McError

I had a dream last night that I was sharing a McRib sandwich with R.A. Dickey. Strange, because I’ve never had a McRib in my life. I’m not sure I’d eat one if you paid me. It might have been a fish sandwich slathered in barbecue sauce, if you believe that whole transference thing. Or, it might have represented my mother if you believe Freud, who was either a psychological genius or a sick bastard.

I racked my brain trying to figure out what it all means. What did this all represent? Was it a sign of things to come? Was Dickey going to pitch a no-hitter tonight and then step right into a McDonald’s endorsement? No. Somehow, it represented the lack of run support Dickey always seems to get this season. I don’t know what a McRib has to do with run support, but … oh, I get it now. No need to go further.

Or, the barbecue sauce represents what David Wright has been dipping his hands in before handling baseballs, as his sixth error in seven games was a big one … a dropped throw in the fifth from Reyes which lead to the first run. When the margin of defeat is 3-2, then you’ve got a problem. Terry Collins must have a problem too, as I think the Mets struggles in this latest stretch of three straight losses is getting to him. I expected this to come earlier in the season, but Monday night he came as close as he’s gotten to ripping off a media member’s head and drinking blood out of his neck.

“What was the attention on today? You guys can answer that. Where’s the attention been since we walked in the ballpark today? It’s not on who we’re playing. It’s not on who’s pitching. We all want to know which kind of hat we’re going to wear tonight. That takes away from the game. That takes away from their preparation. They’re all being asked questions that they’re afraid to answer. They’re afraid to say the wrong thing.”

You have to see and/or hear the tape to really appreciate the venom seeping from Terry’s sweat glands, as he struggles for answers. Dickey, for his part, disagreed after the game and said that the Mets weren’t distracted by Hatgate. Well, if that’s the case, then that means that the logical explanation is that the Mets just aren’t very good … which is depressing, but I’m used to it.

At the end of my dream, a girl approached Dickey and asked him if he was going to learn to play basketball so that he could play for the Lakers. While I’m not sure a knuckleball would work well on a three-pointer, I imagine that if Dickey gets any less run support than he’s getting, he could start to daydream about switching careers.