If it works for Obama, it works for the Mets Guy

This is all Greg’s fault.

No doubt inspired by this week’s inauguration, he introduced me to a cool Obamicon.me Facebook application — found here -- to show a nice photo of his pet cats.

His activity and all that followed kicks off this week’s Deezo Friday Five.

1) No doubt you saw Barack Obama’s iconic "Hope" campaign posters. The program allows you to use any photo and turn it into a mock Obama poster. You can even pick the word on the bottom, since "Hope" is now so ...cliché!

Being a presidential junkie, I quickly created one using my own photo, then created a special Mets Guy version.

My only regret is that I couldn't adjust the colors to use blue and orange.

Then I started exploring the possibilities — for both good and bad. Cousin Tim, a known bad ass, got one from our day at Shea.

Speaking of Shea, Greg offered a version that certainly would have garnered some votes.

Tom would win in a landslide, just as he did when he was up for the Hall of Fame.

My cat, Tug, would get more votes than Duncan Hunter. So would Gene.



Then, once you start speaking the truth, you can’t stop.

Sorry, Derek F. Jeter. But deep down you know it’s true.

So I figure now that I have a cool poster, I can start campaigning for president, or at least a spot on a local school board.

2) I’ve come full circle on the Citi Field Inaugural Season patch.

Clearly, this is a Mercury Mets moment.

For the unaware, most teams several years ago participated in a "Turn Ahead the Clock" promotion that featured playing a game in futuristic uniforms.

Some were pretty cool. But the Mets created an odd Mercury Mets persona that wasn’t just bad. It was shockingly awful.

And I was reminded that when the Mets screw something up, they don’t just do something that kinda sucks.

No. When the Mets mess up, they seek to define the bottom. Paul Lukas of Uniwatch fame called the patch the worst ever.

Of course it is.

There have been plenty of dull, lifeless patches that are quickly forgotten. But now, any time a bad patch is revealed, it will be compared to the Citi Field patch. And it will fall short.

We must embrace this. It is our destiny.


3) Speaking of destiny, when we kick ass on something, we aim right for the top.

Now I shall refer to the glorious new Home Run Apple.

No team in baseball shall ever attempt to hoist massive celebratory fruit once this new Citi Field Apple rises for the first time.

Published reports say the new, fiberglass Apple is 6 feet tall and 18 feet in diameter — far bigger than the 9-foot-tall original. When a Met hits a homer, the apple will rise 15 feet.

It’s being made in Minnesota and will be installed in the new park sometime in February.

And once it rises, every Phillies fan that used to be content with their bonging Liberty Bell outline will reflect upon their inferiority.


4) The McFarlane people turn out some sweet baseball figures, and I especially love the Cooperstown series, expect that it tends to have A) too many Yankees, and B) players who are not in Cooperstown.

Occasionally, they have C) players in the wrong uniform.

I saw the new figure of 1969 Met Nolan Ryan and wondered aloud why anyone would want him in a Rangers uniform when he could be depicted in his glorious Mets pinstripes.

Seriously, does anybody remember Ryan pitched for the Rangers, Astros or Angels?

Plus, the new figure has him all bloody. I thought this might be from the day when Nolan got a little snotty with future Met Robin Ventura, and Robin had to run to the mound and teach him a thing or two.

But no, Nolan apparently cut his lip because he had trouble fielding his position in a late-season game against Kansas City.

Would have been so much better to show him mowing down Orioles in the 1969 Series.

5) There’s a chance I was a bit of a wise guy in college. That leads us to the strange case of the Three-Pronged Adapter.

You need the background. I worked as a desk aide in the dorm while I was at the University of Missouri, a job that included handing out keys to people who lock themselves out of their rooms, calling maintenance and other tasks devoted to keeping Floyd Cramer Hall a happy place.

Part of this entailed writing in the daily log anything that happened that people in the following shifts needed to know about.

There were about six of us, and one was deemed "head desk aide" which was as important as it sounds.

Except that the person who held this post took it very seriously. And she spent much time developing policies and protocol that needed to be followed.

Then came the new vacuum.

It had a three-pronged plug, and all the outlets in the dorm had outlets with two slots, making it hard to use the vacuum.

This was not an issue for the two guy floors in our four-story building, since guys didn’t think about vacuuming their floors until the over-sized mice fed on Domino’s pizza droppings started to carry out what limited furniture we had.

But the residents of the two women’s floors cared about such things, and someone was dispatched to the hardware store to buy an adapter.

The HDA, as we shall now call the head desk aide, then distributed a long list of rules pertaining to the three-pronged adapter. Let’s just say no one was going to walk out the door with that thing without signing their life away. Closing on a house was easier.

The point was that the three-pronged adapter was too precious to let out of our sight, and we would be held responsible should be go missing. One would think that it would have been easier to just spend another couple bucks and buy about 10 of the tools, but that’s not how we did things.

Writers view an empty page as a challenge. And after reading this missive, I spent time I should have spent studying to create a whole back story for the three-pronged adapter, noting that it was too dangerous to be let out of our sight.

The people manning the desk on the following shifts only added to the story, and by the end of the next day, the three-pronged adapter had a prison jumpsuit, a Jason mask and a bloody knife extended from little paper arms.

The HDA, predictably, hit the roof. So did her boyfriend, who was a fellow desk aide, and, as far as we could tell, was the only one of us who actually read the policy manuals and was her chief defender.

The HDA’s calls for more order and respect for authority went unheeded, and the legend of the three-pronged adapter grew.

When I graduated in December, the remaining desk aides smuggled the three-pronged adapted out of the office without filling out the forms and presented it to me as a farewell gift.

And I’ve kept it these 22 years as a playful reminder of my Missouri years.

This year, we were setting up some Christmas decorations and, amazingly, needed a three-pronged adapter and pressed him into service.

I filled out none of the forms. Always fight The Man!