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About Us
Faith and Fear in Flushing made its debut on Feb. 16, 2005, the brainchild of two longtime friends and lifelong Met fans.

Greg Prince discovered the Mets when he was 6, during the magical summer of 1969. He is a Long Island-based writer, editor and communications consultant. Contact him here.

Jason Fry is a Brooklyn writer whose first memories include his mom leaping up and down cheering for Rusty Staub. Check out his other writing here.

To comment on the blog, register here. Or you can email us at faithandfear@gmail.com

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View Article  Yeah, But We Got Juan LeBron For Him
Forgive me for summing this one up before it's official. Fear 1, Faith 0.

All hail the unanticipated kingdom of Joe Randa -- at least Howie's not around to point out once again that he was a paper Met. And hey, we got Juan LeBron for him. Did Juan LeBron even reach Binghamton? *

So many embarrassments tonight. There was Glavine doing his usual Glavine thing -- even if he was getting squeezed early, you knew eventually those decision pitches thrown over the plate would lead to Bad Things, which they did. And what exactly was Cliff doing trying to steal second with Diaz at bat as the tying run? Your newest, number-crunchingest sabermetrician and your oldest, crustiest, cigar-chewingest, selling-jeans-here-est scout would have been equally appalled by that one. And couldn't Joe Torre have stopped healing the sick long enough to lean over during an interleague game and teach Willie how to double-switch? Mike DeJean sucked, but at least you can't say he did anything wrong above the neck.

(Of course Victor Diaz now gets a hit. Goddamn it. This game will kill you.)

I largely held my fire during the St. Lucie days about Felix Heredia because I take it on faith that those who stink in the Grapefruit League generally come out of the gate OK and vice versa, just to make baseball even more of a head-scratcher. But this is getting ridiculous: Willie's giving Heredia the Mike Maddux treatment and it turns out he refused to go on the DL, which means we'll have to resort to some kind of 40-man-roster chicanery to bring Jose Santiago up to face Atlanta, which will probably treat him like Julio Valera. (I hope Omar's reviewed the roster rules, seeing how in Montreal Bud Selig barely let him have 40 guys.)

Anyway, thanks Felix! Way to be a team guy! What's the over/under on how many weeks of this we have to endure before the team grudgingly eats Heredia's contract?

(Goddamn Mets. These lipstick-on-a-pig rallies ultimately just make you angrier. La la la, I'm not listening to this comeback attempt.)

By the way, did you notice Mariano Rivera, Mr. Automatic, blew the save again? And got booed? Someone talk Filip Bondy off the ledge. If he's noticed.

(Strike three. Thanks for playing, Mike. Once again God was not fooled by my ostentatiously not listening to a rally. 9-5 Reds.)

OK, that was the suckingest bunch of suck that ever sucked, but for whatever reason I'm not too discouraged. The team looks (sorry, it sounds) much better defensively and the offense, while not exactly clicking, has been encouraging up and down the lineup. Maybe it's just listening to a healthy Reyes and Floyd. Maybe it's just having games that count again. Maybe it's just that it's finally warm. Regardless, I'm hanging in there better than I'd expected. Though if things go badly tomorrow, I get the feeling I won't be so philosophical at around 4 o'clock.

* The Internet provides. Juan LeBron played one whole season at Triple-A. So says his bio on the Web site of your Somerset Patriots, who helpfully note that LeBron was signed on August 3, 2004 and released on August 28, 2004. (Somerset, please! A little tact!) Oh, and he hit .216.

But here's the weird thing: Juan LeBron even got a Topps baseball card, part of the 1995 Traded set. Only the good folks at Topps goofed and put his face on another Kansas City prospect's card, with that prospect's face winding up on LeBron's. So who was the other guy in the do-si-do? Carlos Beltran. You could look it up.
View Article  Read No Evil

With 161 games remaining, our once-beaten closer has two choices:

* Getting bogged down in his mistake
* Climbing back on his proverbial bike

Yes, it's BONER OR PEDAL for BRADEN LOOPER.

(That's all of them, I promise.)

I'll bet there were some equally stupid things written about the Opener. I'll have to bet because I refused to read any of them.

I don't consider myself a see-no-evil fan -- as opposed to Time Warner subscribers who are see-no-Mets, hear-no-Healy, a mixed bag to be sure -- but on infrequent occasion I will institute a news blackout: no papers. The last time I did that was a couple of days in early November 2001 when I didn't want to be inundated by screaming headlines proclaiming,
MIRACLE YANKEES WIN GAMES, HEAL CITY

O'NEILL OBLITERATES MEMORY OF TRAGEDY

JETER FLIP TO CATCHER CAPTURES OSAMA

GOD PLEDGE: I'LL TRY TO BE MORE LIKE JOE

The last time before that was the Monday after a five-game series the Mets played versus third-place Philadelphia in mid-August 1980. With the Mets coming in a mere 7-1/2 back, I fancied this a showdown crucial to the outcome of what was clearly going to remain a four-team pennant race. By the time the weekend was over, so were the 1980 Mets. They were outscored 40-12, sat eleven back and were in the midst of a spankin' new five-game losing streak.

The Phillies took off and won the World Series, one of many that should have been ours.

That was the summer when I began to make it my business to buy every paper I could and read every word written about the Mets. The Magic was Back, you know, and the more evidence I had of it, the better. But after that sweep, I couldn't stand to be reminded that the Magic was illusory. So no papers that Monday.

And no papers yesterday. I wouldn't even click on one of our many helpful Braintrust links. Your reporting on the reporting by the likes of Bondy and Araton made me glad I saved my quarters and my eyesight.

Generally, though, I'm old-fashioned. I believe in newspapers, physical newsprint, as intrinsic to the baseball experience, win or lose. That kiosk at the end of the 7 extension which occasionally sells Mets (and too often the other kind of New York baseball) merchandise used to be a newsstand. That's romantic. I like the notion that you can buy a paper outside the ballpark. I think every fan should have read at least one paper before coming into the ballpark. I also think there should be all kinds of entrance exams administered to anyone daring to sit in a better seat than me, but that's for another time.

The beat writers do the heavy lifting for people like us (fans, I mean, but bloggers, too). We should give them a little love from time to time to recognize the volume of work they do, but we should also get something beyond the mundane and, worse, uninformed from them.

The other day, for example, Mark Hale in the Post (which I'll only read online or if I find one on the train; their exclusive "Mike Bacsik thinks anybody who has doubts about the Iraq war is an unpatriotic liberal chickenspit" coverage in spring training 2003 was the last of many straws) noted we shouldn't get too excited by what we see on Opening Day, which is fair. After all, he noted, Kaz Matsui hit the first pitch of last season for a home run and it "probably constituted the most dramatic moment of an otherwise bleak campaign."

Yes, Mark. Nothing else remotely as dramatic occurred. There was no near no-hitter by Glavine, no setting of the catcher's home run record, no ninth-inning shot by Piazza to cost Clemens a win, no 1-0 nailbiter over Randy Johnson, no two homers by Zeile to tie and win a game in Philly, no sweep of the Yankees at Shea, no pulling to within a game of first in July, no debut by Wright, no back-and-forth lunacy between the Mets and Giants in San Francisco one very sunny Saturday in August, no Victor Diaz and Craig Brazell ruining the Cubs' season in September, no Toddy Ballgame blast to end Zeile's career on the last day of the season. Sure, it was a lousy year overall, but don't spite us our handful of gems among the dung.

This is the kind of lazy-ass stuff I despise. Every paper is capable of it. There was a passing reference by Lee Jenkins in the Times the other day to the Mets' having lost 90 or more games each of the last three years. It's a real small, futile point but the Mets didn't lose 90 games in 2002; they lost 86, and I'll be damned if I'm giving back four wins then, now or ever. And, though it was corrected the next day, Tommie Agee never spelled his name "Tommy" as the Times had it in a non-sports story last week. How hard is it to get that sort of thing right?

On a day-to-day basis, daily baseball writing is like relief pitching. When it's not chock full of inaccuracies, you're not that likely to notice it unless somebody fills his or her column inches with flair. Seems to me there are fewer and fewer reporters in this town who write baseball with a real style of their own.

One guy who always drove me a little toward distraction but was uncommonly distinctive was Marty Noble of Newsday. The guy covered the Mets regularly, more or less, for about 30 years. Then one day he's not there anymore. He has resurfaced with mlb.com, which certainly upgrades their coverage. Noble was unmatched among his latter-day peers in terms of Mets background and knowledge. That informed his game stories mostly for the better, but he did have a weird way of letting you know who much he knew. If, for example, Glendon Rusch had endured a rough outing, Noble might lead with some pet saying of Jeff Innis' to illustrate the point, the relevancy of the phrase clear only to Noble.

It seems unnecessary and insecure to call attention in that fashion to how much one has immersed oneself in Mets history. Or as Tommy Moore told Lute Barnes after Bob Rauch ordered a particularly well-done steak one night in Pittsburgh, it's certainly something I would never do.