The Mets really really suck

The Mets make me feel like the father of a marathon runner who is leads the entire race but trips on his own untied shoelace near the beginning of mile 25. He is tired, but has a comfortable cushion between himself and the rest of the pack. At first, I say, "no big deal, you're still leading." But I notice my long-distance offspring doesn't tie his shoes before he gets back up and starts running again. Around the 25.3 mark, he trips again. Blood trickles from a contusion on his knee. I yell "tie your shoes!" He doesn't hear me over the rest of the crowd. I mutter something under my breath about the manufacturer of his overpriced sneakers. At 25.7, it happens again. His hands are partly crimson now. This time, a few other people are yelling with me for him to tie his shoes. He still doesn't hear. He gets up slowly, in pain, and visibly more tired than before. I curse the guy who sold him this wretched footwear. Again, at mile 26 he falls again. He is so tired he cannot slow his tumble; his head hits the ground. Blood of scalp mixes with the sweat of marathon and tears of pain. He gets up much slower this time. He licks the salty pink cocktail as it drips down his face. Nearly the entire crowd yells for my son to tie his shoes. He looks down as he starts to jog, but the sound of approaching runners makes him think twice. Only now does my blame shift the to my moron child who didn't notice his shoes were untied. He looks more determined than before, but is acutely aware of where his feet land, making sure to not step on a shoelace. This slows him down considerably. The pack closes in. At 26.1, he falls again. For a moment, he can hear the individual footsteps of his approaching competitors, until the crowd, nearly unanimously, starts cheering for him to rise, but also swear at him for not tying his shoes when he had the chance. He doesn't get up. The pack is nearly on him now...