Christmas Eve drinking with Mets front office at McSorley’s

If this is true, there’s new hope for Mets fans

img_7126I was late. I knew I was late. The 4 train got hung out up around Grand Central. Then slow rolled all the way to Union square.

I thought hopping on the number 6 train there would speed me on my way.

I was wrong.

It was 9:15 when I finally walked into McSorley’s- the oldest continually run bar in NYC.

I was supposed to meet my contacts 45 minutes ago. I walked in and immediately knew I was in trouble.

They had secured a table in the back. All five of them, around the large rectangle table near the newly added women’s bathroom. The table was already soaked from spilt beer, and littered with mugs of ale. Light and dark. Some were full. Many mugs were empty. I could also see they were working on there second cheese plate. The box of chocolates I sent them earlier was also completely empty.




The bartender drops down a dozen more mugs of ale as I approached, and I grabbed an empty seat.

Sitting at the table were the best and brightest of the Mets front office brain trust. Sandy Alderson was not here. Nor were either of his lieutenants. No, Jonah Hill never studied any of these fellows for his roll in Moneyball.


2 dozen more mugs hit the table.

These guys are the ones in the know. If you want to know what’s going on with the Mets, these are the fellas you talk to.

They are the people Joel Sherman at the New York Post calls for information.

Same with Newsday.

They are quoted every day in the NYC tabloids and on countless blogs and websites.

You know them as ‘unnamed sources’ and contacts ‘not authorized to comment publicly’ and ‘high ranking members of the front office’.

While they like there jobs, they are all very chatty, under the right circumstances. And pounding down lights and darks at McSorley’s on Christmas Eve is the perfect circumstance.



18 more lights. 18 more darks.

The Mets front office is full of degenerates.

One of my favorite degenerate front office guys is a tall, skinny, 27 year old. He knows more about baseball then 10 of my closest friends combined. But I doubt he could throw a baseball 20 feet.

He is part of the new wave of front office types, that are sweeping baseball. He won’t tell you how many wins a starting pitcher has, but he can tell you his FIP over the last 3 seasons. He went to the fanciest of Boston colleges, majoring in something called statistical engineering.

I don’t know what that is.

He’s the type that spent his Fridays in college studying. Or playing dungeons and dragons. Not drinking beer or getting laid, like the rest of us.

“Does working for a MLB front office get you laid now?”

Unnamed sources say no, it doesn’t.

He was sitting next to me, and I knew he had something to say. Something to dish on. So I handed him a dark ale, cheersed him and we each threw back our drink.

He smiled. I asked him how he likes working for Omar Minaya, the new assistant to the general manager. The table laughed hard.

It was obvious at the unnamed sources expense. But there was something more to the laughter.

I pressed.

“Tell me!” I said, pounding my fist on the beer soaked wood table.

“This didn’t come from me” he started

Of course not, I would never tell. Now get on with it.

“Big news” he said. “Mets fans will love this”

I signaled the barkeep to send over another round.

“Mets fans don’t care about Omar”
I told him

The table laughed like 12 year olds.

“Omar was hired for one reason “ the unnamed source told me. “Cain”

I’m not wasting my Christmas Eve talking about that asshole Matt Cain. He ruined our captain’s career

I stood up, ready to leave. Sometimes you need to show these computer geeks you are serious.

“Not MATT Cain” the entire table erupted.

Intrigued, I sat down.

Then they explained. Everything

Omar Minaya, according to these unnamed sources, and one executive not authorized to comment publicly, is best friends with

Lorenzo Cain’s uncle. His mother’s brother.

Omar and the uncle have been in negotiations since the off season began.

Somehow, Omar used that, to convince the Wilpons to rehire him. Contract negotiations between the Mets, and Cain, are wrapping up.

“Wrapping up” 3 unnamed sources said together, in a hushed tone, as to not draw anymore attention to our private conversation.

The deal could be complete by Thursday.

4 years. $74 million. Give or take.

Fantastic news! As a die hard Mets fan myself, I was thrilled. Christmas Eve was made. I smiled and let them all know how happy I was.

They weren’t done. They said if I paid for a couple of rounds, they had more information. Information that they were not authorized to comment on publicly.

I put three $20 bills on that beer soaked table, chugged one light and one dark, and ordered another round.



Gregg Holland.

Didn’t he sign with the Rockies?

Not yet.

Callaway wants a fireman. Like Andrew Miller. He was pushing this since getting hired.

Omar convince Fred and Jeff.

He’s next, right after Cain signs. But it took work for him to come to New York.

4 years. $46million.

$46 million for a reliever that doesn’t even close games out. You got to be kidding me.

That contract makes me think the Mets front office is on drugs.

Well, they are on drugs. I know this as a fact.

I first met that tall, skinny MIT graduate in Denver, Colorado two years ago. The Mets were Denver for a midweek set against the Rockies, and I have a couple of lady friends that live in there. So the timing was good on my part.

On the trip, I made my very first trip to a legal marijuana dispensary. As it was my first trip, and since the Mets were in town, I wore my ‘Party like it’s 1986’ tee shirt, designed by the 7 Line.

The lanky front office guy was there, noticed my shirt, and struck up a conversation right away. He also recommended the 11lbs hammer strain.

We hit it off right away.

Him and his pal he was with, have been my go to sources ever since. And now the two of them are sitting here at the table with me, on Christmas Eve.

This summer, I ran into that pal in Las Vegas, over the 4th of July. I went to a 51s game to get an up close and personal look at Ahmed Rosario and Dominic Smith.

The second unnamed source was there in Las Vegas doing exactly what I was doing. He was with an older gentleman. He’s stocky and balding. 53 years old. He’s one of the scouts for the Mets, and he was helping my friend with the scouting report for the Mets top two prospects.

They later invited me back to the suite at Aria. As soon as I walked in, I could see there was cocaine everywhere.

The two baseball men were having a timeless debate: Spearmint Rhino, or Crazy horse 3.

I mentioned that Sidney Sebold and Daizha Morgann both work at CH3. But Spearmint Rhino serves breakfast all day.

They agreed it’s a draw.

That’s a long way of me saying that I know for a fact the Mets front office is on drugs.


Another round of drinks hit the table.

It was about a half hour since the 5 men from the Mets front office ate that box of chocolates. They were supposed to wait for me. I was late. They dove in without me.

It was something I picked up from a friend. The chocolates were infused with mushrooms. The magic kind.

And, as I mentioned, the Mets front office is full of degenerates

I looked across the table at that older scout I met in Las Vegas. He was wearing a sports coat and button down shirt. Just like when I met him in Vegas, when it was 115 degrees out.

His pupils were now like giant black frisbees. In 30 minutes this crew would be incoherent. I needed to press now for information.

The scout was holding out. I knew it. And he could tell I knew. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair as I looked at him.

‘I heard big Bart is willing to come back. How ‘bout him and Dickey. You guys need rotation help’ I offered. Feeling for information.

I struck a nerve.

An unnamed source offers up they were looking at signing a pitcher.

“Who!?” I demanded to know.

“Jake” an unnamed source confirmed. But he was told to stop talking by the older scout

An extension for deGrom?

Not THAT JAKE! The table erupted together, again. We got harsh looks from the surrounding tables

These unnamed sources said Arriette was on his way to booster the rotation. His contract will be signed after the new year, as he is currently at a yoga retreat in Costa Rica until January 3rd.

‘Omar strikes again’ I said.

The old scout pounded his fist on the table. His face beat red.

‘He really hates working for Omar’ I replied, looking around the table

‘It’s not Omar’ the scout said. ‘I… I don’t see why we need to sign Arietta’

He’s a good pitcher, why not?

“He’s just… ok fine” he said, swallowing a light ale in one gulp.

“He’s just too good looking. I mean what kind of guy.. what kind of ballplayer is THAT good looking?”

“Have you seen him without his shirt on”

Was he serious? Or is this the effect of the drugs and alcohol.

He quickly pulled out his phone and flashed the table a photo of a naked Jake Arrietta, pleading his case

Why does a 53 year old man have that on his phone, I wondered

“It’s called the internet, jackass” the scout shouted out.

That explains how, not why. But I could tell he was in no mood to be further pushed. I handed him another beer, and told him I agreed. And stated that we should move on.

‘To another bar’ an unnamed source asked

No, you degenerate, to third base. Let’s call Omar and Todd Frazier and have them meet up here. I’ll pay for the uber.

“I know Frazier’s batting average was only…” I started, trying to change the mood of the table.

It worked. They brought up his on base percentage. His walks. His pitches per plate appearance.

“I’ll give it a thumbs up”

The unnamed sources were not impressed with my attempt at humor.

‘Frazier still thinks the Yankees might sign him’ someone with out permission to comment publicly said

‘But Omar talked to him yesterday. He might come in this week to talk’
Confirmed an unnamed source

At this point I could tell the drugs were getting to them. If I didn’t act fast, they might forget to pay the bill, leaving me stuck paying for it.

I quickly called the bartender, and signaled for the check. Then moved as fast as I could to the men’s room. There, I ordered an uber car.

I got back to the table just as the bartender was writing up the check. I mentioned a car was waiting for me, and I had to go.

We all shook hands. “This was off the record, all of it.”

Of course it was, just like Vegas this summer.

“Good. Let’s do this again soon”

We all agreed and said our goodbyes.
I began writing as soon as I got into the cab, as I did not want to forget a single detail of our conversation.

The first thing I wrote in the back of that big, black sports utility vehicle was a quick summery of the night:

Lorenzo Cain ✔️<<<<<<<<
land ✔️ke Arrietta ✔️<br<br<br<br
s front office types are on drugs