Of Mutts and Mets

Talk about beginning with a bang! Could the timing be any more perfect? Well, the Mets timing could have been a bit better (and not only in the batter's box). Already I digress. Salvatore Speaks to the cyberworld today for the first time ever today right in the midst of the New York Mets' Willie Randolph mess.

I couldn't help but remember 1986 when I woke up this morning, but for all the wrong reasons.

After the best team in the organization's now 46-year history opened the 1986 World Series with back-to-back home losses, the back page of a New York tabloid read, "Meet the Mutts." Now these 108-game winners were undoubtedly wild, raucous, and rebellious to say the least, but they certainly weren't "mutts." The organization they played for, however, could not make the same claim then, and definitely not now.

The organization that traded Tom Seaver and spiraled into a bad joke before Frank Cashen saved them from embarrassment for a few years in the mid-1980s has always been struggling to shed the stigma of a "B" level ball club.

Forty-six years into their existence and only nine months before they are scheduled to move into a state-of-the-art, multi-million dollar facility, the Mets revived any lingering belief that they are a second-class professional organization.

In fact, the word professional is about as fitting an adjective to describe the New York Mets Baseball Club these days as ethical is to paint a picture of Eliot Spitzer.

Now, Willie Randolph's 2008 Mets were definitely underachieving and their play was about as inspirational as Ron Paul's presidential campaign. Randolph's mismanagement of the pitching staff alone was enough to make any disenchanted Mets' fan to call for the guillotine, but this?

I would have to believe that even the New York Islanders would think twice about carrying out a coach's firing in the despicable manner that the Mets handed (or slipped under a hotel room door) Randolph his walking papers.

For those of you who picked up the early edition of your morning newspaper, let me recount. After a spirited effort landed the Mets a doubleheader split with Texas on Sunday, Randolph and the team flew 3,000 miles west to Anaheim where they knocked off the top team in the American League West. Next came the post-game presser where Randolph entertained questions about his team's gritty road win. Then, after the beat writers filed their copy, the early editions were on the presses, and the Mets were tucked away in their hotel beds (Duaner Sanchez ordered room service instead), the ax fell.

Yes, the Mets made their manager twist, turn, and fly 3,000 west where he led his team to a final victory before they mercilessly pulled the plug.

Although I have publicly advocated for Randolph's dismissal during a cameo on the FERRALL Show, I would have never wished for it to happen in such a classless, disjointed manner.

Randolph wasn't dismissed or fired in the wee hours of Tuesday morning; he was humiliated.

In addition to needlessly embarrassing their former manager, the Mets successfully created another distraction for a club that has appeared distracted all season long. Now, instead of working on producing a winner, the organization will have to focus its energy to deflecting the barrage of questions and criticism that awaits as a result of management's mismanagement of the Randolph saga.

Whether it was the Miracle Mets of '69 and '73, the "bad boys" of the 1980s, or Piazza's delivery at the turn of the millennium, the Mets' time is the spotlight has always been short lived.

Now after the ruthlessly teasing their fans in 2006 and 2007, the Mets are disappointing once again. They sit 6.5 games behind the surging Phillies in the NL East and have created a huge PR mess on top of that. The Mets seem headed back to the place they have known all too well during their 46-year history, that undesirable destination in baseball's doghouse.