Hope

Over the past month I have logged onto this site multiple times, each time staring aimlessly at the screen. Despite my efforts to focus and search the inner workings of my brain for some sort of inspiration I have found nothing. There is only so much I can write on the subject matter of ineptitude, embarrassment, irritation and disappointment.

As the weeks have gone on- and my frustration intensifying at this complete block- the fans have grown agitated; my inbox flooded with emails demanding a statement, a rant, an article, anything regarding AMF's opinion on the state of the Mets. And all the while I have felt helpless, like a powerless and blood ridden Clark Kent after a beat down in a local diner at the hands of Rocco , who is forced to watch as E.J. Marshall poses to the world: "Superman Where Are You?!?!?"

Well, over the past twenty four hours I have found that spark. I have found that voice in my head that eagerly repeats itself over and over again and won't stop until I commit it to the written word; and, ironically enough, it is not a voice of desperation, but one of hope. That's right, hope.

With the "unofficial official" news that Jerry will not be returning as Mets manager, nor Omar as GM, we can start to move beyond the last five years, which has been the worst era in Mets history. With this news, and just as importantly the news that the Mets will be looking at candidates for both positions outside the organization, I feel a sense of excitement at what the future may hold. Now, don't get me wrong: I remain cognizant of the fact that the Wilpons still own this team, and within weeks my optimism will reverse course when we hear reports that the Mets have decided to remain in house and promote John Ricco and hire Bob Melvin. But for now I choose to relish in the unknown.

I choose to dream of new possibilities; i choose to believe that Jeff Wilpon will be reigned in by his just as clueless, yet less intrusive father; I choose to believe that the baseball gods have chosen to sabotage Bobby Valentine's plans to return to the majors with the likes of Florida and Cleveland, so that he can be back at his natural home in Flushing; I choose to believe that a new respected baseball man will come in and not throw big money at mediocre talent, but invest in the draft and over see the building of a deep and talented farm system; and I choose to believe that within a few years the Mets can not only be contenders, but be made up of players who don't bitch and complain about the griddy brand of baseball played by the hated Phillies, but recognize it as the only way to play.

In spanish "Lets Go" is translated as "Vamos." And at the beginning of the Omar era, when there was so much hope on the horizon I enthusiastically showed up at Shea in a crowd of 50,000 string chanting "Vamos Mets!" Tomorrow, five years later I will show up amongst a crowd of 15,000 strong at Citi Field, with a sense of optimism as I chant "Adios" to a tragic era.