I always feel a little melancholy at the end of the World Series. Baseball is the only sport that I still care passionately about, and the beginning of the next baseball season always feels very far away. This feeling has been compounded over the past decade or so by the certain knowledge that the Mets weren't going to do anything particularly interesting over the offseason. As bad as the Wilpons with money were at running the Mets, the Wilpons without money were abysmal. As a Mets fan in recent years, the hot stove months often made me feel like a kid waking up on Christmas morning eager to open his presents, only to find that they were all clothing and school supplies.
