My philosophy on first losses of seasons, particularly if they’re not first games of seasons, is they’re permissible to the point where they are almost welcome to occur. Get one out of the way so it can be recalled that when they transpire, our hearts will go on like Celine Dion.
Sunday’s Mets defeat  represented no sinking at sea, not much of an iceberg, just an inevitable loss — in the sense that a loss was at some juncture inevitable — one that finished up an otherwise promising initial series. Granted, that bitter taste in your mouth is not your imagination making you want to go “ptui!”, as the loss involved a walkoff home run on the road and a thorn named Turner. Usually it’s Justin, this time it’s Trea. Let’s not blithely non-tender or, if it can be helped, pitch in big spots to any more Turners, shall we? Or play in a Field named after them. The results tend to be Titanic.
Mickey Callaway should have made better moves and his players should have executed whatever moves he made perfectly. I hope this summation adequately covers the strategy portion of the third game of 2019. I napped through the middle innings (had a dream about some guy making a baseball card celebrating the accomplishments of George Foster, except it was spelled “George Goster,” soft “G” sound, twice on the front, including on a little trophy graphic à la the one Topps used to use to distinguish their all-rookie team members), so I can’t vouch for all that happened to push the Mets into a 5-2 hole. I woke up in the seventh trying to piece together what I’d missed since the third. My first instinct was to go the @Mets account for details, but all that got me was some cheertweeting regarding how swell Pete Alonso  is — and I already knew that.
By the time I pulled together some relevant facts (Alonso: swell; Zack Wheeler : less so), the data set was no longer relevant, for as I regained my consciousness, the Mets started scoring, three runs in all to tie the game in the eighth. Hey, I thought, as long as I never sleep, the Mets will never lose. Alas, I was wide awake for Justin (Wilson, not Turner) giving up that decisive dinger to Turner (Trea, not Justin), and there ya go, Nats 6, Mets 5, a good nap spoiled.
It was the wrong step to take out of DC, but overall we got off on the right foot for the campaign ahead. We’re 2-1, which is a nimble enough way to start a season. Three and oh would have been better, but anything “…and oh” is eventually impossible. The Mets have started every season in their last five 2-1. Twice they made the playoffs. Once they made the World Series. Once is now, conclusion to be determined a long time from now. They do seem to stay interested in their games for the full nine innings every day. Thursday’s  was a sparkler from beginning to end. Saturday’s could have gotten blissfully dull in the ninth and didn’t. Sunday’s refused to stay sleepy. Every new Met has appeared at least once. None of the Introductory Eight  deserves to be bashed at first blush. The guy who gave up the losing home run, Justin Wilson  was the winning pitcher the day before. Seasons are like that. We’ve just received our annual reminder.
It’s so early that it’s not even April and we’ve already contested and captured an entire series. Who’s up for playing another one? I know I am.