Wednesday, August 1, 2012

You Have To Stay Strapped In, Man

I am a passenger
And I ride and I ride

You've been there. You've gone a few drinks over the limit. Hell, more than few, and you are waiting for the bomb to drop. Or you took that extra tab because the first one wasn't working, and it's just tickled your cortex and said "Here's, Johnny!"  The shit hasn't hit yet, but it will, and you know it won't be good. You'll stumble around, unable to talk. Or you'll curl up in a ball and yip like a puppy if someone strays near you. And the aftershocks--something mild, like a dry-heaves hangover, or a little more fun, like temporary psychosis--will come, too. And you know this, and it feels real bad. And you're stuck. Fucked up. Hella fucked up, with no place to go but down someplace worse. That feeling, that dread, that "what have I done to myself?" moment has got you by the short hairs and you just have to ride it out and take what comes.
I am a passenger
I stay under glass

That feeling I was talking about? That's what tonight's game felt like. Every moment was one of fear, and loathing. Matt Cain looked ready to implode on every pitch. He lasted only five innings, his shortest start of the season. Every Met got pitches to hit and pitches to laugh at, and got lots of them, over and over again, and every inning recapitulated the entire season in a comic opera of great pathos and sensitivity. Every half inning, that is, as the Giants worked on their offense-minimizing strategies to great success, and the batting thing moved along briskly and didn't interfere with the rest of the show.

We'll be the passenger
We'll ride through the city tonight
See the city's ripped insides
We'll see the bright and hollow sky

It's a commitment. You have to stick it out. There are going to be games like this. Again. And again. This isn't the last time you will want to gouge out your molars with a Leatherman tool rather than watch another batter. So get over yourself already. Enough with the melodrama. We're grownups here. Professionals. We don't do those stupid adolescent stunts anymore. When we go over the line, we know it, we plan it, we live it, we love it. Cinch up the harness, mates, you ain't goin' nowhere.

Oh the passenger
He rides and he rides
He looks through his window
What does he see?

Fer chrissakes, Giants, win the next fucking ballgame.


p.s. Thanks to Iggy Pop for inspiration.

He sees the stars and hollow sky
He sees the stars come out tonight
He sees the city's ripped backsides
He sees the winding ocean drive . . .


JC Parsons said...

Wow, what a post! Much more dramatic than the game. Did Iggy show up after I left? And did he bring drugs?

Great job. If only our boys were so consistent.

M.C. O'Connor said...

I'd been listening to Iggy all day and I couldn't get the song ("The Passenger"; it has a really catchy riff) out of my head and when I tried to post that's what kept coming out. What a miserable game. Thanks for the company, sorry we were so boring, the game was like slow-drip anethesia. Matty just hasn't been himself since the ASG. He needs a big start to get the second half going!

Brother Bob said...

Sure was a downer that Pence went O-fer in his debut. He looks over-eager. Maybe that's just how he is, all hyper.

Zo said...

4:03 Wednesday.

Oh, for fuck's sake. It's the fucking Mets after all! Another one run loss.....fuck, make that, another loss in which we could only feebly manage one fucking run.

Yesterday, Matt somehow managed to keep it close while our offense completely choked. got worse.

Shankbone said...

Awesome post. Gonna be a battle coming up. We are healthier than last year...