Mr. Met Must Die

This weekend marks the merciful end of the New York Metropolitans 2009 season. There must be some way to exorcize the ghosts of the year: the injuries, the disappointments, the errors, the concussions, the firings, the misjudgments, and the press conference fiascos. It would be illegal for fans to beat and kill Omar Minaya, so as a proxy for all the Mets' woes, Mr. Met, should be executed before Sunday's game.

Baseball is full of superstitions.

A good mascot sacrifice might be the only path to a fresh start in 2010. Mr. Met's sad google-eyed expression has been the visual alongside too many headlines on the sorry state of the team. His downcast bobblehead and slumped shoulders made him an easy stand-in for a clownish organization in chaos. And its egg-like exterior makes it all too easy to conjure Humpty Dumpty, and is all too easy a target. Put him on the high outfield wall and let the fans vent their frustrations with souvenir bats in some primative ritualistic beating.

Argue all you want about whether or not Zambrano will make a good addition, weigh in on if Daniel Murphy should play first, and slash ticket prices to nothing. But there can be no fresh start until Mr. Met is dead.

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