The Old Wreck

Jamie Moyer is nine months younger than I am, but he's also the oldest player in the majors. The obvious calculation: for the first time in my life as a baseball fan, I'm older than all the players. It shows, of course, just as it does on the aging wreck of a stadium the Mets are "celebrating" this year as they prepare to move into what appears to be a gorgeous but terribly-named baseball shrine next season. They didn't bother painting Shea Stadium this off-season. The seats were filthy. The grass was patchy too. And the old guy, Jamie Moyer, mowed down the younger Mets today - well, that may be a bit strong. He threw lefty junk off an 83-mph "fastball" and the Mets made easy outs, scoring only two runs off the ancient Phillie. Meanwhile, Oliver Perez fell apart in the fifth, the bullpen choked, and the powerful Philadelphia lineup finally broke through, wrecking an Opening Day we were told endlessly marked "the final one at Shea Stadium." I sat up there today, looking at the workers high in the steel of City, er, "Citi" Field and watched the Mets' slow start continue. This team is one big hitter short, especially as Carlos Delgado continues to morph into the late-career pinch-hitting Rusty Staub, slapping heaters to left. They'll miss Pedro. And the middle relief is, to coin a term that will undoubtedly emerge after the first losing streak next year anyway, "Shiti."  Ah well, it's spring.