, all savoring the waning moments of the Mets’ 2011 campaign, willing to ignore the next day’s looming obligations to watch the Mets and Reds keep playing.

We — my wife and I, at least — didn’t want to let go, not of the game nor of the baseball season nor of that shortstop.

If only Justin Turner’s one-out, bases-loaded liner with the Mets down 5-4 in the bottom of the 13th eluded second baseman Todd Frazier, or if baserunner Josh Satin hung closer to the bag on the play, we would have been treated to another Reyes at-bat. Maybe even a walk-off hit.

But Frazier snared the ball off Turner’s bat and jogged to second for the double play, ending the game with Reyes left on deck.

People sometimes argue that the Mets shouldn’t re-sign Reyes this offseason or won’t be able to. They say it’s bad business to invest so much in a player with Reyes’ injury history and point to underwhelming returns on similar big-ticket free agents. Or they note the team’s financial straits and the market for 28-year-old elite shortstops and insist there’s just no way the Mets will be able to afford him.

Explaining any of that to a Mets fan watching Reyes on Tuesday night would be like reminding a tourist gaping at the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling about the unfavorable exchange rate. Some things transcend practicality. It’s impossible to consider matters so mundane when in the presence of anything so downright wonderful.

We can remember the times Reyes has been hurt, the spells where he’s struggled and some momentary lapses in his concentration. But when he’s playing baseball like he can, jetting around the bases or rifling the ball across the diamond or beaming on the top step of the dugout, it is a spectacle so enthralling it demands full attention. No time to think about prudent roster construction now: Jose Reyes is dancing off second.

In Wednesday’s season finale, Reyes led off with a bunt single against Edinson Volquez. He immediately left for a pinch-runner, preserving his league-leading .337 batting average. He walked off the field to a light cheer followed by a smattering of boos, presumably aimed at Terry Collins for cheating fans out of a few more of Reyes’ at-bats and for perhaps ending Reyes’ Mets career in such unceremonious fashion.

I can’t speak for those booing, but I suspect some of the disappointment upon Reyes’ departure stemmed from the knowledge that neither art nor science has yet figured a way to capture the way fans feel seeing Reyes round second and slide headfirst into third, the thrill of the dash and the joy upon its completion. We knew we needed to relish it Wednesday — just like we did Tuesday — because we might never have it again. And then before you could even find a beer guy Reyes was gone, slipped from the bearhug in which we hoped to hold him for eight innings more.

In the top of the 9th inning, fans began chanting for Reyes. First it was “please stay, Jose,” then “Jo-se Rey-es” then the familiar “Jose, Jose Jose Jose.” After Miguel Batista wrapped up his two-hit shutout, Reyes joined his team on the field, smiled at the crowd behind the Mets’ dugout, threw his hat to a fan, and walked down the steps into the tunnel to the clubhouse. Some fans stayed and cheered for a curtain call, and eventually Reyes came back.

Maybe in a few weeks, with some distance, I’ll be better equipped to draw up some more rational outline of how the Mets’ should approach negotiations with Reyes in November. But right now, fresh off watching three games at Citi Field in which Reyes went 7-for-11 with two homers and two steals, and daring to consider for a moment the prospect of Reyes doing his thing on a bigger stage for a better Mets club with a more capable supporting cast in just a couple of years, I can conclude only this:

Pay the man.

Doritos poured out for Arch West

When Arch West, the man credited with inventing Doritos, is buried on Oct. 1, he will be joined by a sprinkling of the bright orange chips that have become a cheesy, tangy, American institution.

His daughter, Jana Hacker of Allen, Texas, told the Dallas Morning News that the family plans on “tossing Doritos chips in before they put the dirt over the urn.”

West, who was 97 when he died of natural causes last week, was a former Frito-Lay executive. He reportedly came up with the idea of Doritos when he was on vacation with his family in Mexico and came upon a snack shack selling fried tortilla chips.

Deborah Netburn, L.A. Times.

The lead is buried here. The man who invented Doritos lived to 97. Again: The man who invented Doritos lived to 97.

As for his particular burial plans: Who among us hasn’t been buried under Doritos in his darkest hour?

Hat tip to Bill and Daniel.

Shots fired

For years now, I’ve been operating under the assumption that I could boast the world’s most exhaustive gallery of embarrassing photos of Cole Hamels.

The page is the most popular one on this site, and one of the few accomplishments of which I am wholeheartedly proud. Someday I will retire from blogging, and then years later someone will spot some news item about Cole Hamels and say, “Hey, remember all those embarrassing photos of Cole Hamels that guy collected?” And I am that guy. The embarrassing photos of Cole Hamels, I thought, would be my humble online legacy.

But now, thanks to the diligent work of Patrick Flood, I know I have more work to do. There’s another site on the Internet with even more embarrassing photos of Cole Hamels than I have: ColeHamels.com.

Hamels’ personal website boasts gallery upon gallery of embarrassing photos of the man, enough to prove my suspicion that he is either trolling me or just absolutely does not give a s#$! how he is depicted on the Internet.

I’d prefer not to incur a cease-and-desist from the Hamels Foundation, so I limited myself to four photos grabbed from that site to share in the archive. Go check them out, but really, check out all of Cole Hamels’ galleries — especially this one.

And of course, whenever you come to a detour on the road to your goal — whether that goal be collecting the most embarrassing photos of Cole Hamels or some less noble pursuit — remember these words of wisdom from Hamels’ site and, presumably, high-school yearbook: “It is the journey, not the destination.”

So we beat on.

Sandwiches of Citi Field: The Mex Burger

Named for its creator, my colleague Keith Hernandez, the Mex Burger… oh, I’ll admit it: I just wanted to say “my colleague Keith Hernandez” to make it sound like sometimes I run into Keith Hernandez at the coffee machine and gossip or rap on the TV shows we watched the night before. But that doesn’t really happen, since Keith doesn’t come to the office all that often.

The Mex Burger is a burger with bacon, two slices of cheese — one pepper jack, one cheddar — guacamole, jalapenos and chipotle aioli on a brioche bun. It costs $10 and is available from the “Keith’s Grill” concession on the field level in left field. It looks like this:

It’s pretty damn good. I mean first of all, Keith Hernandez isn’t going to put his name on an inferior burger. Second, it’s got bacon, guacamole and two types of cheese. There’s only so wrong that could go.

The guac is good, too — better and fresher tasting than I expected would be distributed in a stadium. It’s not on par with the stuff they make at your table at Dos Caminos or whatever, but, well, c’mon. It’s a ballpark. And there’s bacon.

But a couple of quibbles: The double-cheese makes this a pretty greasy burger. And despite the fresh jalapenos, pepper jack and chipotle aioli, it’s really not very spicy. A few bites might be called mildly spicy, but there’s no way this burger would get more than one little red pepper on a Thai food menu.

Also, there’s a little too much bun, so the burger gets pretty bready.

The biggest issue of all, of course, is that Keith’s Grill is about 100 yards away from Citi Field’s Shake Shack location. And like most burgers available in the world, the Mex Burger can’t hold a candle to the Single Shack. It’s a decent substitute if you’re unwilling to brave the Shake Shack line, but not a burger you’d write home about unless your parents happen to read your blog post abouts Citi Field sandwiches.

Two 15-team leagues?

There also is a lot of work being done on creating two 15-team leagues, which is tied up with the sale of the Astros because Houston is the club most likely to be moved from the NL to the AL to even the number of clubs in each league….

That is one reason why the sides want to go to two 15-team leagues. Because it likely would mean clubs from different divisions would play more similar schedules, thus, making the competition for wild cards across divisions fairer. Also, there would be six five-team divisions, which would mean all clubs would be competing against the same number of opponents within their division to make the playoffs.

Joel Sherman, N.Y. Post.

I’ve said my piece already (many times) about the league adding a second wild card, which Sherman outlines elsewhere in his column. But I’ve noticed some resentment among fans for the idea of two 15-team leagues because it would mean constant interleague play. But best I can tell, there would be a way to do it while actually reducing the total number of interleague games.

Right now, there are 252 interleague games a season, all of them bunched into specific weeks and weekends when all but two teams play against an interleague opponent.

But if there were always one interleague series being played (as necessitated by 15-team leagues) but never more than one, there would actually be a lot fewer interleague games in total — about 162, obviously.

Every team would play three or four interleague series randomly distributed throughout the course of the season, as opposed to the five or six series they have now.

Naturally the league could wind up keeping to 252 games or expanding, since nowhere has anyone said two 15-team leagues would mean reduced interleague play.

This exists: The West Virginia roadkill cook-off

“With all the twisty, turny roads up here in the mountains, there’s a lot of roadkill,” she told msnbc.com.

Fortunately for the squeamish, the festival doesn’t require that the dishes on display be made with actual roadkill. According to the official rules, “most of the judges would prefer that it didn’t.” Instead, dishes must be based on any animal commonly found by the side of the road.

As a result, competitors have served up everything from local casualties — raccoons, possum and deer — to more exotic fender fare, including armadillo, alligator and buffalo.

Rob Lovitt, MSNBC.com.

Please someone hire me to go cover next year’s West Virginia road-kill cook off. I promise you won’t be disappointed.