I thought the Nationals would score at least nine runs on Saturday, probably more. They started with a single run in each of the first four innings, 44.44% of the way to what is known as a picket fence. The Mets couldn’t put up 97%-invisible netting  fast enough to veil it.
Somehow, the Mets halted the Nationals’ forward progress on the fifth-yard line, for a while anyway. Eventually, Stephen Strasburg  revealed himself as not quite as untouchable as his predecessors in the Washington rotation. Yoenis Cespedes  (4-for-5 and a homer) swung the bat real well and ran unencumbered. Jay Bruce  did some fine hitting, Jose Reyes  showed some offensive life, Travis d’Arnaud  delivered a pinch-single that kind of mattered. Up and down the order, the Mets worked some impressive at-bats, regardless of results.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. The Mets lost and did loads wrong to lose. But falling 7-4  instead of the approximately 12-2 I was anticipating, while not providing any cause for optimism in a standings sense, made the game a darn sight more watchable than I figured it would be. Seth Lugo  hung in after burying his team. Jerry Blevins  got one critical out. A couple of balls that I was sure were going to fly out of Citi Field as Nationals homers went foul. There was a scintilla of a chance of a comeback in the ninth.
It didn’t happen. And it augurs little to nothing for Sunday. But I didn’t feel like a total chump staying tuned to the end. So there’s that.
As for those special Father’s Day weekend uniforms, they achieved their goal of raising awareness, if, in fact, they are intended to raise awareness for bad taste.