Ask NotGraphs (#26)

Curses upon my father for bestowing upon me Mets fandom, with the Yankees in the very same city! I bite my thumb at thee! Alas, I cannot assuage my love for the New York Metropolitans, despite a lifetime of gifts consisting of hopelessness—a la my formative years of the early 90s—or the even more painful act of granting hope before ripping it out of my hands to beat me with while I whimper pathetically on the floor—a la falling to the Evil Empire in the 2000 World Series. It appears as though yet another season will pass without glory for the Mets, this time with the ironically malevolent gift of hopelessness to start the season, then the slow granting of hope through spring and early summer, then, when I finally felt genuine belief, tearing the hope away from me, this time not even needing to beat me with it, merely content to watch me writhe on the ground and laugh maniacally.

I do not seek asylum to cheer for another team. No, I have acquiesced to my fate. For I have found the glory of rotisserie baseball, and my team sits atop the standings with over 1,000 dollars of prize money on the line! My question for you, NotGraphs, is when, if ever, does it become acceptable to cheer against my woefully beloved Mets in order to see my own chances at winning my league increase? Teams within striking distance will benefit from David Wright’s, Frank Francisco’s, Jordany Valdespin’s, and—lo!—even Jason Bay’s production as the season draws to a close.

My New York Mets still have a non-zero chance of contending, but any realistic prediction would leave them out of the playoffs. What does one strikeout here, one blown save there really harm my Metsies? But those very same strikeouts and blown saves could lead to my own personal glory! Is it wrong when my feeble heart jumps with glee to see Chase Utley of the damnable Phillies hit a home run, or to feel a hint of smile approach my lips when Josh Thole fails, yet again, to drive in a runner from third with less than two outs? After all, I have no say in the operation and performance of the Mets. Their successes are not my successes, and their failures are not my failures. And, perhaps more or perhaps less importantly, no meaningful successes are even possible for the Mets this season. My rotisserie team, however, is of my own creation, a product of my own mind and intelligence, so how can it be wrong for me to feel pleasure in its success? It is far more rational to feel joy, even to feel pain, on behalf of my own doings. But a part of me still questions the validity of those feelings.