The Athletics have had a tough few years. Their team, which had an enviable amount of success and promise from 2012-2014, cratered in 2015 and hasn’t been able to recover. But the future of the Athletics is bright. The I’ve gotta wear shades kind of bright. And everyone had to put on those shades on Saturday when in one single game their future put on a marvelous fireworks show of home runs. Rookies Matt Olson, Jaycob Brugman and Franklin Barreto all hit their very first major league home runs in three straight innings against the White Sox.
And always, always, Mr. Met is chased off by someone deserving a cheer: a pitcher from the bullpen, a bat boy, or a young fan wielding a foam bat. When Mr. Met stumbles, falls, and runs away in defeat, the young Mets fan will receive a wild roar that forges a diehard fandom for life.
Please. Please, Mets, I need this to happen. I want to take my children to Citi Field and teach them to hate the gruesome stitched face of the baseball-headed heel. We shall boo him together and form lasting bonds across our generations a truly New York bond: the shared dislike of something vile in the city, like Murray Hill or suspended L train service.
New York City is a crowded, angry pustule of steel, and concrete, and rats with nutria ambitions. The Yankees have their history and pinstripes and Aaron Judge. The Mets have cocaine, an apple in a hat, and a mascot who flipped off the fans. It’s time they steered into the skid.
Oh, what has happened to our big, beefy lumber boy, oh, what has happened indeed? Schwarber has been one of the least valuable players in baseball, and the fall has been so dramatic, so unrelenting, that the Cubs might actually send him to the minor leagues to find himself.