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From my lips to Omar's ears?

Wallace Matthews

January 30, 2008

You're welcome, Omar. You, too, Jeff.

It could be mere coincidence that five days after I tore you guys a new dugout for being as active in the offseason as David Wells after Thanksgiving dinner, you go out and make the one deal that turns the Mets into a bona fide World Series contender. But I'd rather think not. I would like to take a little credit for this, too.

Five days ago, I ripped you for doing nothing this winter to improve a team that just performed the most graceless belly flop since Greg Louganis hit his head on a diving board at the 1988 Olympics. Actually, you did do something. You raised ticket prices. At the time that column was written, it was absolutely, positively, 100 percent correct and I for one couldn't have been happier about having written it.

So now, you go out and get Johan Santana for the equivalent of a rosin bag, a fungo bat and a pine tar rag. You steal him from the Yankees and Red Sox, both of whom had far better offers on the table back in December at the winter meetings. You give up four guys nobody will cry about losing. Not a Kazmir in the bunch. Just days before Groundhog Day, you upstage Punxsutawney Phil, pop out of your hole, don't see your shadow and promise us an early spring. What are you trying to do, make me look bad?

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I prefer to think you are actually trying to make me look good. Like you took my advice or something. Or at least got good and mad about being called out for your futility this winter. You see, I like to think of myself not as a critic, but a motivator, a kind of personal trainer for sluggish general managers and franchise owners. I'm even willing to try to get their rich, pampered sons off the couch and into the action.

For once, it seems to have worked. Back in October, I wrote that you should part ways with Jose Reyes, who showed more than a little woof-woof last year as the Mets' season careened down the tubes. I thought you should trade him for Santana and then, to fill that newly dug hole at shortstop, throw the rest of the money you will be raking in from the new ballpark, new naming rights and the ticket prices at Alex Rodriguez.

It was a bold plan, a daring move, the kind of thing that transforms teams and either sends their GMs to Cooperstown or the want ads.

For some strange reason, you rejected that game plan. Up until yesterday, I thought you guys were about as smart as a sack of baseballs for doing so. But you did better than I ever could have and better than I thought you were capable of. Since I am taking credit for spurring you to do this, I can honestly say I am proud of you. (By the way, I may have to start the season on the DL. Three paragraphs up, I think I blew out a rotator cuff from patting myself on the back.)

But I must admit, not even I am megalomaniac enough to believe I did this all by myself. I had plenty of help from the Yankees, who in an uncharacteristic spasm of logic and restraint, decided to resist the urge to throw away their future, and a large chunk of Hank and Hal's inheritance, in yet another attempt to buy themselves the American League East. I must also share credit with the Red Sox, who would be damned before they'd allow the Yankees to grab the fiscal high road for themselves.

But most of all, I must credit the Minnesota Twins, who overplayed their hand beautifully. They blew a chance to add Phil Hughes and Melky Cabrera from the Yankees or get either Jon Lester or Jacoby Ellsbury from the Red Sox. Either of those deals would have been better than Carlos Gomez and Phil Humber, but that's what you get from being indecisive, greedy, or both. Gomez looked like a nice little player but I, for one, will not miss Humber since I was never going to get used to that silent H at the beginning of his last name.

The truth is, as the rest of the field fell away, this guy pretty much fell into your lap. Well, good for you. There's something to be said for being in the right place at the right time, which is something that hasn't happened to the Mets in quite a while. Maybe it was just about time for something to go right in Flushing for a change.

Or maybe it was a case of finally realizing that what you thought was hateful criticism was actually tough love.

Well done, boys. And remember: If you need any more help, I'm here for you.