Some good rips in here from Tim Marchman, who is always entertaining, but he writes for The Sun which actually now has fewer readers than the Mets Police. The worst thing about all this, of course, is that the team isn't even entertainingly dreadful, as the Jeff Torborg/Dallas Green Mets were, but rather relentlessly dreary, along the lines of Art Howe's clubs. If the Mets are doomed to follow a cyclical pattern of tantalizing success followed by miserable under-performance, as they have as long as I've been alive, the least they can do in the down years is be truly wretched. Luis Castillo and musings on SNY's camerawork are a long, long way from Anthony Young and threats to show reporters the Bronx. This team isn't even any good at being bad.





