You ain't seen nothin' Mets

There will be no politics or locking antlers with misguided liberals this evening. Not with Ilsa my dog biting into a glazed pig’s ear.

“CRRRRRRAAAAAAAAACK!” (chomp-chomp-chomp…)

Outside the rain is coming down as steady as the sweep of the second hand on a Rolex watch. It’s January, and in New York it feels like a soggy, bone-chilling March. This winter has been one schizophrenic lion. Considering all the noise the weather has been making in the news, it could be worse.

“Right, Ilsa?”

“CRRRRRRAAAAAAAAACK!” (chomp-chomp-chomp…)

With all that death, destruction and despair out there, both dog and her master are feeling pretty fortunate right now. If you haven’t dug into your pockets and shelled out a few bucks for the South Asian rescue and rehabilitation effort yet, click on “Tsunami relief” under my Previous Posts, select a participating organization and get going. Let’s shame US bashers everywhere with our generosity and good will.

Yes, I know, I said no politics this evening. So how about those Mets? Omar Minaya, the team’s new GM, goes out and gets Pedro Martinez and Carlos Beltran, and suddenly the Mets are beginning to look like the Yankees. At least on paper.

The last time I remember the New York media getting this excited about “that other baseball team” is when it signed big, bad Mo Vaughn. One arthritic left knee and one $15 million paycheck for a missed 2004 season later, and Mo can often be found, when he’s in town, getting lap dances at Scores, courtesy of the New York Metropolitans. Not that I begrudge Mo his lap dances. But big names are just that: big names. The proof is always in the pudding, and let’s just say the Mets have a history of making pretty lousy pudding. I’m confident Beltran will play as advertised this year; he’s only 27. But let’s see Pedro make it to Opening Day healthy, and then show us what he’s got left in that 33-year-old arm. So far, his stats show he’s been keeping pace with the great Sandy Koufax. But Koufax was out of baseball at 32, his dominion over National League hitters ended after a dozen seasons. Can Pedro still deliver at the front end of a pitching rotation, on a New York diamond and under an unforgiving spotlight? Capital questions.

Ilsa has finished her glazed pig’s ear and is sleeping contentedly in her bed. She has the right idea. There’s still 88 days, 23 hours and 45 minutes left until it’s “Play ball!” at Shea. And it’s been a long day.