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What Next?

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Ahh, what a great weekend. Just as I predicted on Friday, the Mets were fortunate to get a way with even one win in the Bronx. Sure, they handed Tom Glavine three different leads on Saturday, but the Mets' "stopper" couldn't "stop" allowing Yankee runs to cross the plate like water through a sieve. In his first four seasons with the Mets Glavine had allowed as many as seven runs in fewer than five innings on four occasions. He has now done it twice in a week. Bad week? Maybe. He certainly isn't getting any younger, and there's little chance that he's getting any better. I'm not such a drama queen as to put so much stock in a single game, but the Mets handed him the ball with an opportunity to clinch the current and season series with the Yankees and he was terrible. One start, one miserable start, take it for what it is.

Like Glavine, Orlando Hernandez has been similarly awful in his last two starts. El Duque's dramatic left/right splits have been exploited of late, and the lefty-heavy Yankees took full advantage. Of course these days, it doesn't much matter which hand you throw with when Alex Rodriguez is at the plate, as the wealthy one battered the Mets this season to the tune of .304/.370/.870, clubbing four homeruns in 23 at-bats.

The biggest disgrace on Sunday were the Mets' bats, which continued their recent string of ineptitude, this time punctuated by ten strikeouts at the hands of Chien-Ming Wang, a sinkerballer who had managed just 31 strikeouts in 69.2 innings this season prior to his dominating encounter with the Mets' bats.

What can you do? Move on, I guess. The Mets split the season series with the Yankees, each winning a pair at home and losing a pair on the road while in the midst of an incomprehensible slump. The Twins roll into town tonight, and the Mets take on another high-groundball, low-strikeout hurler in Carlos Silva before staring down the human slump perpetuator in Johan Santana on Tuesday night. I keep waiting for this nightmare to end, but it must be some endless nest of darkness because, even though I awake every morning, I still find this once promising season in utter disarray.