Another Day, Another Disgrace

By Jack Flynn
Posted Wednesday, June 18, 2008

The last 24 hours have been particularly illuminating for Mets fans, as the mainstream media has regaled us with numerous tales of an incredibly dysfunctional front office in the wake of manager Willie Randolph’s dismissal. The “full autonomy” that general manager Omar Minaya was promised when he took the job in 2004 seems to have been compromised, a development that no follower of this team should be surprised by.

The picture that has emerged from these reports is that of grown man acting like children in the weeks and months leading up to this decision. These executives undermine the general manager time and time again, with media leaks and surreptitious end-arounds to COO Jeff Wilpon. There’s an old phrase that “too many cooks spoil the broth.” In the executive offices at Shea Stadium, it apparently only takes two – the younger Wilpon and Assistant GM Tony Bernazard. Minaya was knee-capped from above and below the organizational chain of command by people pursuing an anti-Randolph agenda that finally culminated with the disgraceful events that transpired early Tuesday morning.

Minaya was combative throughout yesterday’s press grilling, as he continually engaged in the time-honored tradition of lying to protect your bosses. The media has already seen through the charade – just type the words “Mets” and “disgrace” into any search engine – but Minaya parroted the lies anyway in a lame attempt to explain the inexplicable. Fred Wilpon, of course, repaid Minaya’s loyalty by selling him out, telling ESPN-1050 that the decision to fire Randolph was the general manager’s alone. Sure it was, Fred. Sure it was.

It’s been done to death, so I won’t bore you with another recap, but I will say that Randolph’s richly deserved firing was nevertheless one of the most cowardly and despicable acts in this franchise’s history. It was an open secret that Randolph, pitching coach Rick Peterson and first base coach Tom Nieto were goners – to allow them to get on a plane and fly to California for the pleasure of succumbing to their fates was tasteless. To issue a press release announcing the firings in the dead of the Queens night was tacky beyond belief.

Now, if you thought that Mets fans were disgusted with their team in the wake of the 2007 collapse, the distaste in which the team and its front office is held in today is nearly overwhelming. Make no mistake – this franchise is the laughingstock of the baseball nation today, as respected sportswriters and irreverent bloggers have been lining up side by side to take their shots at the collective ineptitude of Gotham’s National League club.

I suppose you could say it’s the “same old story,” as this franchise has been publicly humiliated countless times in the last 30 years. Of course, nothing is ever the same old story with the Mets, because this is one organization that never fails to find a way to creatively shock and embarrass its own fan base. This surely isn’t the first time that I’ve had to hang my head in shame for being a Mets fan.

So with a nod to Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s classic sonnet, I ask this question – how have the Mets embarrassed me? Let me count the ways …
 

• Terrible trades. I was born five months before Tom Seaver was spitefully shipped off to Cincinnati for a passel of mediocrity. I was a kid when the Mets traded Lenny Dykstra for Juan Samuel. But it seems that trade karma didn’t really turn against the Mets until I was old enough to vote. Since then, I’ve seen Jeff Kent traded for Carlos Baerga and Scott Kazmir dealt for Victor Zambrano, in addition to so many other deals gone wrong. I wasn’t alive when the Mets gave away Nolan Ryan, Ken Singleton and Amos Otis, but I’m embarrassed retroactively whenever I think about it.
• The 2007 Collapse. It was so much more than just blowing the big lead – it was the teams they lost to, in their own building, and the way no one seemed to care until it was too late.
• “Everybody Clap Your Hands!!” *CLAP, CLAP, CLAP, CLAP, CLAP, CLAP, CLAP, CLAP* Really? 25 times a game, at ear-splitting volumes? This endlessly played audio clip rivals only The Most Inappropriate Bugle Call in the National League for the most bush-league aspect of the Shea Stadium experience.
• The “Our Team, Our Time” rap video. I would rather clap my hands 25 times a game then hear that song even once.
• The Art Howe era. An era that was ushered in when Bobby Valentine was given the Julius Caesar treatment by his own players, marked by the inmates continuing to run the asylum. By the time the Howe era was drawing to a close, the players were joined by the front office in the ongoing sabotage of the mercifully deposed manager and general manager.
• The Worst Team Money Could Buy. Firecrackers, bleach, Vince Coleman, Bobby Bonilla, swinging golf clubs, Jeff Torborg …
• Nelson Doubleday’s sweaters. When the revolution comes, it will be rich vs. poor – and I’m going straight for the guy with a pink sweater wrapped around his shoulders.

The Willie Randolph era is mercifully over, even though the end came in typically disgraceful fashion. The events of the past 24 hours will slowly fade into memory, one more sordid chapter in a long history of a franchise that has had more lowlights than high. Perhaps the day will come – most likely after the name “Wilpon” no longer holds weight in the owner’s box – that Mets fans won’t have to fear the next humiliation lurking around the corner.

Jack Flynn likes it when people read what he writes. So go check out Productive Outs and Crackerjack. You'll make him happy.