The Futility Infielder

The 1962 New York Mets are getting a lot of play lately, both for the Detroit Tigers' Alan Trammell-led and untrammeled assault on their monumental total of 120 losses and for the current model of the Metropolitans shaming the Shea Stadium faithful into submission.

ESPN Page 2's Jeff Merron has a tale of the tape comparison between this year's toothless Tigers and the original Not-So-Amazin' Mets, who played baseball as if it were a foreign language -- Stengelese -- which, come to think of it, provides a convenient explanation for everything. Those Mets, of course, have a whole lore at their disposal -- the baserunning and fielding gaffes of Marvelous Marv Throneberry, the short-lived agony of Don (.077) Zimmer, the indignities of Harry Chiti (traded for himself as the player to be named later) and Joe Pignatano (lining into a triple play in his final major league at-bat), and the endless quotability of Casey Stengel. These Tigers have only Mike Maroth and Jeremy Bonderman's chase for 20 losses, Carlos Pena's occasional vaporlock, and the bloated corpse of Bobby Higginson being pencilled into the lineup every day.

The Tigers may top (bottom?) the Mets in losses (they're 40-118 as of Thursday), but they won't come anywhere near the 60.5 game distance from first place that the Mets finished. On the other hand, Detroit is 27.5 games behind the Cleveland Indians, while the Mets finished "only" 24 games behind the Houston Astros. But say this for the Tigers: they haven't quit yet, having just taken two in a row from the Kansas City Royals. Still, in this long season, they're no match for the old Mets. An Orlando Sentinel headline sums up the comparison best: "'62 Mets Were Funny; Tigers just Sad, Bad".

Regarding the comparison of the current Mets to their original counterparts, the hyperbole is thicker and the art direction slicker. But then again, this is New York City, and the current Mets did just shake a 1-16 slide. In today's New York Times, manager Art Howe is depicted on a retro baseball card, along with golden oldies Zimmer and Stengel. Harvey Araton writes:

The re-emergence of the 1962 Mets as a pending news event has had me wishing they could somehow come back to play one series, four of seven, to defend their dishonor, just not against Detroit.

What I've been wondering is whether the current, woebegone Mets of September could even beat their famous ancestors who, after muffing most chances back in '62, have somehow held gamely on to the tag as the worst baseball act of all for 41 inglorious years.

By the weekend, the Tigers could be losers of 121 games and Casey Stengel's team may be downgraded to merely the most inept assemblage of so-called talent in franchise history, although the handful of masochists watching the Mets drop 16 of 17 before Tuesday night might be willing to debate this point.

Araton goes on with a position-by-position comparison of the two Mets teams and concludes that the '62 squad could beat these messy Mets. But his comparison is more than a little disingenuous, as it excludes injured outfielder Cliff Floyd, phenom shortstop Jose Reyes and second baseman Roberto Alomar in favor of reserves and replacement-level callups. On the other hand, what are Roger Cedeño and Timo Perez if not unwitting (and witless) time travellers from that 1962 club?

Say what you will about the flawed blueprint former GM Steve Phillips left the gate with -- overpriced and over-the-hill vets such as Alomar, Tom Glavine, gimpy Mo Vaughn, an expensive middle relief corps. No team could withstand the injuries to their two best hitters (Mike Piazza and Floyd), and a suddenly emerging prospect (Reyes) and come out smelling like roses. Piazza, Alomar, and Glavine will someday be enshrined in the Hall of Fame alongside Stengel and original Met Richie Ashburn, and the rest of this nightmare season will be long forgotten.

As strange as it sounds, I'm actually headed to Shea Stadium tonight on a free ticket, more to spend time with friends I don't usually see than to witness the retirement ceremony for radio announcer Bob Murphy and shovel dirt on this year's squad. If there's something wrong with a meaningless night at the ballpark, I don't want to be right.