The split-squad Mets fell to pieces today. 9-0 loss in Fort Lauderdale to Baltimore. 13-1 drubbing by Washington at St. Lucie. Everywhere you looked, the Mets were out in farce.

Sele got rocked.
Park got rocked.
Sosa got rocked.

After Lima, can we stop with the four-letter pitchers? (It's been ten springs since Rick Reed made himself gloriously apparent.)

Maybe it's just as well that the journeymen hurl to their notices and thus can be told to hit the road. Except it seems we're not so deep we can dismiss every second-rater we've invited to camp.

Yes, it's still just Spring Training. But as encouraging as Maine, Perez and Pelfrey are, there's a real hole at the back end of the bullpen, and in this six-inning world, that's no small detail. Smith wasn't so hot today and Burgos was ice cold last night. And we're still not hitting with any kind of consistency.

A composite of 22-1 today on top of blowing a 4-0 last night...all to projected lousy teams. It doesn't matter on paper, but I was just getting used to assuming we were good for the long haul.

I know we long-timers like to pat ourselves on the back for having stuck with the Mets through all that dreadful thin so we can revel in the relatively recent thick, but I don't want to start earning grief miles again. I want thick and I want it to stick. That's not a scouting report so much as a panicky tantrum. Gads, don't turn this into another [insert season that was supposed to be good but wasn't; we have several from which to choose]. I can't go back.

I can, of course, but I'd really prefer to avoid that trip for a decade or two.