October 1 is looming and once again, rather than preparing for the playoffs, the Mets are scheduling tee-times. For your intrepid columnist, hoary jokes are all he has left. The final six weeks of the season have unfolded far worse than we thought they would, revealing the basic ugly stains that had been masked by an over-their-heads kind of summer. The ballpark, the bullpen, the injuries, the team finances and the general dearth of talent all conspired to sink the SS 2011 ‘round about August 10 or so – coincidentally or not, the date this team was last at .500.
Watching this latest unraveling – while not as painful as others I could mention – has driven a fan base past their customary position of “angry,” into the far more dangerous territory of “disinterested.” I know for myself, it’s gotten more and more difficult to blog about a group that just cannot seem to get out of its own way. There are only so many ways a person can write “This team stinks” and still appear clever about it. 
And while a lot of us can drool over the prospect of Jose Reyes becoming the first in franchise history to win a batting title, even the joy of that is clouded by Reyes possibly not being around next year and the fact that batting average has been slowly devalued as a performance evaluator over time – the more people see Moneyball, the less importance will be placed on AVG.
And some of us cling to the hope that circumstances will force the Wilpons to sell – let’s face it: their scheme of selling small chunks of the team to family and friends will have about the same success as O.J. finding the “real” killer back in ’94 – but that hope will be deferred until March, when the final ruling in the Madoff/Picard clawback case is due to be announced. That timing will most likely leave Sandy Alderson sitting on his hands once again at the Winter Meetings. The general consensus right now is that if Reyes is re-signed, then that’s it for the off-season and Spring Training starts with the same questions among the starting staff and the cheesecloth bullpen. There is a real danger of the Mets – the Amazin’s of Casey Stengel, Destiny’s Darlings of ’69 and ’73, the Bad Guys of ’86, the Unlikelys of ’99 and 2000 – becoming as relevant in this town as the Islanders, the Nets and pro lacrosse.
I, for one, will keep coming back, but I fear more and more that I may be the only one.