Thanksgiving

I give thanks for: 

David Wright dripping and running on the field with his cigar. 

Pedro’s pointing to the heavens, which I want to see again. 

The way Paulie LoDuca looks like a thick and capable Pee-Wee Herman. 

The way Carlos Delgado can stroke a ball so high to the right or slap it so far to center. 

The way Jose Reyes hits the ground with his chest when he slides and bounces up in a single movement as if he were Gumby. 

The way Tom Glavine reminds me of the adult you really need to have along with you on the field trip. 

The way Endy Chavez has the largest smile I have ever seen as a proportion of the face and the way he has the mobility of an electron. 

The way Shawn Green looks so quiet and thoughtful and a little lost, which makes you wonder if he’ll suddenly remember how to hit 40 home runs. 

The way Carlos Beltran found what he had lost. 

The way Ron Darling clearly knows what he is talking about. 

The way Willie Randolph will sometimes manage with his imagination and won’t care if the whole world thinks he is wrong. 

The way Mets fans are such geeks, reading blogs, posting on forums; the way they are so desperate for baseball news in November when almost nothing is happening. 

 

And I am so sad about: 

Steve Trachsel’s five years of hard work and what he will feel like when he cleans out his locker. 

The way poor Cliff Floyd has to leave us now and can’t come with us. 

The way Shea will become dust. 

 

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