I think I finally understand why it feels like losing in New York is worse than losing most anywhere else.
Sure, there are the usual culprits. You can start with the media if you like, since there are more of us than in almost any other city, and we tend to approach the world — especially the sports world — with a jaundiced eye.
You can talk about fans who are exacting and demanding, which is sort of how fans are supposed to be. (I’ll never forget seeing an Oklahoma City basketball season ending in flames a few years ago, and yet the Thunder walked off the court to a standing ovation. That’s not being a good fan, that’s fan malpractice. That would never happen here. Ever. Ever. Ever. Thank goodness.)
You can talk about the temptations of the city, I suppose, though nobody even pretends anymore that athletes engage in the kind of nocturnal training regimen Mickey Mantle or Joe Namath did. You can talk about the myriad distractions of Fun City. All of these may be true.
But it isn’t just that.
We just happen to have a surplus of teams that lose with extraordinary ease and with an extraordinary flair, that don’t just lose but are proficient and profoundly original at expressing professional malfeasance and incompetence.
You have a basketball team in the Knicks, for instance, who haven’t just lost, almost unabated, for two decades but actually have hired in that time two of the sport’s genuine geniuses, Larry Brown and Phil Jackson. Brown was gone after one season and 59 losses; Jackson lasted three seasons and lost 166 games. Oh yes, and one of the most beloved players in team history, Charles Oakley, was once led kicking and screaming out of the Garden. You just don’t see this kind of stuff in, say, Sacramento.
You have a football team in the Jets celebrating a golden anniversary of ineptitude this year, who haven’t just lost, a lot, in the 49-plus years since Super Bowl III, but have had such things as a “Butt Fumble” happen to them, who lost their starting quarterback one year because he didn’t pay back a teammate to whom he owed money and had his jaw broken as a reward, who were kind enough to give Lou Holtz the opportunity to coach a losing season (though he did leave behind a catchy fight song).
But, of course, there is no team that embodies the inability — or the sheer unwillingness — to stop punching itself in the jaw like the Mets. And what’s wonderful about the Wilpon Era Mets is you never have to reach very far into the history books to cite examples. Why, just Friday — a night in which they actually beat the Yankees — the ensuing slapstick was almost too much to catch up with:
- The starting pitcher, just a week off the disabled list, left the game after 80-some pitches and after a precipitous drop in velocity — though the Mets describe that only as “fatigue” (and immediately, 99.8 percent of Mets fans declared, “Sure it is.”)
- The closer wasn’t allowed to close because he was on verge of being traded, though said trade was reportedly being stalled because the Mets wanted salary relief, despite one of the Troika of GMs declaring before the game they would not be seeking salary relief for said closer.
- The highest-paid player returned from two months on the shelf, hit a home run, then declared he would be in need of dual heel surgery that will require 8-10 months of rehab (and immediately, 100 percent of Mets fans and 100 percent of all humans with a functioning brain wondered, “Then why the hell is he playing and not in pre-op?!?!?!”).
- The manager declared the next morning he hasn’t heard a word of the player’s diagnosis, meaning he is either lying (highly doubtful), he mangled his message (increasingly likely) or the men above him in the Mets’ hierarchy are either in a coma or 300 percent worse at their jobs than we thought (highly probable to a 99.999 percent certainty).
And remember: This was all after one of their best wins of the year!
Yes. We don’t just have teams around here who lose. We have teams who should have Nike, Puma or Adidas logos stitched onto their clown shoes.
Vac’s Whacks
You can have the other golf majors. The British Open is both the best tournament and the best TV reality show for four days every year.
Rob Manfred should only hope to one day be half as good at his job as Mike Trout (right) is at his job.
Two friends, courageous colleagues and good men lost long battles with cancer this week. Tim Farrell, for many years a brilliant photographer with the Newark Star-Ledger, and Ernie Palladino, who covered the Giants with distinction for years for the Westchester-Rockland papers, were always great company and better people. Godspeed, gents.
There is nobody who consistently makes me laugh more on the radio than Gregg Giannotti.
Whack Back at Vac
Ray Martin: Nothing wrong with Wimbledon. The tourney gave us the best man as champion, and it made Kevin Anderson pay a price because he is not a complete player. Would you rather see a “big serve” guy benefit from playing matches shortened by tie-breaks, or see them lose because it took him six hours to finally close out in the semis?
Vac: I wouldn’t change a thing. But I fear that’s a minority opinion more and more.
Jason R. Gettinger: If an out-of-it club had a really first-rate starting pitcher on the trade market, I would trade Gary Sanchez for that pitcher. Austin Romine is fine, he is a better catcher than Sanchez. We have no reason to believe that Sanchez will ever return to his rookie prowess as a hitter.
Vac: Depending on how first-rate, that is a move the Yankees would have to ponder.
@canchon: NYC’s two MLS teams are top four in the league right now (NYCFC and RBNY) and have consistently made the playoffs the last two years. Should have at least a mention.
@MikeVacc: I’ll make a deal with all the folks who were mad there was no mention of the soccer teams in that column: If either team actually ever wins a championship, we can have a separate debate if that constitutes the end of the drought. For now you can simply consider both teams part of the problem.
Alan Hirchberg: Joe Girardi? Never! But if the Mets ever decide to replace Mickey Callaway with an ex-Yankee, how about Buck Showalter?
Vac: Sign me up!