Speechless

I’m speechless, my friends.
 
In over 40 years of watching baseball I never witnessed a player costing his team the game by flubbing a routine pop up.  Every year baseball shows me something I have not yet seen.   I can live without what I just saw.
 
Sitting next to my son, the Yankee fan (how did that happen?) I sensed that K-Rod wanted no part of Mark Texiera.  I endorsed pitching around the torrid slugger.  Especially since A-Rod, who was 1-14 lifetime against his namesake, was waiting on deck. 
 
You could imagine A-Rod gnashing his teeth and grinding the bat down to pulp as he waited his turn.  I even predicted that A-Rod would end the game on a pop-up-to shortstop.  If only we were that lucky.
 
When Luis Castillo started shuffling to his right my heart missed a beat.  The ball was airborne for eons.  When it finally came down, and he failed to squeeze the final out-TWO HANDS, (again lack of fundamentals kill the cause) my heart nearly imploded.
 
I guess it hit him in a bad spot-his glove.
 
What a shame, too.  I felt sorry for David Wright, who had struggled with RISP all year, but doubled in the go-ahead run off of Mariano Rivera and a 8-7 short-lived lead.  And, Frankie Rodriquez for battling the Yankees but coming out on the short end, the first blown save of his Mets career.
 
The Mets invent new ways each game to torture their fan base.  From missing bases, to dropping fly balls, and pop-ups.  I can live without the next incarnation of this black comedy.  Maybe sending the baseball gods a sacrifice (Castillo) might get them off our backs.