Keeping track of 2007's blessings -- and turkeys, too

I love Thanksgiving.

I realize the Lord has blessed me in many, many ways both large and small, and too often I forget to take a moment and express gratitude.

I have my health, an awesome family, 20 years of marriage, a job I love and a baseball team that was in it until the last day of the season.

So I like to use this day to pause and reflect on those things and the many, many others that make my life full.

And naturally, you can’t have Thanksgiving without turkeys, and there were plenty to try to spoil the fun in 2007. We need to keep track of them as well.

Speaking of turkey, this year I’m making one with an awesome maple glaze that was in my Rachael Ray magazine, proof to all that I get it for the articles.

So, before the balloons start making their way to Herald Square, here is the 2007 edition of things to be thankful for – and turkeys, too.


I’M THANKFUL FOR: David Wright. Let’s run down the list of accolades. Starting third baseman in the All-Star Game, Silver Slugger. Gold Glove. And you just know he deserved the MVP, too. Wright was a monster down the stretch when the Mets needed him most. Sadly, he coudn’t do it all by himself. They made a statue of Wright for Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum because darn it, you can’t have enough of him.

TURKEY: You know Derek F. Jeter is going to be on this list. The only question what did Mr. Yankee do this year to bring shame and disgrace to the baseball world and all of New York. This time, Derek allegedly hurt little kids and sick, elderly and poor people. DFJ claims to be a resident of Florida, where there is no state income tax. But New York’s Division of Taxation of Finance claims Jeter was more of a New York resident in 2001 through 2003 despite what he claims and could owe millions of dollars in back taxes. Taxes, I might add, that pay for things like schools, roads and medical care for the poor.

Nice, Derek. How many sick people went untreated because you couldn’t be bothered to pay your fair share?

I figure Derek owes dues to the actors union, too, after that performance where he caught the ball, kept running and jumped into the stands as if he was making some heroic diving catch.

I’M THANKFUL FOR: Tom Glavine getting career win No. 300 as a Met. We haven’t had too many players getting neat milestones while wearing our uniform. Lenny Harris’ career pinch-hit record is kind of cool, be we’ve missed on guys getting the big numbers that people celebrate, your basic 500 home runs, 3,000 hits and 300 wins.

Then again, Glavine has never been too close to our hearts, so it probably figured that he’d reach 300 on the road in Chicago instead of before semi-adoring fans at Shea.

TURKEY: Of course, those fans won't be even semi-adoring next time Glavine rolls into Shea. And that's because he's has been exposed as a saboteur — Will branded him a Glavateur — who snuck across enemy lines pretending to be one of us for five years. Then when we absolutely needed him to be halfway decent — and just halfway decent — to salvage a season he went and coughed up 7 runs and couldn’t get out of the first inning against the lowly Marlins.

At least with Chipper “Bleeping Jones,” we know where he stands. We know he plans to do us in. Sneaky Glavine was allowed to infiltrate and took us down at the worst possible moment. Now he scampers back to Atlanta where he will be greeted like a hero.

TURKEY: Speaking of Chipper “Bleeping” Jones. A bitter, cranky and shameless Chipper, it seems, told the Atlanta Journal-Constitution he was “shocked” that Wright won the Gold Glove.

“I wouldn’t have been disappointed had someone like (Pedro) Feliz or (Aramis) Ramirez won it,” Jones said. “I’m a little confused by the final tally — that’s a head-scratcher for me.”

When asked if he thought Wright’s offense prowess got him the defensive award, Chipper said “Then (Miguel) Cabrera should have won it, if that were the case.” “When I find out [Wright won] I was speechless, for quite some time. Certainly the guys with the least amount of errors and best fielding percentage quite obviously didn’t win it.”

Yeah, and some guys win an MVP Award because they had one hot series against the Mets.


I’M THANKFUL FOR: The University of Missouri’s magical football season. I never once witnessed Mizzou win a home football game in the entire time I was enrolled there. In fact, it was considered a good season back then when the team could break 20 points against Nebraska. Not win the game, mind you, just break 20 points.

I keep waiting for the team to collapse, and it just hasn’t happened. I don’t think Missouri has ever sniffed a national championship before, certainly not in the BCS era, so we’ll enjoy this.

TURKEYS: The Jets. There is a reason I don’t get too emotionally vested in the NFL. Apparently “Mangenius” isn’t the sharpest guy out there after all. No playoffs for our J-E-T-S this year. On the bright side, we exposed the Patriots for being video-taping cheaters and we still have the best uniforms in all of football.

The mighty Grand River is wide, but not very deep, making it a good home to turtles and possible beavers.


I’M THANKFUL FOR: Kayak Version 2.0. I’m the least outdoorsy person you know. My idea of roughing it is staying at a Hampton Inn that doesn’t have a breakfast bar featuring a waffle machine, and I don’t like roughing it.

But I am completely enamored of my 10-foot kayak, which I launch into the mighty Grand River near my home.

There’s just something cool about paddling out there through the woods, seeing all sorts of wildlife. There are lots of turtles sunning themselves on logs and at least three big brown things I assume to be beavers. Hey, it’s not like they’re standing still with name tags, like at the museum.

TURKEYS: People on jet skis and in canoes, plus Kayak Version 1.0, otherwise known as the Ky-tanic. Nothing shatters the peace and scatters the turtles and brown things I assume to be beavers like doofs roaring down the mighty Grand in their jet skis. On the bright side, you can hear them coming from behind a mile away so you can prepare for the wake that will jostle us quieter river-users. Then you have people in canoes, who, while not noisy, are unfriendly and smirking, especially the ones I encountered in Kayak Version 1.0 as it appeared to be folding in half and sinking. And memo to sporting goods salespeople: The posted weight limit on small kayaks is not a suggestion.

I’M THANKFUL FOR: The Crane Pool Forum. It’s a spot on the Web where Mets fan gather to discuss our favorite baseball team and pretty much everything else. As games are being played, the CPF gang follows along, commenting on every at-bat. Since I can’t get to Shea, this is as close as I can get to watching a game with friends. It’s also neat that some of the posters are the folks behind some of the best Mets sites out there, like Faith and Fear in Flushing and the Ultimate Mets Database.


TURKEY: Alex Rodriguez, now to be called Gobble GobbleRod. Sadly, the CPF gang was force to spend time speculating whether the Saddest Yankee would be a fit on the Mets after he opted out of his mega-contract. Of course, he went to the only team stupid enough to roll out $275 million for a player, and that would be the team he just opted away from. At least the headline writers at the New York Post will be happy.

I’M THANKFUL FOR: The heck with Yankees, let’s talk about John Maine! When the Mets needed a win to stay alive in the next-to-last game of the season, Maine went out and darn near threw the team’s first no-hitter, taking a gem into the eighth inning and losing it on a lame infield squibbler. He piled up 15 wins with a 3.90 ERA, a breakout year for a guy we thought was a throw-in in the deal that sent Kris Benson and he wife to the Orioles.

So there you go. May you enjoy the holiday, realize the many blessings in your life and look forward to the year ahead.

Bad Mets fan v. Bad Yankees fan

Misbehaving fans of both New York teams have been in the news lately. I think the level of activity reflects on the teams themselves.

All information included here comes from Associated Press articles posted on news Web sites. Let’s review.

Bad Mets fan: Frank Martinez of the Bronx

Misbehavior: Shining a powerful flashlight into the faces of two Braves players during a game at Shea.

Bad Yankees fan: Mohammed Junaid Babar, formerly of Queens, now a London resident.

Misbehavior: Ran training camps in Pakistan for Islamic militants and nurtured a generation of homegrown British terrorists.

Oh my. Where to begin.

OK, first of all, I’m not branding Babar a Yankee fan. Apparently he confessed. AP describes him as "The slightly built Yankees fan." AP tends not to identify team affiliation, so this guy must have been one of those over-the-top Yankee freaks ticked off that his court appearance conflicted with his daily dose of "Mike and the Mad Dog."

Apparently when he wasn’t running about espousing Derek F. Jeter’s "intangibles" and booing Arod, Babar testified in a British court that he filled his days by getting involved with plots to assassinate Pakistan’s president.

While AP doesn’t mention the obligatory shrine to Paul O’Neill found in the house of every Yankee family, it does indicate that a "kitchen spice rack was packed with jars of chemicals, and aluminum powder and fertilizer for making bombs were stuffed in a bedroom cupboard. The backyard was a makeshift firing range, Babar testified. Buried close by was a cache of AK-47 rifles, grenades and ammunition. Plus, a Jason Giambi bobble head."

OK, I made up the part about the bobble head, but you just know he has one.

Look, I get it. You hang with the Yankees long enough and it’s going to mess with your mind. You start out thinking you are entitled to all the best free agents, then you think the World Series could be canceled if the Yanks aren’t involved "Because who is going to give a damn unless da Bombers are there?"

Next thing you know you’re joining Mike Francessa in a tirade because some Shea sound tech plays "Enter Sandman" when Billy Wagner walks out of the bullpen, a song that despite being written and performed by Metallica is apparently owned by Yankees closer/cyborg Mariano "Slayed by Scutaro" Rivera.

Clearly, the logical next step is to allegedly turn your house into a camp for militant extremists. Like I said, I get it.

Then we have our mischievous Mr. Martinez. who this week was sentenced to 15 days in the pokey and banned from Mets home games for the next three years.

Martinez was apparently distraught that the Mets were down 7-0 to the Braves on April 20, and thought he might stop the bleeding and allow our boys to catch up.

I see him working.

The difference is that most of us would have let loose with a "Chippppppeeerrrrrr! You suuuuucccckkkk" to lower the self-esteem of the Met-killing third-baseman, then head back to the concession stand for a lukewarm knish and a Diet Pepsi in a cool souvenir cup, confident that D-Wright and Jose will take care of business while Chipper is wallowing in the realization that he does indeed suck.

Our man Frank, however, lost faith in our assorted Carloses and opted to waste perfectly good seats behind home plate to shine his beam into the eyes of Braves pitcher Tim Hudson and shortstop Edgar Renter. He no doubt shined the light in Chipper’s eyes, too, but he couldn’t see it through his tears of shame.

Frank. Dude. I believe the rally cry is "You Gotta Believe" and not "You gotta blind the Braves." Let Willie and the guys take care of business. They don't need your help.

Still, a guess I prefer a guy who is a wee bit overzealous to a guy who apparently takes the name "Bronx Bombers" literally.

Booing Chipper and other responsibilities

If you are going to wear a jersey, do it properly!

Bill Simmons, ESPN’s Sports Guy, recently posted what he said are the only responsibilities for baseball fans.

Not bad. But not that good, either.

Here’s what Bill had to say:

“You only have eight responsibilities during a baseball game: Take your hat off for the National Anthem; don't take your shirt off; don't bring your baseball glove if you're over 13; don't wear a jersey with your own name on it; don't run onto the field; don't reach into the field of play to grab a pop-up or ground ball if it could adversely affect your team; don't boo one of your own players unless it's absolutely warranted; and don't throw up. That's it. Everything else is up to you.”

Bill got some things right, some things wrong and left out some things that must be said. Let’s break this down:

1) Take your hat off for the National Anthem.

Well, that’s just a given. I took my 9-year-old daughter to a West Michigan Whitecaps game on Sunday, looked over during the anthem and there she was, standing at attention with her cap over her heart. Sometimes a parent needs to be reassured that he’s doing some things correctly.

2) Don’t take your shirt off.

Another given. We were sitting in the Tiger Stadium bleachers one year and a guy took off his shirt and exposed a back that was so hairy it looked like was wearing a bearskin tank top. The entire centerfield bleachers started chanting “Shave your back!” Don’t let that happen to you.

3) Don’t bring your baseball glove if you are over 13.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Ideally, you are getting there early enough for batting practice, and it’s fun to hang out in the outfield sections and catch the homers.

4) Don’t wear a jersey with your own name on it.

I have mixed emotions about this. I work around it by having some jerseys of players named Murray. And yes, it was a very happy day when Eddie Murray signed with the Mets, and it wasn’t just for his playing ability. I also have a game-worn jersey from Matt Murray, who had a cup of coffee with the Braves. I also have a couple jerseys with teams that don’t put names on the backs, which allows me to avoid the whole debate. There are actually more rules for jerseys, which we’ll get to later.

In any place other than Hollywood, Drew would have been tackled, cuffed and pepper-sprayed.

5) Don’t run on the field.

No kidding. There’s no better way to demonstrate to the whole world that you are both drunk and an idiot. And the most unrealistic scene in “Fever Pitch” is when Drew Barrymore drops down out of “the triangle” at Fenway and eludes security to run across the field all the way to the box seats, where she is allowed to have a conversation with Jimmy Fallon. No woman that pretty would be seen with a goofball like Jimmy Fallon. Oh, and security would have pounced on her butt within 10 steps.

6) Don't reach into the field of play to grab a pop-up or ground ball if it could adversely affect your team.

Another no-brainer. There’s a reason Steve Bartman lives in seclusion. The only place where such people are not vilified is Yankee Stadium, where a guy like Jeffery Maier becomes a folk hero. That speaks volumes.

7) Don't boo one of your own players unless it's absolutely warranted.

This will stir some controversy, but I have to agree. I’m just not much of a booer in general, especially of our own. We as fans need to supportive. I do not for the life of me understand the people booing Carlos Beltran in that opening series. That said, I would have booed Billy Wagner on Saturday. But I cheered him wildly on Sunday.

8) Don’t throw up.

And don’t die in the seat in front of me, either. I know what I'm talking about. Dead Cubs fan in my lap.

Clearly, Simmons rattled these off in a hurry because he forgot some things. Here are eight more.

1) Get a program, keep score.

It’s a fun way to keep in the game. Plus, you don’t have to rely on the scoreboard to tell you who is having a good day. And do it in pencil. We used to pencil in a “K” every time Rob Deer started walking out of the on-deck circle. But occasionally Rob would surprise us – we’d need a backward K instead of a swinging K. You want your book to be neat.

2) Boo Chipper Jones, Derek Jeter and Roger Clemens every time, use discretion for everyone else.

For those first three, it’s just the right thing to do. For anyone else, be selective. You want your boos to mean something. It’s best to greet someone like ARod or Sheffield with indifference or silence. It’s more damaging to their egos. Mess with their heads.

3) Heckle no one.

You are not funny. OK, Metstradamus is funny. But the rest of you are not. And when you are drunk, you are even less funny. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard someone yell something that was actually decent. And most drunken hecklers can’t come up with anything more creative than “Chipper, you suck!” Well, we already knows that and so does he. That just makes you loud and annoying. Most of these people are just trying to call attention to themselves, and they are just a shade less offensive than Drew Barrymore and the other morons who run on the field.

4) If you’re going to wear a jersey, wear a proper one.

I’m a stickler. You’ve got to have the real thing. I know they’re expensive, but so are the cheesy replicas. If you’re going to spend that much, then go all the way. Then, if you are going to have numbers and letters on your jersey, make sure it is the authentic lettering. Nothing makes me sadder than to see a proper jersey with the wrong lettering. Then, if your team doesn’t use names on the back, don’t you go putting a name on there. One way to tell the stupid Yankee fans from the really, really stupid Yankee fans is to find the ones with “JETER” across the backs of their jerseys. I’m a jersey guy, which is very different from a Jersey guy. We’re like a cult. When jersey guys see other jersey guys with a properly lettered authentic, we tip our caps.

Yet another way to tell if a Yankee fan is stupid.

5) Do not yell “balk” when a pitcher fakes a pick-off to second.

The balk rule is so complex that then only people who understand it are the umpires, some of the managers and a handful of the players. You do not. My buddy John used to say that anytime someone yells “balk,” they need to be escorted out of the stadium, read the rule and not be allowed back until they can prove they understand it.

6) If you catch a foul ball, you do not have to give it to a kid.

Kids an get their own damn ball. But if you trample a kid or senior citizen to get the ball, you are a loser. And when you catch a ball, do not hold it up so you can be on television. No one cares.

7) If you catch an opposing team's home run ball, you do not have to throw it back.

Throwing such a ball back on the field is like declaring "I am drunk and stupid." Note that people who didn't catch a ball are the ones telling you to throw it back. My buddy Will notes that if he ever catches a home run ball, and you see it thrown on the field, look closely and notice that his hand will still be attached to it.

8) Do not for any reason leave a game early.

One of the many reasons why baseball is the best game is that no game is over until it really is over. Yogi knew exactly what he was saying. The only joyful thing about Saturday’s debacle was that countless stupid Yankee fans missed the comeback because they had already headed to their cars. And even on a horrible, rainy night, something magical can happen.

There you go! Let me know if you think I missed anything.

In other words...

Greg's recent take on Mike and the Mad Dog taking over the Mets radio booth is perfect! And while he's joking, you can imagine those two knuckleheads exactly saying the things Greg attributes to them. You can read it here.

Chipper Jones, squirrels and the hopes of spring

One of the joys of living in suburbia is that furry little forest friends sometimes make their way into the backyard for us to observe and enjoy.

The downside is that their friends — the varmints — think they, too, are entitled to the same privileges. This has sparked an epic battle.

It all started when I bought a little bird feeder that attached to pole mounted on the railing on my deck. It was fun to watch cardinals, blue jays and other baseball team mascots fly in for a treat.

That lasted until the squirrels and their larger sidekicks, raccoons, discovered the feeder. They would belly up the feeder and completely drain the thing.

It was like bringing a plate of chocolate chip cookies down to the Mets dugout, see David Wright smacking his lips while reaching for the plate then watching Chipper "Freaking" Jones run up, grab the plate and tear into the stack like the Cookie Monster wearing an offensive Indian logo.

Our first efforts at deterring the plunders were not productive. My ever-vigilant daughter would report when a squirrel was stuffing his cheeks and I’d run to the sliding door yelling about how bad things would happen should they not scram.

Then I discovered new ammunition: "Pepper Treat" by Wild Bird Products. It’s bird seed liberally dusted with ultra-hot cayenne pepper powder.

According to the company, birds can’t taste the fiery spice. Squirrels and other mammals can, however, and one bite would send then tearing off into the woods never to darken my feeder again.

Chipper, the cookie-thieving Met-killer.

I filled the feeder then stood in hiding at my kitchen window.

Before long a little gray squirrel jumped up from the rail to the feeder and started eating like it was sample day at Costco. It only took a few seconds. The thief jumped away then started running around in circles on my deck before scampering off into the woods, probably searching for a glass of water to cool the fire.

Meanwhile, I was inside doing the patented "Yes! Yes!" dance declaring victory over all varmints except moles, whom I remain locked in another epic battle.

The Reagan-era mantra of peace through strength has kept the plunderers at bay for several years now, allowing me to get all worked up about other intruders, mainly the woodchuck that took up residence under our sunroom. I even became cocky, mixing in less expensive seed with the pepper-laced seed in a big Rubbermaid bin to spread it out a little.

But revenge for the squirrels came this week.

Usually I scoop the seed with a plastic cup then pour it into the feeder. But it’s time to replenish the supply, and I tried pouring what was left in the bin right into the feeder. Sadly, all the cayenne power that accumulated at the bottom of the bin over the years was coming out, too, especially when I was banging the sides to shake loose the last seeds at the bottom.

Then it happened.

A gust of wind.

It blew the cayenne pepper powder.

Right into my face.

AHHHHHHHHHH.

Damn, that hurt.

I started running around on the deck trying to wipe my face, blindly trying to make it down the stairs, through the garage and into the kitchen so I could stick my face under the faucet and turn the water on full blast. It took a while for the pain to stop.


My Dad, a retired police officer, once told me that pepper spray was more effective than a night stick because perps would practically beg to be taken into custody after a good dose to the face. I now have no doubt this is true.

And I’m certain, that had I not been yelling so loud, I would have heard uncontrolled snickering coming from the woods.

The moral here as Opening Day approaches is that we think we can defeat the seemingly unbeatable, be they squirrels or the Braves. Occasionally, we may even get one over on them. But in the end we wind up screaming, trying to wash away the pain.

The beauty of being a Mets fan, of course, is that we shall keep trying.

How about a Team USA we can cheer for?

I’m as patriotic as the next guy.

Maybe even a little more. I proudly fly the flag outside my home. "Stars and Stripes Forever" is in heavy rotation on the iPod. I even forced Tony to endure a cool Mary Lou Retton poster on the dorm wall in the 1980s.

But I confess I’m having a hard time pulling for Team USA in the World Baseball classic.

A friend over at www.baseballtruth.com raised the issue of rooting for Yankee poster boy Derek F. Jeter, who is on Team USA. I told him the only thing he should be rooting for in that situation is for some minor-leaguer on Team Mexico to bonk a high hard one off the emblem on Jeter’s batting helmet.

Then I started looking down Team USA’s line-up. If we started skulling everyone in that group who has committed an atrocity against the Mets, we’d be walking in runs all game!

Who set that roster? It’s a virtual Who’s Who of Evil People and Mets Slayers. I’m surprised they didn’t lure Mike Scoscia and Jamie Qualls out of retirement to complete the cast!

Here’s a rundown of the rogues’ gallery and some possible people who should have been asked instead — upstanding citizens who would represent A) the Good Old US of A and B) The Mets, a group that we could actually root for and still feel good about it in the morning.

Villain: Roger Clemens
Bat-Chucker’s list of sins against the Mets and all of humanity has been recounted multiple times in this blog. The recent revelation that his son took him deep in a recent spring training scrimmage — and the fact that he proceeded to throw at his own kid’s noggin in retaliation for the blast — shows that Clemens is unfit.

Replacement: Tom Glavine
This is easy. Substitute one Hall of Famer for another one. Glavine’s younger, had a stellar second half and would never try to hurt his children.

Villain: Chipper "Bleeping" Jones
I proudly state that I am a personal jinx for Larry Boy. We saw him in a game in Cincinnati a few years and he made the third out every time he came to the plate. Then last year we witnessed him take the collar in a game in Pittsburgh. Sadly, I was not at any of the games in 1998 when the Hooters Customer Of The Year launched those bombs against the Mets and knocked them out of the wild card and claiming an undeserved MVP in the process. Naming his daughter Shea was a shameless — and failed — attempt to earn brownie points.

Replacement: David Wright
It’s criminal that Wright isn’t on the team. The ESPN Magazine cover announces his presence to the rest of the country with authority.

Villain: Derek "Bleeping" Jeter
Since the Yankee hype machine actually has people thinking this stiff is going to Cooperstown, it’s no surprise that he’s on the team. But since even the players on Team South Africa know how to slide — unlike Jeremy Giambi — they’ll be no glorious moments for Jeter in the WBC.
Rey and Robin

Replacement: Rey Ordonez
You laugh. But Rey-Rey is a newly naturalized American citizen. And he has more Gold Gloves than Jeter. Look it up.

Villain: Alex Rodriguez
"Slappy" couldn’t even decide which team he was going to play for. Of course, I can’t blame him because this is pretty vile company and goodness knows he hangs around with enough slimeballs during the season, given his home stadium. But no player who admittedly hits like a dog in the playoffs should be representing the US.

Replacement: Robin Ventura.
Oh, sure. Technically Ventura is retired. But so is Clemens — several times over. And Ventura’s already represented the US rather proudly, winning a gold medal.

Villain: Al Leiter
Al. We like you. But believe us when we tell you this. It’s over. It’s bad enough that you crossed back to the dark side. Walk away from the WBC, walk away from the Skanks. We have a jersey waiting for you in Port St. Lucie to help coach Mike Pelfrey and the gang.

Replacement: Billy Wagner
I know, I know. Wagner was on the roster than backed away. Can you blame him, given the kind of vermin he’d be associating with? Flush the roster of the unsavory elements and Billy can come back and not feel tainted by the whole experience.

Villain: Johnny "Benedict" Damon
Anybody who would willingly go from the Red Sox to the Yankees cannot be trusted. As a member of Team USA he’ll probably run off and join Team Taliban by the end of the tournament.

Replacement: Preston Wilson
Mookie’s a little old at this point. But if we can’t have Mookie, we can have the next best thing, and that would be his son.

Villain: Ken Griffey Jr.
Junior made the fatal mistake of rejecting a trade to the Mets when he was still decent. Since then, his career has crashed more often than Billy Joel after a party in the Hamptons. We don’t need that kind of karma on Team USA.

Replacement: Frank Thomas
I like Frank. I don’t think he gets enough love. I realize they can’t put him in the outfield. But we all know that Junior’s going to come up lame at some point, so we might has well put Frank on the roster. We already know that he can hang around the dugout and cheer on his teammates. Hard to dispute that White Sox championship.

Villain: Chase Utely
Freaking Chase just killed the Mets last year in those September games when everything was on the line. He was under the delusion that he could get an undeserved MVP that way. Hey, worked for Chippper.

Replacement: Edgardo Alfonzo
Hold on, I know there are issues. For one thing, he was born in Venezuela. But he has as much right to play for Team USA as Mike Piazza has to play for Team Italia. And since we’re assembling the rest of the 2000 Mets infield, we might as go all the way.

Now there’s a Team USA that we can all cheer for — and one that might actually beat that powerhouse from Canada.

In other words...

One year ago.

Mets Guy in Michigan turned 1 on March 11. I had no idea whether I could keep it going a month, much less a year. But I’m grateful to all the folks who have stopped by to share a couple minutes of their time.

Readership has picked up in recent months. Here are a number of posts from those early months that I thought some newcomers might enjoy:

March 21: Pop Shortell, Dave Winfield and Richard Nixon

March 28: Birthdays and Opening Day

May 9: Help! There's a Dead Cubs Fan in My Lap!

May 20: Wiffle Balls and the Meaning of Life

June 1: The Major-Leaguer, the Actor and the Truth

June 10: Frank Thomas and the Magical Misty Night at Tiger Stadium

June 21: Every Signature Tells a Story: Tom Seaver

Aug. 9: The Forces That Heal: Tom Seaver's 300th Win

Haunted by Pinstripes at FanFest

Baseball’s All-Star FanFest is a glorious celebration of the National Pastime, and a must-attend event if the game is within driving distance.

So I happily motored two hours east to Detroit this week to bask in all that is good about baseball – and couldn’t escape the dreaded clutches of the Evil Empire.

Not that I let it spoil the fun. After all, any day spent immersed in the Grand Old Game is a good one, even if the Yankees are involved.

In case you’ve never been, the FanFest is a collection of baseball displays and activities that takes place in the weekend before the All-Stat Game in the All-Star host city, usually in some convention center. There are opportunities to meet everyone from Hall-of-Famers to professional softball players. It’s a collector’s paradise, and I’ll soon detail that aspect at http://www.baseballtruth.com/.

I’ve been fortunate to attend FanFests in Pittsburgh in 1994, Cleveland in 1997, Milwaukee in 2002 and Chicago in 2003.

I started the event by wandering into an area called FanFest Bazaar, which was filled with corporate sponsors, many giving stuff away. Dave Winfield was there at a booth sponsored by the Major League Players Alumni Association, posing for photos with fans. He wasn’t allowed to sign autographs, which MLB rules say can only happen in the designated “Legends” area.

After the whole Reggie Jackson ball-pounding incident, I’ve limited my contact with Yankees. Winfield, of course, has serious Yankee taint, and I had to think before posing.

I ran through a brief mental checklist.

A Yankee? For sure.

Number retired by Yankees? No.

Yankee cap on his Hall-of-Fame plaque? No.

Milestone achievement while playing for Yanks? No.

Plus I had a nice experience with Winfield that I blogged about before. And he departed the Yanks on his own terms and even indirectly led to Steinbrenner getting suspended for a while.

I figured it was safe, and Dave indeed was a nice guy.

Me and Dave Winfield

Not 10 feet away stood another Hall of Famer, Phil Niekro. Phil was there raising awareness for deep vein thrombosis, better known as blod clots. Seems odd, I know.

Of course, Phil was another Yankee. And while not quite as sinister, he was a long-time Brave before that. Ran through the same checklist, with the only difference was that Phil did have a milestone achievement -- win No. 300 – in pinstripes.

Took another chance, and Phil was a nice guy, too, even shaking my hand a second time. “Read this stuff, guys,” he said, pointing to the deep vein thrombosis pamphlets. “It’s important.”

Me and Phil Niekro

Snapping photos with two Hall-of-Famers in the first 20 minutes is a good way to start the day, and I heard loud cheers from another area. Scrambling over, I saw none other than Alex Rodriguez in the baseball clinic area.

Another Yankee. What, was Carlos Beltran not available? ARod was supposed to be bestowing his baseball knowledge on a bunch of elementary school kids who were hitting off tees on a mock diamond. I noticed much of his bestowing consisted of “Good!” and “Nice,” as the kids flailed at the sponge balls.

It was nice to see ARod up-close, but I was in need of a serious Mets infusion. The official All-Star store was nearby, and I had plans. I’ve been waiting to buy the new batting practice cap. The sizes on these things are goofy, and I’d wanted to be able to try one on before purchasing, rather than ordering one through the mail.

I made it back to the Wall of Caps where every team and their assorted home, road and alternate caps were to be available. Locating the batting practice caps, I saw, Pirates, Mariners, Yankees, more stinking Yankees….and no fine orange-and-blue headware!

“Oh yeah, we must be out of them,” grumbled a clerk. Denied!

Things were not looking up, but I had a lot of fun scanning the exhibits on the Negro Leagues, the making of bats and gloves, seeing some of baseball’s trophies and other diversions.

More troublesome, the buzz throughout the day was about whether Rangers pitcher Kenny Rogers was going to play in the All-Star Game.

Rogers, of course, is facing a 20-game suspension. I don’t get it. Stomping on a TV cameraman is only the second-biggest atrocity "The Gambler" has committed.

This is the guy who, while pitching for the Mets in the crucial Game Six of the 1999 National League Championship, started the 10th inning by serving up a lead-off double to weak-hitting Gerald “Ice” Williams, then walked the next three batters to hand the Braves a trip to the World Series. And I’m supposed to be upset because he kicked a cameraman?

But I digress.

Later, I sought to shake loose some of my aggression in the Home Run Derby activity, where a guy feeds a baseball into a pitching machine and you hit for distance. After a couple of misses, I got my timing down and even launched a couple spongeballs off the convention center wall, earning me a prize – a player pennant.

I was handed a pennant of Roger Clemens. Sweet!

Looking closer, it's Clemens depicted as a bat-tossing Yankee. Son of a ...!

The last activity was a video pitching cage. It’s like one of those speed pitch booths, but you throw at a video of a batter projected on slots. As the ball passes through, the machine records your speed. If you hit the strike zone, the video of the player swings and misses. If a ball, he steps out off the plate. You keep throwing until he either walks or strikes out.

You get to select the batter from a list that ranges from the Phillie Phanatic to Barry Bonds. I did this a couple of years ago against Mets-killer Chipper Jones, and it didn’t end well. OK, it ended well for Chipper, inflicting yet another wound on the Mets.

This time, I knew I had to battle a Yankee to reverse the karma of the day. The attendant asked who I wanted as I stepped to the plastic pitching rubber. JETER! I barked before he even finished.

The video image of the Smug One stepped to the plate, and I fired my first pitch. Beauty. Strike one. And I think the gun that measures pitch velocity is set on “flatter” because I don’t think I actually threw 62 mph.

Second pitch sailed high, a ball.

Third pitch nailed Jeter right in the video batting helmet. Not necessarily a bad thing. The attendant laughed. “You must me a Mets fan.” Darn right.

Fourth pitch was grooved down the middle, and the projected Jeter flailed. Sweet! One more strike and all those Mets defeats and mockery at the hands of Yankee fans would be avenged.

Fifth pitch sailed wide. Full count.

Flop sweat had kicked in. Not good, not good at all. As soon as the ball left my hand, I knew. Way high. I swear the video Jeter smirked as he walked toward first, probably advancing Chipper Jones to second base, having walked two years ago.

Beaten by the Yankees, again. They will break your heart. Every time.

Alas, I passed the Hall of Fame display on the way out. And there, shining like the Holy Grail was a game-used Tom Seaver jersey, nestled between treasured relics of Gaylord Perry and Mike Schmidt.

It was one of Tom’s Reds jerseys, but that was as close as I was going to get.

A Seaver jersey reminds us of all that is good in the world, that baseball is a glorious game and the Yankees will get what is coming to them.

Eventually.