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October 01, 2007

Amazin Malaise

[Photo: NY Daily News]

If you could choose how to die, which poison do you pick? A quick, supposedly painless, death - maybe blindsided by a truck before you even had a chance to move. Or do you go the awareness route - fully conscious throughout, wallowing in the slow rotting pain of prolonged misery, like knowing a fully wound haymaker is coming at you and there is nothing you can do except brace for the inevitable. As if in slow motion, waiting for the coming violent collision. If you chose the latter than you very well may be a Mets fan this morning.

If I may for just a moment, drop the royal "we" voice we (see) often use when making general claims, and/or announcements in attempt to tickle your fancy, and let me provide personal declarations that in no way should be construed as the Official voice of Merry Swankster.com. This preface an apologetic necessity in respect to the balance of MS.com authors who either have no interest in baseball matters, do not share my baseball interests (notably the pains, ohhh the pains!), and mostly due to my one brotherly comrade drunk with interest but on the flip side of the equation as it relates to happenings in Flushing, Queens.

My wretched crew of 25 men (non sports fans must overlook any criticisms behind this mysterious principles of shared "ownership" over players by just accepting the horrific cruelty nurtured by intense fandom) reside 90 miles North from a city of winners, and should not be confused with the alarmingly accurate, prophetically referred "team to beat" of the Illadelph. The team who in the same year it commemorated the dubious distinction of being the biggest all-time losers in all professional sports, ultimately and deservedly should (will?) be remembered more for shedding the tag of the Sillies by becoming the real deal yesterday afternoon. All the while their archrivals, and officially sponsored keepers of rhythm to my heartbeat during the months of April through September - the New York Metropolitans - completed construction on the coffin they have been building with admirable effort over the last 3 weeks by finally driving in that last stubborn nail. As with most doom & gloom projects originating in Queens, this one was union built by the Orange & Blue with tears and sweat (i.e. errors, passed balls, blown leads, hit batsman...) as sealant caulk between the project's essential raw materials: devastation and monumental collapse.

Over the past month, the Phillies' allegedly big, bad rivals, played a sport still technically called MLB baseball, though most of the time it seemed a re-brand to EPM baseball (Errors and Pitching Meltdowns) could be a more adequate moniker for what was unfolding in Flushing. This should not be misinterpreted as a request, however reasonable, for a mercy killing exception removing the 2006 Mets from the baseball annals. For myself and millions of other Mets fans it hurts bad, really bad. However its this taste of bitter defeat that allows the eventual winning to taste that much sweeter. That said, sports are irrationally cruel. My first apology to any future children will be a soft heartfelt speech into their tiny infant ears admitting regret for inheriting the pitfalls and heartbreak of their father's teams. If there is any justice in the world, they'll immediately puke on their cute little Mr. Met bibs.

Jens Lekman - "Your Beat Kicks Back Like Death"

Contemplating whether to drown my sorrows in copious amounts of liquid substances or play chicken with a brick wall, I faced a dilemma. Notably, Colorado laws do not allow the sale of alcohol on Sundays and I was not stupid enough to initiate real, physical pain. I was fighting the anger from further spiraling downward with the paralyzing sense of profound disappointment at what could be, what is, and what will always be. Enter Swedish prince of melancholy pop and his SC100 commissioned cover of a Scout Niblett song. Fitting I thought, terribly depressing, but fitting. Hearing "We're all gonna die" sung so beautifully was a reality check for perspective keeping.

Maybe someday someone else will feel as shitty as I do, choking in the wake of ticker tape following a Mets' October celebration. I'll post a fucking Polyphonic Spree song in order to match the bright beam of my positive pride. Until then...I'll embrace the tiny sliver of consolation I got from the Giants victory over the Eagles. Knowing that even in the face of such triumph (however meaningless at this point), some resemblance of consternation still exists in Philadelphia sports. If nothing else, I'm comforted by reliability.

And now..back to your regularly scheduled programming (go Rockies!)...

Signing off from Awful-Town - Merry Swankster

//Various Artists - SC100 (Secretly Canadian compilation) - buy

Posted by Merry Swankster at October 1, 2007 01:25 PM

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Posted by: mystik spiral at October 2, 2007 01:35 AM

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