Divine Intervention

I am a voracious New York Mets fan. I have loved them since I was 9 years old. I remember during the 1986 World Series my brother Eric, a Red Sox fan, and I were not allowed to stay up and watch the World Series games in their entirety. My mom made no exception to our bedtimes. Unfortunately, school took precedence over baseball bragging rights. Every morning Eric and I would run down the stairs from our bedrooms and race over to where the newspaper was neatly placed on top of the stereo speaker in the living room. Adrenaline was pumping through our veins. We had to read that precious note our dad left for us stating the winner of the game. The morning after Game 7 of the World Series, my heart skipped a beat when I read, in my dad's distinct hand writing, that the Mets won. Poor Eric experienced devastating heartbreak. At that time, I did not care that Eric's Red Sox had not won a World Series in 68 years. My Mets won. What a glorious moment.

Unfortunately, those moments do not happen that often. In order to be a Mets fan, you have grown tough skin to deal with successive losing seasons. You are prepared to concede that the Mets are out of the race for the playoffs on June 1st each year. You tell yourself that there is always next year, even though you know within the deep chambers of your heart that this sentiment is a temporary band-aid that will be ripped off upon the delivery of the first pitch on Opening Day. In recent years, the Mets have taken the baton from the Boston Red Sox and are now known as the team who was poised to make the playoffs until September 1st arrived. Yes, the dreaded September meltdown. Last year, they fell apart in July. So far this year, the meltdown appears to have started in Spring Training.

Unfortunately, Mets fans cannot rely on the "knowledge" and "expertise" of the front office to put together a winning team. Instead of identifying that they are the real problem, these masterminds continuously fire decent managers (although I would not flatter Bobby Valentine with this title), postpone necessary medical treatment for star players long enough until their recovery time might lapse into the upcoming season, and build a new stadium that improves the batting averages of opponents and hinders their core players. Oh, and remember that no quality pitcher willingly wants to sign with the Mets because the ivory tower undoubtedly will mishandle them. God Bless Johan Santana. If any of these decisions make sense to you, please explain them to me.

I am no longer going to wait patiently for upper management to get their heads out of the sand and produce a winning team. Instead, I have decided that the only way the Mets will even survive this season is with simple divine intervention. Prior to Opening Day, I decided to conduct a season long experiment. Each day that the Mets have a game, I will pray one decade of the Rosary to them. My husband was, and still is not, a big proponent of my idea. After all, there are many other important things for which to pray. However, I still pray for a variety of other things while I say the Rosary-my family, my friends, my cats, my business and world peace, just to name a few. In my opinion, the Mets are in that realm of importance.

Currently the Mets have a 3-6 record. I have prayed a decade of the rosary only once thus far. That happened on Opening Day when the Mets beat the Florida Marlins 7-1. How the Mets pulled out the other two wins is anyone's guess. As of this post I am committing myself wholeheartedly to my experiment. Granted, I may forget a day here and there. However, I am curious to see at the end of the season (after I concede on June 1st as usual) where they will be in the standings. I'll keep you posted.