The Mets are Going to the Playoffs, Just Buckle Up for the Ride
By Cecilio's Scribe on Sep 20, 2008 with Comments 0
It’s Going to Happen
Damn right, we said it. And we ain’t even scared about it. Division winners or the wild card, we don’t know or care. The New York Mets will be playing postseason baseball in 2008. There is no logic behind such a claim. Zero facts or historical data exist to point any rational human being towards such a conclusion. In fact, if anything, the evidence would seem to undoubtedly influence one of sound mind to ascertain exactly the opposite. And that my friends is precisely why the Mets are going to the dance. Because it makes no sense whatsoever.
This is going to be for all those times when the Mets should have been successful. This is for every instance when the facts on paper indicated almost certain success. It’s going to be a nauseating, vomit-inducing, awful-to-watch, tear-your-f-in-hair out week of baseball. There will be bonehead baserunning, sloppy fielding and, of course, the prerequisite minor league relief pitching.
We will leave countless runners on base, allow inherited runners to easily continue their path around the base paths and wear out the grass between the bullpen door and the pitching mound. We shall load the bases with nobody out and manage only a single run (if that). We will put runners in scoring position and fail to move them over.
Yes, my fellow Metros backers, we are in for one helluva ride until next Sunday. So, buckle in, get your barf bags and have those paddles ready when Aaron Heilman does something to facilitate cardiac arrest. But we’re going to get there. What happens once we arrive is anybody’s guess, but I heard the playoffs are nice this time of year.
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About the Author: Cecilio's Scribe is the founder of The Legend of Cecilio Guante and a generally pessimistic fan of the Mets, Jets, Knicks and Rangers. A fine NYC-based gentlemen who hones his marketing skills as his primary trade by day. Husband, chef, father of a newborn and after-hours blogger by night. Proud alum of the mighty Big Red of Cornell. University. Hot sauce devotee. Staunch protester of the continued wussifcation of American sports. Sometimes I rhyme slow, sometimes I rhyme quick.

