As you know if you follow baseball (and maybe even if you don't), my New York Mets are on the verge of an historic pennant-race collapse. They held a huge seven-game lead in the National league East two weeks ago, with 17 games left to play. After last night's loss (and the surging Phillies' latest victory), the lead is now completely gone. The Mets and Phils are now tied for first place with three games to go--and the way the Mets have been playing lately, it feels as if they are three games behind already.
I'm ashamed to say that it is all my fault. Two weeks ago, I commented to my son Matt that I had tickets for the Mets-Marlins game on Saturday, September 29. I added, "Who knows? That could be the game when they clinch the division." (I was at Shea on September 17, 1986, when they clinched that division title.)
Matt was quick to disagree. "Nah, they're gonna clinch long before then. They'd have to have a total collapse to not clinch before the 29th."
I thought about it for a moment, then agreed with him. "Yeah, you're right." And then I added--fatally--"No way that's gonna happen."
And now, having suffered the total collapse I agreed was impossible, the Mets have only the slimmest of chances of clinching on the 29th. (To make that happen, the Mets have to win and the Phillies lose twice in a row, which seems about as likely as my being the first blogger to win the Nobel Prize for Literature.)
We fans are a superstititous bunch, but in this case I don't think I am being superstitious. I am convinced it's literally true that my careless words have done in my team. No wonder the Mets aren't going to make it to the World Series this year--it's because I personally don't deserve it!
Labels: New York Mets, Philadelphia Phillies, Willie Randolph