Recharger has been in love twice:
The first time was with the 1983-1984 New York Islanders, the “Drive-for-five” team that tragically fell short to the Edmonton Oilers.
The second was with Bobby Valentine’s 1999 New York Mets, a team that shook up the Atlanta Braves in two of the most thrilling playoff games in franchise history—including Robin Ventura’s “grand single,”—but ultimately lost that series when journeyman carbuncle Kenny Rogers walked Andruw Jones to force the winning run.
It is 2010, eleven years later, and we feel stirrings of desire for this year’s Flushing Flav. As with the beginning of all great affairs, we have doubts; we have seen warning signs. We wonder when, given the right circumstances, we will be enjoying a post-coital smoke when our paramour says something that causes us to realize he is mentally ill.
Nevertheless, we have gone too long without the embrace of a strong, willful athlete. We must admit that Johan Santana and Mike Pelfrey are sexy, smart and look fantastic in cleats.
David Wright is dullsville in bed, had dinner once with Bush junior at the White House, but unlike our previous boyfriends, is reliable.
Jose Reyes can salsa, merenque, and rumba, but we wonder if he can go the distance.
And we take special delight that leading hitter Jeff Francoeur comes direct from the Atlanta Braves.
Then again, Jason Bay is a creepshow reincarnation of Roger Maris, and GM Omar Minaya is just plain creepy.
Yet, each night when we lay head to pillow, we find our thoughts drifting to our bulging-biceped heroes in blue and orange.
Please, boys, be kind. We don’t think we can survive another broken heart.