The Mets Malocchio

It’s been a while since I last posted with fatherhood taking a great deal of my free time. So let me begin by saying I hope everyone who waited with baited breath for the world to end this weekend enjoyed maxing out their credit cards and cavalierly finding the gumption to tell their bosses off at work; not to mention consumating their affairs with the 20 year family nanny.

All done of course with the set-in-stone realization that the world would blow up like an M80 in an ashcan on May 21st at 6pm. Now that reality and sanity has set in again, I’m sorry to say that some of you are now proud owners of every season of Joanie Loves Chachi on Blu-Ray, unemployed and potentially blacklisted in your line of work and the parent of an illegitimate latino child with suprisingly impressive muscular definition.

I guess I should have said you’re “Terminated” but that would be excessive and cheap of me. If you didn’t know better you’d say that you’ve been cursed.

As Mets fans, as much as I abhor the notion that lady luck hasn’t always been on our side – nevermind that the ’86 Postseason showed us that at times luck was ALL we had on our side, I can’t help but wonder if we need to start sacrificing a bucket of KFC to the mighty Jobu just to earn some of that good Karma back?

Italians like to call it the Malocchio – with the symbol being the devil horns – basically it’s the idea that someone has it in for us and has put on quite the spell. It’s hard not to go down that road even though there are some really logical reasons that bad luck isn’t the reason the Mets are as mediocre as they are – The Coop points out quiet well.

But sometimes I – and I’m sure many other Met fans – wonder when the other shoe is about to fall off or in the Mets case, when the spikes will get caught in seemingly perfect infield dirt resulting in a career ending tear of one’s MCL. Some of you are cursing me just for coming up with that evil yet almost perfectly accurate potential Met scenario.

The first place I look at is this teams’ propensity to get hurt. The logical side of me says when you have an older team, injuries will happen. The paranoid, black helicopters are descending onto my lawn because I downloaded The Hangover II over the net this weekend ( THE WORLD WAS ENDING PEOPLE) says explain Mejia, explain Santana, explain how Donald Trump gets his hair to look the same way each morning.

It’s not like we have a twenty something who dives for a ball to make an out and subsequently cracks his back. It’s not like we spend 66 million on a slugger who the year previous to his wearing the orange and blue is named an All-Star, hitting over 30 homers and driving in well over a hundred, all the while replacing a local icon quite seemlessly. Injury isn’t the only bug that bites this team on occasion.

It’s not like we trade for a perennial All-Star, future Hall of Famer, who the year prior to his taking on the orange and blue hits .336 with 20 homers a hundred ribbies and comes 4th in the league in MVP voting. It’s not like we give up on a flame throwing right handed starter and deal him for the vast array of talents that Jim Fregosi brought to the table in his time in Queens.

It’s not like we publicly downplay the talents of the greatest power hitter the team has ever had and all but buy his first class ticket back to his howmtown of L.A., for what, to save a buck? Some posterior kissing should have taken place then shouldn’t it?

It’s not like we have a owner who uses the press as his own personal therapist, making public gripes about his players – his marquee players no less who for better or worse put asses in Citifiled’s seats – pointing out in a suspicioulsy indirect way why he most likely will not re-sign some of them.

Why one of them is smply just good – yet ironically if that ‘good’ player were to be traded I’m sure his ‘good’ numbers of .285+ 30 homers and hundred RBI’s each year would be sorely missed.

At what point do we as fans just sit back and say WTF already this team? Should it be this much of an ordeal to get our collective s..t together? I think of the old axiom 3 steps forward 2 steps back when it comes to the Mets. Just when Collins finally got this group playing as a team, this nonsense coming from ownereship comes out.

When Alderson picked up the papers this morning I’m sure even HE rolled his eyes at the comments his boss made. Nothing like having your hands tied by your boss then asked to take the public fall for the repurcussions. San Diego is looking better and better each day isn’t it Sandy?

If of course Fred Wilpon’s words were code for making wholesale changes then chew on this – what guarantee’s the Mets a good return if they trade Reyes, Wright or even Beltran? We’ve been on the great, albeit lucky side of many trades. Think Keith Hernandez for Neil Allen and Rick Ownby. Think Preston Wilson, Ed Yarnall and Geoff Goetz for Mike Piazza. Think Carlos Gomez, Kevin Mulvey, Phil Humber and Deolis Guerra for Johan Santana.

Buddists say that Karma is essentially: Any kind of intentional action whether mental, verbal, or physical. It covers all that is included in the phrase “thought, word and deed”. Generally speaking, all good and bad action constitutes Karma. In its ultimate sense Karma means all moral and immoral volition.

Not to be a crapehanger but dealing Reyes, Wright and Beltran would be testing the limits of the Mets good trade Karma as of late. Nothing like dealing the faces of your franchise for the next Jim Fregosi to earn that loving loyal fan support. Can’t we just have a player or two, from our minors who’s made good, stick with us for the majority of their careers? Do we HAVE to watch them win a championship with Boston, or the Yankees?

I don’t know about you but if I were the clubhouse manager for the Mets – instead of tempting fate with the IRS – I’d be handing these out to the players – if Willie “Mays” Hayes can kiss a snake and Wade Boggs eat chicken before every game, David Wright can carry the horns. At this point it can’t hurt.

About Joe Spector 86 Articles
I'm just your regular Joe. Staff writer @ Happily married and a father to a baby girl. I attended my first Met game at the ripe old age of 3 where my father scored a foul ball and had it signed by Lee Mazzilli, Joe Torre and Joe Pignataro. It was my Holy Grail - 'till I buried it in the backyard. I have my own website where you can read my drivel at your leisure @