It didn’t take us long to get sick of the trade deadline this year. Naturally, as Mets fans we’ve been sick of the trade deadline since the Amazins traded Jason Isringhausen for Billy Taylor, not to mention the time they sent some Kazmir guy to Tampa Bay for surefire All-Star, 10-minute-fix Victor Zambrano.

(It should be noted that we were at Zambrano’s last game for the Mets, when he tweaked something in his elbow, threw a pitch, then just ran off the field mid-inning. We thought it was funny, injury aside, and we stood on our feet and cheered his departure. Mets fans around us got mad that we were making light of his injury, but we were really just making light of the franchise’s storied commitment to making boneheaded deadline deals then keeping the crappy players they received around for way too long out of hubris. Those same fans later booed Cow-Bellman, who slots in right behind Victor Zambrano on the list of people who exemplify everything that’s ever gone wrong with the Mets.)

Besides the jilted-lover feeling we sometimes get from the Mets at the deadline, we hate hearing about all the rumors. Mostly because so few of those rumors come true. So Manny Ramirez is heading to the Marlins? Could be. But it’s equally possible he won’t be dealt at all, or that he’ll randomly end up on some other team that Ken Rosenthal and Peter Gammons and Buster Olney said nothing about. And once he gets there, he’ll still be awesome.

Until then, we’re going to avoid the temptation to break down every possible Mets trade option and tell you why they all suck. That’s someone else’s job. We’ll just wait to see who they get, and then tell you why he sucks on tomorrow’s episode of The Nooner.

We took some shots at Kellen Clemens in The Nooner today, but we want to sort of take them back. Because as Jets fans, we’ve seen way, way, way too much of Chad Pennington at this point. Dude can’t throw the ball. It’s kind of sad, to be honest, that someone purporting to be an NFL quarterback can’t throw the ball farther than we can. Go deep, Laveranues! No, no — not that deep. Let’s try like 15 yards.

SNY.tv’s Mike Salfino once pointed out that watching Jets games with Pennington on TiVo, fast forwarding from snap to snap, tests an announcer’s ability to come up with synonyms for the word “lob.” “Pennington floats one over the middle. … Pennington with a soft toss out to Washington. … Pennington shovels one to the left. … Pennington lofts a sissy girlie pass to Cotchery. …” Etc.

So Kellen Clemens wasn’t so good in his few starts last year. So what? At least the dude can throw the ball more convincingly than we can, and that’s got to be worth something in the NFL. Everyone loved him coming out of Oregon, and this season the Jets will actually field an offensive line. Why not pick a young guy with some upside over a veteran with a lengthy history of shoulder surgeries and an arm that can’t even toss a salad?

Because you’re the Jets, that’s why. And the Jets obviously want to live up to their rich tradition of torturing their fans. The sad thing is we just can’t quit. When Chad Pennington floats up his first 10-yard bomb in the Jets’ home opener, take all that time you have waiting for it to come down to scope out the stands. We’re the guys in the back with the bags over our heads.

So in Wednesday night’s Mets game, Phillies radioman Larry Anderson vilified Jose Reyes for celebrating his go-ahead three-run homer, saying, “Someone should hit him in the neck.” You can hear the clip (after some other Mets debate) in the embedded video below.

There’s nothing worse than some holier-than-thou jackass telling a professional athlete he can’t celebrate. Sorry, Lastings Milledge. Sorry, Chad Johnson. You’re making a mockery of your profession.

Here’s what we don’t get: Who cares? These guys are entertainers, and we pay to see them play a game. If they want to celebrate, great. More entertainment for the fans. More asses in the seats. If it weren’t for people like Jose Reyes, you, Larry Anderson, would be unemployed.

While we’re at it, we should mention that Larry Anderson — assuming it’s the same dude, which we will even though Larry Anderson’s probably a popular name — had a lifetime 5.66 ERA and sucked hardcore. Now he sucks as an announcer, and, based on his “hit him in the neck” comment, probably at everything.

Listen, if we wanted to see a bunch of workmanlike, blue-collar ballplayers, we could just go watch actual blue-collar workmen. We don’t, because that would be boring. We wouldn’t even know where to start. Are there still operating factories in the New York area? We don’t know, because we’re not interested in knowing. They don’t play baseball in factories.

And even if there are, we can guarantee you that the factory workers blow off steam by watching people like Jose Reyes hit home runs. We think celebrations should be not frowned upon, but mandatory in all sports. If these guys are getting paid to play a game, we want to know they’re enjoying it. If Larry Anderson’s getting paid to watch a game and spew crap about it, it’d be nice to know that he enjoys it too.

In other words, someone should hit the mute button on Larry Anderson’s pathetic career. Let’s go Mets.

Part of the job description for being a closer in New York not named Mariano Rivera is that the fans will hate you. Mets fans had a big love-hate thing with John Franco, and he was pretty damn good too. Everyone hates Armando Benitez, and that’s fair, but even he was good for three of his four seasons in New York. Braden Looper? Well, screw him. But Billy Wagner’s actually good. We always forget that.

The only thing we’ll bash Billy Wagner for, besides being a bit of a redneck and a clubhouse babbler, is his choice of entrance music. We know he’s been using Enter Sandman as long as Mariano Rivera has and all, but Wagner didn’t even choose it himself. He deferred to obvious metalhead Jeff Bagwell, who must have taken time away from romantic evenings with Craig Biggio to pick Wagner’s song. How ’bout this, Billy? Let us pick:

• Ramblin’ Man by the Allman Brothers: Not only is the song musically teeming with Southern charm, but its title works as a description for Wagner. Seems like a no-brainer.
• Why Can’t We Be Friends? by War: Intimidation by the total lack of intimidation. Think of the confidence inherent in extending the olive branch to the other team before you strike them all out. Hey man, we’re cool, I’m just going to blow a bunch of fastballs by you. Then we can hang out or something.
• Flight of the Valkyries by Richard Wagner: We know the pronunciation is different, but how about a little love for your boy Vah-gner. Classical music — especially this song — would be totally epic with a fireballer coming in from the bullpen. Think Apocalypse Now. How badass was that scene?
• The Ave Maria (traditional): OK, a bit out of left field. We just think it would really get into opposing hitters’ heads if the closer came out to a song generally used as a death knell. It’d be like the requiem for the other team’s chance of winning.
• Complete silence: This, too, would be pretty badass. You’d have to make sure the fans were on board, and would keep quiet while Wagner warmed up. Plus, it’d be a really ironic entrance for a guy who never shuts up.

We don’t want Brett Favre on the Jets. We don’t care if he’s better than Chad Pennington’s brain on Kellen Clemens’ body, we’re just sick of all the Brett Favre love being tossed around. He already retired once and we already dealt with ESPN’s fawning once. That’s enough. Done. You’re finished.

Everyone loves American grit and stubble and Wrangler jeans. We get that. But what America doesn’t know about Brett Favre, apparently, is that he’s just about the most overrated quarterback ever. He’s like football equivalent of Nolan Ryan: He can chuck it, but he really has no idea where it’s going.

Yeah, yeah. Favre threw a lot of touchdowns. But he also threw a lot of interceptions. A whole lot. Miserable ones where the dude on the other team was the only guy within the camera’s frame when he caught it. Who were you aiming at, Brett Favre? No one? Just heaving? Great strategy, broseph.

Brett Favre reminds us of the kid who was the best at football in our elementary school. He was a hell of an athlete, so he’d play quarterback and just kinda scramble around for a while then launch it downfield. A lot of times some fast kid on his team caught it. Other times, some fast kid on the other team caught it. We were all really impressed by how far the kid could throw and how he could scramble around like the dickens avoiding would-be sackers, but that kid had a lot to learn about football. And when that kid turned 40 and had a bunch of concussions under his belt, we all knew it was time to leave the schoolyard.

Give it up, Brett Favre. Just like your passes, the praise thrown your way is too often misdirected.

In today’s Nooner, we got in a barb about how Brett Myers once beat his wife in public. It raised the eyebrows of our censors a bit, but we pointed out how it was nothing but the truth simply presented as a joke.

Of course, that doesn’t mean domestic violence is something to joke about. It isn’t. It’s an atrocious pastime and one we worry is probably still way too popular among people in places near wherever Brett Myers lives. I mean, don’t forget that Myers only apologized for beating his wife in public, not necessarily for beating his wife. You can read a lot more about it here. An excerpt:

In a telephone interview with the Globe’s Suzanne Smalley, 26-year-old Courtney Knight said, “He was dragging her by the hair and slapping her across the face. She was yelling, `I’m not going to let you do this to me anymore’ . . . She’s a real small girl. It was awful.”

The 25-year-old Myers is 6 feet 4 inches and weighs 240 pounds. His wife is 5-4 and weighs 120.

What a scumbag. When you boo this man on Wednesday in his start against John Maine and the Mets, boo vigorously. Keep in mind that this woman went back to this disgusting animal, and because she’s a ballplayer’s wife, it’s a safe bet that she’s really hot. That doesn’t make Myers’ actions any more or less awful, but man, how ’bout a little appreciation for the fringe benefits of your job?

Also, keep in mind when you boo the Phillies this week that the Phillies didn’t even suspend Myers for his actions. The incident made Myers and the Phillies the bane of the Major Leagues, but of course even more popular in Philadelphia. What a bunch of savages.

In other words, Let’s Go Mets!

David Beckham rolled into town this weekend, and whoop de freaking doo. So the dude used to be the best soccer player in the world, and now he plays in the MLS. That’s like Barry Bonds going to play professional baseball in Mexico right now. Except unlike Beckham, we have a feeling Bonds would still be pretty good. Also, we don’t think Licey has $250 million to shell out for Bonds.

Essentially, the MLS created a new rule so some team could sign Beckham. The Galaxy had disposable income, apparently, to the tune of $250 million — somewhere way beyond what we guess is the operating budget for the rest of the MLS. The whole affair sort of changed our perspective of what motivates a professional athlete. For Beckham, it’s no longer about playing the best soccer he can on the greatest stage. It’s about the Woodrows.

And though Beckham has fostered more interest in Beckham, we feel like he’s done little to foster more interest in the MLS. You know why? Because soccer — at every level — is intolerably boring. It’s the only sport in the world where the most exciting thing that happens is when someone almost does something. But hey, since nothing ever happens on the field, soccer fans can focus on the best and most important thing involved in watching soccer: heavy alcohol consumption.

Here are a few suggestions for the MLS or any other soccer operation for making the sport more interesting:

• Make the goals way bigger and the field way smaller.
• Follow the NBA’s lead and eliminate defense entirely.
• Create a new version of “The Beckham Rule,” stating that goals should count threefold if the man responsible is dreamy and handsome and charmingly British.
• Make steroids not only legal, but mandatory.
• Involve pyrotechnics. We’re not sure how yet. Consult Michael Bay.
• Use some of Beckham’s runoff cash to hire one American Gladiator for each team. Legalize use of tennis ball cannons.
• Play baseball.

The Nooner took on everybody’s favorite scapegoat, Lastings Milledge, today and we wanted to post a link to his hit single, Bend Ya Knees, to accompany it. As of press time, our internet-scouring intern still hasn’t found one. In fact, Soldier Boi Records’ (not to be confused with Soulja Boy) Myspace page is now just a sorry shell of its former self. No songs, no hilarious picture of Milledge in an argyle sweater, and only one friend — Tom, the guy who is everyone’s myspace friend.

This is a dark day for the L. Millz hip-hop empire. I remember he once told the press that he saw baseball as the tunnel he needed into his music career. Sadly, he’s yet to live up to his promise in either forum; he’s hitting .245 this season and Bend Ya Knees, wherever it may have gone, was just about the worst rap song we’ve ever heard.

We love Milledge, and we hate the fact that he was mistreated by the New York press for not giving good quotes. But we can’t in good conscience defend his terrible rapping. Our intern did stumble upon more bad rap from L. Millz’ cohort, Manny D, which can be found below. Fair warning: This video contains a lot of intensely explicit language:

Manny D freestyle.

The All-Star Break is ending, and you know what that means: Time for the lauded local newspaper tradition of grading every player on the Mets and Yankees. We had some fun with this hobby on the show today, but we’d like to further emphasize how ridiculous the concept is.

The Daily News gave Fernando Tatis an A — the only Met to earn the distinction in Adam Rubin’s book — but Carlos Beltran, David Wright and Johan Santana got B’s. The Post gave perfect GPAs to Tatis and Damion Easley, but gave Beltran a B-minus. The Post hasn’t released its Yankee grades yet, but the News gave Alex Rodriguez — probably the best player in baseball — a B.

We don’t get it. If we’re grading these guys against their preseason expectations, maybe that makes sense. But if we’re grading them as baseball players, someone should consult the provost’s office. Sure, we’re all really proud of how hard Fernando Tatis has worked to produce his .292 average and .323 on-base percentage, but does that really make him a better or more valuable baseball player than A-Rod?

Didn’t these people ever go to high school? Sure, there were plenty of kids who worked hard and got decent grades, but what about the kids who coasted along on natural ability and still got good marks? Why punish a student for not living up to his endless potential when the papers he’s turning in are still way better than the nonsense Damion Easley is writing? Maybe A-Rod showed up late to class and left his pencil at his really old girlfriend’s house, but he still aced the test.

Fernando Tatis can study all he wants, but he’s got to understand that he’s not getting into the same Ivy League colleges that Carlos Beltran will on SAT scores alone.

And if that isn’t enough to show how dumb this whole idea is, consider this: The News gave Argenis Reyes a B — same as Santana, Wright, A-Rod, Giambi and Jose Reyes. The kid has only been to class nine times.