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Hey buddy,
You're probably getting a lot of shit for not being able to pitch because of your depression. When the news story broke out I had a lot of my buddies say things along the lines of "Gee, life is so tough, must be hard to make a ton of money playing baseball." And there is a point to that logic, but for the moment you should ignore it.
I did a little research on you, and it turns out you haven't dealt with New York very long. In fact, you've been passed around quite a bit:
And what I assume was the worst possible moment of your life:
I'm no psychologist, but I'm sure that a certified doctor could pick this picture apart and explain just how depressed you are to be wearing that jersey.
So you're in New York after being passed around the league more than a bowl of weed at a Michael Phelps party, and you've got to deal with the fans of New York. Well here's the dirty little secret. You think you're depressed?
There is no other fan base on Earth more depressed than the New York Metropolitans.
None Taylor. None.
See this guy?
This is how we ALL feel on almost a daily basis about our team. In 2006 I almost started crying in the middle of a Houlihan's after game 7. Not full blown legit crying, but clearly upset enough to the point where one of my testicles might as well have been replaced with an ovary. Which I guess would've turned me into some weird transformer hermaphrodite or something. You know what? This isn't about me, it's about you. Let's move on.
It's ironic really, because you'd think that as horrendously depressed individuals, we'd have your back. But it's just that we are so ridiculously sick of unbelievable injuries that we just can't take it anymore. Santana, Wright, Davis, Young, Reyes (apparently anyway), and that's only in the 1st half of this year. And the reality is that if the Mets clubs of the past 5 years had all stayed healthy, who knows how many rings they would have by now.
But evidently there is absolutely no part of the body that is not susceptible to injuries for the New York Mets. Whenever I hear this song it's like an awful montage of Mets' injuries:
I honestly believe there is no injury the Mets can't suffer from. There will probably be a day when Jason Bay gets the Mumps and Carlos Beltran dies of dysentery while trying to find his way back onto the Oregon Trail. I'm still waiting to hear back from the Mets execs about my idea of "Iron Lung Night" at Citi Field, but they haven't called me.
So we're extremely frustrated to find out that when a quality relief pitcher such as yourself is physically fine, but mentally unable to compete. It kills us because you're good! Your curveball moves up and down more than Hugh Hefner having a seizure in bed. We WANT you in there. But I understand that depression is a tricky thing. Whatever you've got going on in your life, I hope you get it all straightened out, because we're chomping at the bit to see you pitch in a Mets uniform again.
In the meantime, just keep watching this clip over and over again my friend, and hopefully you'll find your feet again:
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