Springtime Depression Vol. 2: My Entire Team's Sore

Earlier in the year I spilled my heart to readers about the emotional trauma the New York Rangers were going to put me through. Every year it's some type of roller coaster usually ending in me and my friends sitting around a coffee table littered with empty twisted teas and talking about where it all went wrong. And it looks like we could be close to seeing all of my premonitions come true. Rangers used a heroic effort to turn around their first round series against the Canadiens, but now face a 2-0 deficit against the Ottawa Senators after losing in the most disheartening ways possible: a come from behind OT loss, and a last minute flukey goal that I can only see as a personal act by God to break my spirit. However, this second edition of the springtime depression NY fans face is not about the Rangers at all. It's about my New York Metsies.

I don't know if any of you studied the Bubonic Plague in grade school but it was one of the most devastating things ever to happen to mankind. One by one, people suffered from brutal physical decay and died slow miserable deaths. No one was safe, and entire families and communities were wiped out virtually overnight.

The Mets 2015-16 season went something like that. Coming off of their first World Series appearance since 2000 (Bankees can kick rocks) the year before, they were poised for another World Series campaign with what looked like a great shot at the title. A loaded poker deck for a pitching rotation with 5 aces (card game pun snaps), Yo CesPEDes coming back, and other hot bats like super cute Mikey Conforto (no homo but he's a stud), Cabrera and Reyes, Lucas Duda Duda Duda Duda Rockin' Everywhere, Jay 'Average Looking Dad' Bruce, Grandyman, etc. etc. The sky was the limit.

Then the good lord said unto me "Ye, Tony, I really don't f*ck with you at all, so I shall smite thee and ruin all hopes of the pennant". And the Hudson River ran red, and a plague descended down upon the borough of Queens.

That stud pitching rotation fell victim to the Black Death first. Harvey, Matz, DeGrom, Lugo, Wheeler, Edgin, all dead. Then those infected fleas went on to all the hot bats. Wright (bless his poor soul), Flores, Lagares, Walker, D'arnaud, Cabrera, Cespedes, etc. all missed significant time at some point. I don't want to count this list I'm reading but the Mets placed 15 or so different names on the disabled list over the course of the season, with some significant names like Harvey having season ending surgeries.

And yet, just like with the Rangers the roller coaster started to ascend back up into the blind hope stage. The Mets battled through the injuries to qualify for a wildcard game, ultimately losing to the most intimidating human named Madison ever. Stupid idiots like myself walked out thinking, "you know what? just watch. we'll come back healthy next year and it's ours". Fall roared by and the rehabbing players started to get back to themselves. The Mets, just to get our hopes up, posted picture after picture on social media of our guys back, playing, smiling, and talking about coming back strong.

Fast forward a few months and here we are. With the Mets sitting in last place, 6 games back of the first place team. And that would be fine to any fan of any normal organization. 6 games is nothing. But let's talk about what else is going on, and why this might as well be the beginning of a plague of heaven sent locusts.

THE Noah Syndergaard exited his game almost immediately on Sunday, and an MRI the following day showed he partially tore his lat (I took anatomy and physiology in college, and I have no idea how one does that. But I guess maybe throwing a baseball triple digit miles per hour is a start). Matz, out indefinitely with elbow irritation. Seth Lugo tore something else. CesPEDes isn't drinking enough Pedialyte to counter his secret stuff and is pulling more hams than a southern bbq joint. Poor David Wright is the humpty dumpty of the MLB, and no one in the organization can put him back together again. The list of nagging health issues with this team is equally depressing as it is infuriating.

@Mets, WHO the hell is in charge of your athletic training staff? I took a sports statistics class once, and there is absolutely NO shot in hell that this many Tommy John surgeries, or injuries with the terms "nagging" "tired" "sore" get used so much by one team unless their team doctors are indigenous African Bushmen. I guarantee if my mom took over the head AT job, and all she had was a box of band-aids, a container of Bengay, a book of handy compliments, and one single ace bandage, none of this would ever happen. Actually forget that, I bet if the head AT was just a really friendly Labrador that licked everyone's cuts clean, cuddled with the team, and wore a cute little baseball cap to keep morale high, we'd have won the World Series by now.

All jokes aside it really makes less than zero sense. There was even footage of CesPEDes tweaking his hammy in a pregame warm up, and you guys let him play, and then HE INJURED IT in that same game! And now our best offensive player is sitting right there on the DL, with our best pitcher Noah of course.

It's vomit inducing to think that after all the Dark Ages the Mets have gone through, they finally have all of the talent needed to go all the way and they won't because of incompetent (vocab snaps) medical staff. It's like finally getting to go to the prom with the girl of your dreams, but your Dad's 92 Civic won't start and now she's crying in her dress on the Taconic because all her friends are there already and you know any chance you had is completely gone. No, it's like cramming three days straight for a major final only to get there and realize that you didn't bring a pencil and it's a scantron of course. I don't even think any of these analogies capture it correctly but I'm frustrated and I hope you get the point.

But before I go completely insane thinking about this, I've got to remind myself that this roller coaster is only just beginning it's ride. And I'm sure it'll go back up again before ultimately plummeting me down into a deep state of misery. The 30 game mark in baseball is nothing, and I could be (fingers crossed) completely wrong about what this season is going to be like. We could even be great (doubt it) once things fall back into place and September approaches. But until then, here's a nostalgic GIF of a happy champagne-soaked David Wright to get you through the misery. Let's go Rangers.