Mets 3, Satans 2 (10) and Mets 5, Dodgers 2

At first I was all

Then I was all

It's something all of us Mets fans have been fearing in the deepest recesses of our feeble minds, the ultimate worst-case scenario that seemed to be the only thing that could stop a Met from winning the MVP award for the first time in history,  but preemptive dread didn't take the sting out of hearing that Jose Reyes had left Saturday's game with a hamstring injury, allowing local fuckfaces Tim McCarver and Joe Buck to bring up the old tired injury-prone business.  I barely heard them, though.  In my head, the A-bombs were already going off:  

Well, this season is over, soon they'll be six games under .500, 12 back in the Wild Card, and then it'll be 'So long Beltran' and 'So long K-Rod' and it'll be another August where I need to force myself to actually watch the Mets, like eating my vegetables or something, and the days of 52 runs in four games will be over, and we'll be back to 52 games with four runs and I've seen the last game that Reyes will ever play with the Mets because the Mets doctors are a bunch of clownbabies and somehow he'll tear the hamstring completely when he's trying to test it and while he's wallowing on the ground, his thyroid will explode again, but all of that will be but a memory when he signs with Philadelphia in the off-season, and then I'll have COMPLICATED FEELINGS when he starts the ASG at Citi Field in 2013 wearing the candy cane uniforms and Oh God that's going to happen, isn't it please God no.

Seriously, this is what was going through my head at a FOURTH OF JULY BARBECUE for God's sake, with sunny weather, an awesome pool with a diving board and food and drink beyond compare.  It should have been a perfect day, but it was the dead of winter in my mind and Jesus Christ I can't believe I got suckered into this crap all again.  Even worse was reading my Facebook feed and the gloating of the miserable Yankee fans I choose to associate with.  I'm surprised they knew that the Yankees play baseball BEFORE October.  

Then, on Sunday, a miracle.    

On a day when the team could be excused for looking a little shell shocked, and R.A. Dickey leaving the game early, they fought back with two outs, down to their last strike twice, against the greatest closer in history, led by hitting legends Jason Bay, Lucas Duda and Ronny Paulino.  Equally gratifying was Rodriguez's two scoreless innings and Bay coming through with the game-winner to salvage the series, and my hopes.  Even having lost the series, I was still feeling like running through the streets of Seaside Park, "Reyes' injury is minor, and he's the All-Star starter!  Mets beat Rivera!  Gary Carter is feeling better!  Happy 4th of July, you old Building and Loan!"

Oh and then they went and won the first game of their usually season-crushing West Coast trip after being held hitless for five innings, so that's good.  In this critical 23-game stretch where they have faced/will face all six of the first place teams in the Majors, the Mets are 6-4 so far, which isn't perfect, but certainly beats the alternative, particularly with the team wisely treating Reyes with kid gloves this week.  

Oh and the schedule maker who put together three in Texas, followed by three in Detroit, followed by a trip home to play the Yankees, and then right back out to LA and San Francisco can go fuck themselves.