Sunday Bonus: Mets in L.A. Refuse to Score Runs, Ignore al in la's plea for a ball

As I write this, the Mets are finishing their disastrous series with the local L.A. baseball team. My wife (who took these photos) and I went to the game on Thursday and arrived early enough to watch batting practice from the outfield. In a pathetic but welcome bid to be fan-friendly, the home team opens the center field gates and about 50 people or so stand behind a short plastic fence scrambling for the scant few balls hit or tossed from the field. The mob was mostly star struck kids with gloves, Latino men who seemed to enjoy the competition, and at least one middle-age white guy who was shamelessly trying to use his height advantage to grab a ball (That's me on the right in the Hawaiian shirt.)

Sadly, I got no ball. There was one that came to rest on the warning track directly in front of me--but slightly out of reach. This is where the story gets ugly. Johan Santana (pictured below) trotted over and picked it up. Even while I'm certain he saw I was wearing a Mets cap, he ignored my heart felt request: "Johan! I'm from New York! How 'bout it, man ?"

Johan smiled, retrieved the ball and gave it to some adorable little girl of about six who was wearing a pink (!) L.A. cap. I know! I know! It stinks! What's worse, the little hussy didn't even have to catch the ball (and I seriously doubt she paid for her own ticket). Johan put it right in her outstretched hand and said "Here you go, sweetheart." I had no idea one of my favorite Mets of all time could be such a heartless creep. I considered knocking the ball out of her tiny little hand, but I'm bigger than that. (Plus, I surely would have gotten the shit kicked out of me by just about everyone there-- including my wife.) It got worst as the Mets were shutout 2-0--and Johan didn't lift a finger to help. (Apparently it wasn't "his turn" to pitch.) Always the romantic, my wife caught the sun setting on the City of Angeles--a fitting metaphor for the Mets season.