Yesterday afternoon was wonderful. I enjoyed a great book on my way to a matinee at the Film Forum in Manhattan; a perfect summer day. It was in the evening that things went sour. Coming home my trip that typically takes an hour and 15 minutes wound up taking two and a half hours. The culprit? Flooding north of White Plains, flooding which temporarily washed out miles of track and caused several trains to be cancelled. It brought an unwelcome Old Testament feel to the evening. We took a train to White Plains, then board a school bus that made local stops to Chappaqua where we boarded another train that finished the route.
What's worse than all that time spent in transit? Watching Kaz Ishii pitch against the Phillies. He set down nine of the first 10 batters and entered the fourth inning with an emerging no-hitter. He looked like the good Kaz, the one we see every four or five starts, the one who keeps his walk total down and gives the Mets a chance to win. The wheels came off in the top of the fourth, though. He walked Jason Michaels and he walked Bobby Abreu and, upon seeing an unoccupied base, he decided to complete the set by walking Pat Burrell. The bases loaded, Kaz the Generous thought it time to yield a hit, so he gave up a two-run single to David Bell. It was quite a feat and Crafty Kaz knew it would take a lot to top himself. Then it came to him: serve up a home run. Kaz couldn't manage a grand slam, but the Phillies Chase Utley seemed content to accept a three-run homer. Final tally: two hits, three walks, five runs, one Mets defeat; everybody in Philly's happy.
How does an evening further disintegrate? By admitting that I was at Shea last night, that I waited through a rain delay and paid to watch Ishii's performance. I deserve to be turned into a pillar of salt for witnessing such an atrocity.
Dear Pedro, please ease our suffering.