Sitting in the stands next to my daughter at Mets games, my daughter often entertains me with parodies of at-bat music and songs of her own making.
With outfielder Ryan Church having been traded to the Braves in exchange for Jeff Francouer this weekend, I told her that I could think of no more fitting farewell than to document the “Church Rap”–complete with hand motions that many of us learned as children in Sunday School–that she often performed for me in the stands when Church came up with a big hit.
So, with heartfelt appreciation to a beloved ballplayer and to my gifted daughter for sharing her time and talents, please enjoy “Church Rap”:
I’ve had difficulty “singing the praises of the Mets” lately…except in some sort of out-of-tune way. Thus, the absence of recent posts.
I keep waiting for the chance to vocalize in a fully supported manner, but this less-than-encore-deserving run of Mets losses has only inspired me to warbling off-key humor.
Fact: the Mets have suffered an unbelievable number of injuries (record-breaking?) this season. Their struggle to stay competitive in spite of this has been admirable if not downright miraculous.
I’ve seen and heard it all:
“The Mets are playing hurt.”
“The Mets are putting a Junior Varsity team out there.”
“The Mets just have to tread water until the regulars get back.”
“Just wait until after the All-Star break.”
“You can’t blame them: some of these players are minor-leaguers.”
But even with those disclaimers and glass-half-full observations, last night’s loss was a new low.
From F-Mart’s blooper-reel-worthy performance in the outfield to our ace Santana’s bases on balls and dugout temper tantrum, it was a night to test even the most ardent fan’s patience.
Meanwhile, in that never-ending side-bar story to any Met fan’s daily digest–hoping the Phillies will at least lose (and barring that, the Yankees)–the Atlanta Braves did manage to help us out: aided by the mere threat of Jeff Francouer donning his magic underwear,
Go ahead and laugh. I am.
Matt Cerrone of MetsBlog recently excoriated manager Jerry Manuel for jokingly looking for his (hidden) offense under the table when asked about the Mets’ bats at his post-game press conference on Sunday night following the derailed Subway Series.
Maybe, at least in Cerrone’s opinion, Manuel is not in a position to kid around. And, granted, the Mets’ falling further and further below .500 is no laughing matter.
I, on the other hand, am in a position to joke around and, in fact, have now arrived at the “what else can you do but laugh” point.
And with that little prelude in mind, I offer up (with apologies to my Mom, a die-hard Braves fan) some contrasting themes between the Mets’ and Braves’ clubhouses:
The Mets’ offense has flown the coop and, especially last night, they are looking like a bunch of birdbrains in the field; the Braves are closing in on us, their right-fielder bluffing about lucky turkey shorts.
The Mets are awaiting the return of Major-League ready jocks; the Braves are talking jockeys.
The Mets need their A-Team; the Braves are talking G-strings.
The Mets desperately need the long ball; the Braves are talking long johns.
You get the idea.
Laughing keeps me from crying:
after all, I don’t want to be perceived as a pantywaist.
Original artwork “Phillie Cheese Steak Brand” From the “Orange Crate Label Series: The Unauthorized History of Baseball in 1-Odd Paintings” (2005) by Ben Sakoguch courtesy of the artist..