The Art of Losing (Isn't Hard to Master)

"They battled." It's a line that makes any Mets fan cringe and mutter, remembering a miscast Art Howe facing the chop-licking New York media after another loss. It was Art's kindly placeholder comment, his verbal shrug of the shoulders, his way of not saying, "What do you think I can do with this collection of once-weres and never-will-bes, palookas and tomato cans and misfit toys -- win ballgames?" With Joshua still up in Connecticut, Emily and I had a night to ourselves, and my wife promptly unveiled Reason #10,539 that I do not deserve her: This was one of the games on the 15-game plan she shares with her dad, but he was out of town too, so we were going to Citi Field. From our Promenade perch high above home plate, it didn't seem like a particularly good idea at first. Somewhere down there was Nelson Figueroa, introduced rather ominously by the strains of Eminem's "Lose Yourself" ("you only get one shot," etc.) An...