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by Matthew Callan on Sep 6, 2011 11:00 AM EDT
Those of you who've read my recaps here or my Twitter feed know that the Marlins angry up my blood more than any other baseball team. There are other teams who thoroughly bug me from time to time, and you can probably guess which ones they are, but none infuriate me on mere sight more than the Marlins.
One big difference between the Marlins and the other teams who get under my skin is that I at least respect these other ones, however begrudgingly I might offer that respect. In the late 1990s/early 2000s, I couldn't stand the Braves, as they seemed to exist merely to crush Mets fans' dreams and souls (Chipper Jones in particular). However, even the most dedicated Mets fan had to tip one's cap to their unbroken string of success, amid the growls and sneers.
I've never felt a similar graciousness with the Marlins, and there are many reasons why. There's the unchanged color scheme--black and teal--that screams early 1990s; I look at them a good 18 years after their debut and I can still hear the Bodyguard soundtrack and Dan Cortese.There's the fact that they've won two championships and dismantled each time, showing absolutely no inclination to build a fanbase. There's the matter of Jeff Loria, who, if not the worst owner in MLB, is certainly the most cartoonishly villainous.
Though it's certainly not the largest factor, I think the Marlins' stadium is one of the major reasons why they infuriate me so. Under its many monikers (six in total, and if you can name all of them you win absolutely nothing), the quote-unquote ballpark known now or formerly as as Sun Life Stadium has always made the game of baseball feel like something between a plodding slog and a baffling ordeal.
From its hastily constructed bullpen walls to the omnipresent sacks of infield drying agent to its acres of empty orange stands, the Marlins' home has never seemed welcoming to the game of baseball. Which makes sense, since it was never intended to host the sport to begin with. Titanic homers hit by either team would rattle around in abandoned outfield seats, clanging against the folded chairs like an errant ping pong ball. Players seemed unnerved by the tiny audiences who would gather there, as if they were the only ones who didn't get the news about a bomb threat. At any moment, the heavens could open up, dump a torrential downpour onto the field, and delay play for an indeterminate amount of time.
There was just something downright unwholesome about playing baseball at Whatever It Was Called That Week Stadium. And while not every game the Mets played there was torture (as Greg Prince reminds us), they seemed to suffer some horrific, gut-punch loss or crushing sweep within its confines at least once every season--usually of the walkoff variety, and occasionally of the season-damaging variety. So, because I love pain, I've taken a look at some of the more grueling contests the Mets participated in during its 19 seasons doing disservice to the game of baseball. Take in the carnage after the jump.
Those of you who've read my recaps here or my Twitter feed know that the Marlins angry up my blood more than any other baseball team. There are other teams who thoroughly bug me from time to time, and you can probably guess which ones they are, but none infuriate me on mere sight more than the Marlins.
One big difference between the Marlins and the other teams who get under my skin is that I at least respect these other ones, however begrudgingly I might offer that respect. In the late 1990s/early 2000s, I couldn't stand the Braves, as they seemed to exist merely to crush Mets fans' dreams and souls (Chipper Jones in particular). However, even the most dedicated Mets fan had to tip one's cap to their unbroken string of success, amid the growls and sneers.
I've never felt a similar graciousness with the Marlins, and there are many reasons why. There's the unchanged color scheme--black and teal--that screams early 1990s; I look at them a good 18 years after their debut and I can still hear the Bodyguard soundtrack and Dan Cortese.There's the fact that they've won two championships and dismantled each time, showing absolutely no inclination to build a fanbase. There's the matter of Jeff Loria, who, if not the worst owner in MLB, is certainly the most cartoonishly villainous.
Though it's certainly not the largest factor, I think the Marlins' stadium is one of the major reasons why they infuriate me so. Under its many monikers (six in total, and if you can name all of them you win absolutely nothing), the quote-unquote ballpark known now or formerly as as Sun Life Stadium has always made the game of baseball feel like something between a plodding slog and a baffling ordeal.
From its hastily constructed bullpen walls to the omnipresent sacks of infield drying agent to its acres of empty orange stands, the Marlins' home has never seemed welcoming to the game of baseball. Which makes sense, since it was never intended to host the sport to begin with. Titanic homers hit by either team would rattle around in abandoned outfield seats, clanging against the folded chairs like an errant ping pong ball. Players seemed unnerved by the tiny audiences who would gather there, as if they were the only ones who didn't get the news about a bomb threat. At any moment, the heavens could open up, dump a torrential downpour onto the field, and delay play for an indeterminate amount of time.
There was just something downright unwholesome about playing baseball at Whatever It Was Called That Week Stadium. And while not every game the Mets played there was torture (as Greg Prince reminds us), they seemed to suffer some horrific, gut-punch loss or crushing sweep within its confines at least once every season--usually of the walkoff variety, and occasionally of the season-damaging variety. So, because I love pain, I've taken a look at some of the more grueling contests the Mets participated in during its 19 seasons doing disservice to the game of baseball. Take in the carnage after the jump.
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