I Hum Allegiance to Jason Bay

Perhaps the cosmic forces could handle only so much suck for one Sunday. It was gloomy outside. It was gloomier on TV. The Mets were one out from being swept out of Citi Field by the last people you’d ever want to let near a broom. Jose Reyes was, for all we knew, playing phantom catch with David Wright, Ike Davis, Johan Santana, Taylor Buchholz, Chris Young, the ghost of Kelvim Escobar, the glute of R.A. Dickey and whoever at Amazon is responsible for not letting this blog be read on Kindle despite selling subscriptions to it. And our last hope was Jason Bay…or as I’ve come to know him across the past 15 months, no hope at all. My default vision of Jason Bay was up to date clear through the bottom of the seventh when he effortlessly grounded into a 6-4-3 rally-dulling double play, or as baseball experts call it, “a Jason Bay”. Given most of Bay’s lack of output since he mistakenly wandered into the Caesars Club in January 2010 and was too polite to turn around before trying o...