That's it. I quit.
Not blogging! I could never quit blogging! Well, I could, and did, but only for a summer. Then it came back, like herpes. Quite a bit like herpes, actually.
I mean, I quit the Phillies. They are officially out of my life. Thanks, Bill Giles, for showing me how completely adrift you and your fellow band of senile old coots who own Phillies, L.P. really are. "He was trying to help her." Yeah, help her go to the emergency room. Fuck you, Bill, Dave, John, and even old Mrs. What's Her name in Florida.
I am henceforth, as I was born, a New York Mets fan. And what good timing! The Amazin's are 12 games clear in the NL East, heading to a possible showdown with the Yankees in Subway Series II: This Time, Maybe We Win Two Games. They have my favorite position player, David Wright, and my favorite pitcher, Billy Wagner (just kidding about Billy). They have a GM with some cojones, and an ownership group who, get this, actually considers winning to be not only feasible, but a regular goal towards which to strive. They don't call them Amazin's for nothing.
I can watch the Mets on MLB.tv any time I want. If I'm in the car, I can pretty much get 660 WFAN most nights. If the radio reception becomes an issue, I can always get XM Radio installed in my car. And Shea is a mere two hours drive up the Turnpike, or a two-and-a-half-hour train ride. Plus, they are building a nice new park in the Shea parking lot, so I have that to look forward to. And, let's face it, the Mets are MY TEAM. I suffered through 22 mostly miserable seasons, with ownership that often made the Phillies' bunch look like Warren Buffett. I only abandoned the Mets out of necessity when I moved to Illinois in the quaint, old-fashioned days before the Internet (1989). It's time. Time to come back home.
So, go ahead, call me a front-runner. It beats the hell out of being called a Phillies fan.