I sit typing while a few stray flakes of snow float outside my window. The cat is napping, satisfied that it’s too damn cold to go out on the porch today. And my thoughts turn to baseball.
The Mets are talking playoffs. Postseason dreams for a club that hasn’t sniffed the second week of October since the 9/11 terrorist attacks pushed the final weeks of 2001 into the month. They have some strengths, and spring training is the time of year when all clubs boast of opportunities not yet lost and rookies not yet busted. Managers talk about how their team might surprise their competition. (Except for Pittsburgh, perhaps.) But the Mets co-exist in a division with the Atlanta Braves, who have won the past fourteen division championships (no one seems to count 1994, when the Expos ended the aborted season in first place). The Braves sound confident. Chipper Jones, who may start to feel old age creep up on him this season, said they expect to win the division.
I’m all for confidence, but that’s bordering on the type of arrogance normally associated with the Yankees and their fans. And if there’s one thing a Mets fan hates more than the Braves, it’s the Yankees. I think we have heard a gauntlet tossed onto the green grass of a spring training infield. Heat it up, boys. I’m ready for some baseball!
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