NOTE: This is a guest post by Joe Spector, whose work can be found on Metsmerizedonline; you can also follow him on Twitter @Joe_Spector. Enjoy and please direct your comments to him.
Part of being a fan of Baseball, or in our case the Mets, is the fact that as fans, we’re granted the protection from the responsibility of any half-baked, cockamamie, pie-in-the-sky fantasies involving the team we’ve come to love so much. It’s a responsibility so intimately seductive and often practiced here on blogs and bars all across the five boroughs by us fans – the fanatics – where all of us know exactly what’s right for the team, 5 shots of Tequila in. Fortunately our fanaticism shields us from the realities that men like Sandy Alderson deal with dispassionately and with no semblance of protection on a daily basis.
For someone like Alderson, there is no room for
