First off let me say that I hope everyone is having a great Christmas! I know I am. The kids were all pleased with their gifts, I survived the in-laws coming over for breakfast, I bought Chinese food for dinner so my wife wouldn't have to cook, I've won close to $150 playing on-line poker in just half an hour and I plan to put that on a tease on the Bears and the under about an hour from now. Excellent day so far.
So why the heck am I thinking about the Mets on Christmas day?
Well the above image of Santa over at Jaap Stijl's blog caught my eye (plus excellent analysis of where the Mets stand by the way). Just a taste of Jaap for those of you who don't check his blog regularly:
Kenji Johjima might turn out to be a star for the Mariners but with the stumble-studded history the Mets have had with Japanese players, I can’t say anyone deserves a kicking for watching the Mariners sign him. I can’t even eat sushi anymore without the name Kaz Matsui crowding my head like a fat lady in number seven rush hour train.What originally got me thinking about the Mets today though was this piece from the always entertaining Modern Drunkard.
Here's how the author described the trip home from Houston after beating the Astros in the 1986 NLCS:
Some players were already loaded when they boarded. Everyone else (even the straight-laced Gary Carter) got that way quickly. The Scum Bunch was in full frenzy. Players, coaches and various wives and mistresses, careened up and down the aisle toasting, whooping and dancing, while the airline’s crew attempted to serve the special post-win meal of steak and lobster. There was also a large cake with congratulations done in Mets’ blue and orange frosting. It was the first casualty. Moments after its appearance it was put to use as weaponry for what might be the most spectacular food fight in the history of professional sports. People, seats and walls were plastered in gooey frosting, and the party was only ramping up.Meet the Mets indeed!
Darryl Strawberry, who was about as nasty a drunk as you’re likely to find, decided he wanted to lay down, convinced, in his stupor, that the seats turned into couches. They didn’t, but that didn’t stop Straw from breaking a good half-dozen in his attempt to make them lay flat. Rafael Santana peed down the back of Ed Hearn’s shirt. Wives and girlfriends, those who weren’t otherwise involved in topless shenanigans, yarked in seat pockets. The Scum Bunch started up a game of beer-can baseball. Dented cans sailed through the air, foam spraying like geysers. Guys strapped steaks to their feet and went skiing. There were antics that bordered on public fornication. Several players got into fistfights, then made up and drank to each others health. People did things in the restrooms that defied logic and the laws of physics.
Merry Christmas to all and please remember that the Yankees still suck!
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