I was sitting in class today trying to compile piles of notes about the Roman Empire when I noticed that I couldn’t concentrate.  The source of this nuisance was the ticking of a clock inside of my head. 

 After contemplating what in the world this could mean for a few minutes, I suddenly realized that it must be my Met-o-meter.  My internal clock that counts down the days until the slate of the New York Mets is wiped clean.  The Phillies are only kings of the NL East, let alone the world, for 18 more hours.  Then, the debris is cleared off of the playing field.  The stage is set.  Crisp wooden bats are laid out in neat rows along dugouts. 
Fresh helmets, free of pine tar and caked mud, are stacked in even numbers.  Jerseys, whiter than the purest cloud in Florida, throw a sharp contrast against the perfectly trimmed grass that is beggining to sprout up in ballparks across America. 

With this new season fast approaching, I envy those who will have the great fortune to experience the beginning first-hand.  They will be able to see Francisco Rodriguez throw his first pitches as a Met.  Will he be able to live up to the hype that he created for himself last year?  Will anything less than perfect be subpar?  Spectators will also see a reguvinated bullpen, led by J.J. Putz among the likes of others.  Will this season finally allow fans to forgive a bullpen that caused the New York Mets to be inked in as the team with of the highest blown saves totals in the major leagues?  Will Luis Castillo keep his job?  Is Carlos Delgado getting too old?  Will Ryan Church stay away from injury long enough to produce a season filled with solid stats? 

All of the answers to these questions will begin to reveal themselves to the general public in less than 24 hours.  18 hours and 34 minutes, to be exact.  Only then will our hopes be renewed.  Only then will I be able to think without hearing the ticking of a clock bounce around in my head…at least until it begins to count down the days until Opening Day.