For most of Wednesday night, my only thought was that feeling pain because of the Mets was actually progress: better writhing in agony than sitting dour and numb watching another night of bad baseball, as we have for the last three and a half weeks.
Kodai Senga was the best he’s looked as a Met, with command of every pitch in his arsenal and an apparent bit of extra intensity. (Maybe it was all the family members in the stands — given Joey Lucchesi‘s first scintillating start in San Francisco, perhaps every Met starter needs a retinue of relatives in attendance.) But the Rays pierced Senga for a lone run in the fourth and that looked like it would be enough to beat him, because the Mets couldn’t do anything with Josh Fleming or Kevin Kelly. The sixth was particularly frustrating — Jeff McNeil pinch-hit and walloped a drive to left-center that annoying showboat Jose Siri ran down, Francisco Lindor singled, but Pete Alonso grounded out and Daniel Vogelbach looked utterly helpless in a lefty-on-lefty matchup with Jake Diekman. When Siri smacked a homer off Jeff Brigham an inning later, the crowd at Citi Field seemed too depressed to boo.
The ball hit to center by freshly anointed savior hasty import newly arrived Mark Vientos off Ryan “No Not That One, He’s Like 75 Years Old by Now” Thompson looked destined to wind up in Siri’s glove, undoubtedly to be followed by Siri turning several cartwheels and blowing kisses to his teammates. But somehow it kept carrying until it was safely over the fence: Implausibly and wonderfully, the kid had done what we’d been clamoring for him to do here instead of in Syracuse and the Mets had tied it.
Well, for about five minutes. Adam Ottavino didn’t have it, walking Randy Arozarena and looking perturbed as Arozarena swiped second, one of seven Rays to steal off Mets’ pitchers — phrased that way because Francisco Alvarez was at fault for exactly none of them. When Brandon Lowe — I forget if he’s the Lowe pronounced like OW or the Lowe pronounced like the oh in OH NO — homered off a slider that slid its way into trouble, Citi Field felt like a funeral home, with the faithful stunned into silence.
I was on my couch, but I knew I looked like all the fans SNY’s cameras lingered on: a dull stare above the rigor mortis of surrender. I rarely stalk away from even terrible games, but I won’t claim that’s the product of superior moral fiber; mostly it’s because I’m old and a certain long-haul fatalism has crept in. But OK, it’s also because there’s still a better me somewhere inside this gloomy old hulk, and that better me always has to be blowing frantically on some sad little ember of hope and chirping annoyingly that it’s not over yet and anything is possible and wouldn’t you feel like a chump if one of those 1,000-to-1 bets placed out of stubborn belief paid off and you missed it?
Because sometimes — OK, once in a very great while — those bets actually do.
Even when you’re playing the best team in baseball, the one with the relentless hitters and the pitiless base swipers and a million relievers throwing from two million weird angles, and you let that team tack on a ninth-inning run to leave you three in arrears, with the three feeling more like 30.
In the bottom of the ninth Jason Adam was tasked with facing Vogelbach, Starling Marte and Mark Canha, not exactly a trio to spark fear this year. But he walked Vogelbach and hit Marte before striking out Brett Baty, sent up to pinch-hit for Canha. Vientos flied to center and the Mets had used 26 of their precious outs, with only one left. All that stood between the Mets and another defeat was Alvarez, whose rapid improvement has yet to include not trying to do too much in big spots.
Alvarez spat on a sweeper just outside for ball one, which was mildly encouraging; Adam tried that pitch again, left it middle-middle, and Alvarez demolished it, smashing it off the facing of the second deck to tie the game. He unleashed an epic bat flip and floated around the bases, levitated by the swagger that’s made me laugh since I first glimpsed him as a Brooklyn Cyclone not so long ago.
A wonderful moment, except it lasted about as long as the afterglow of the previous game-tying homer from a rookie. Against David Robertson, ghost runner Taylor Walls swiped third leading off the 10th, came in on a Harold Ramirez single, and then Ramirez came home on a single by the other irritating Lowe. Robertson had been all but untouchable all year, but that one looked like a dagger. Sure, there’d be hopeful things to say about Vientos and Alvarez and Senga would earn well-deserved praise, but the Mets seemed fated to lose another one.
McNeil led off the 10th against Pete Fairbanks with a single, pushing ectoplasmic Brandon Nimmo to third, but Lindor looked hapless striking out on a pitch in the dirt and up came Alonso — who was “sick as a dog,” we’d learn later from Buck Showalter.
Fairbanks’ first pitch was a slider that caught a lot of plate, except Pete was looking fastball and it zipped in untouched.
“That might be the best pitch he sees,” I grumbled.
A wonderful thing about baseball is sometimes you’re completely and utterly wrong and it makes you happy. Fairbanks’ next pitch was the fastball, he threw it to the exact same spot as the slider, and the second Alonso made contact you knew the game was over — impossibly and unbelievably and blissfully over. This is baseball’s greatest magic trick: a slow, grim forced march to a seemingly inevitable unhappy ending somehow transformed in an instant and become stammering, staggering joy.
The Polar Bear stomped around the bases and vanished into a forest of helmet pounds and high-fives, with one SNY shot catching Baty, Vientos and Alvarez in the same frame, romping out of the dugout beaming and impossibly young. Pete offered up his postgame LFGM for Steve Gelbs’s mic, except this time he said the words and not the letters, including the word that I assume will draw a fine from the FCC* and tut-tutting from the ranks of the self-appointed tut-tutters.
Another reason it’s good to have a billionaire owner? I’m pretty sure Steve Cohen will pay the fine without so much as a blink. I’m tempted to chip in myself — maybe even enough for the triple play pancake breakfast. And I know there will be a next however many games when all looks dark and dreary but I stay at my post, obeying that little voice, the one that simultaneously annoys me and that I hope I never stop hearing, the one insisting that anything is possible and wouldn’t you feel like a chump if you missed it?
* the FCC’s fining/grousing is limited to broadcast, smarter people tell me. Carry on, Polar Swear!
Shades of ‘Casey at the Bat,’ Jason, in your description of the bottom of the 9th, there.
The game of the year, until the next game of the year. For whatever reason, homegrown rookies, be they pitchers or position players, spark excitement in we fans like nothing else.
And the great thing about it is that we all knew it was going to happen. We always do. We saw Baty/Vientos/Alvarez coming up in the 9th as the tying run, and said to ourselves that one of these guys was going to tie the game.
And then in the 10th, we knew that either Lindor/Alonso was going to come through for the game winner.
And Tut-Tut, my friends, but excuse me for not laughing my ass off when Alonso said the whole F-word clear as day. Sure, we all curse all the time, but still jarring to hear on live TV. Our role model is Mr. Met, after all.
I actually think Alonso planned it and did it on purpose. Because sick or not, he seemed to appear more dour than usual in his demeanor during that on-field interview. I think he was angry at the recent teamwide slump, and even more angry at the fans for booing the team.
Now lets go out and beat the H-E-double hockey sticks out of Tampa Bay today!
Good thing the FC-effing-C can only impose fines for “indecent” material airing on broadcast television and not our dear SNY!
This feels like either the game that will turn things around or a bright spot in a dismal season. Only time will tell.
But I also recall a team that was 23-27 at one point last season and won 101 games and its division.
Sucks that I’m on the road but I’ll catch the replay Friday.
Good, I was hoping there would be a “Triple Play Pancake Breakfast” reference worked in there while relating the F-Bomb interview.
Agree with Eric1973, it didn’t seem spontaneous, which takes a little away from the coolness of it.
Simple plan: Play the darn (FCC-compliant word) kids!!! Energy and hunger is contagious.
I’m a chump. I missed it.
Thank you for this. Absolutely beautiful rendering of what we can all hope is one of many signature games in a year that has had very few of them. Like, none.
They now HAVE to win today. Have to.
Game time coincided with my arrival from a 7 hour drive from Manchester, NH, meaning long enough to have flown home from Manchester, UK, had things to take care of and an episode of Succession to catch up on. So in terms of the game, I missed the early frustrating parts and saw all the good parts. Let’s f’ing FCC be damned go indeed.
For all of your baseball historians out there, I look forward some parallels between the life and energy brought to the ’75 Red Sox by Rookies Rice and Lynn and the influx of our talented kids to a strong core of vets. Uncle Stevie will get us a pitcher or two if (read when) we need it. It is a long season. The ’69 Mets started out 18-23, and the Wild Card slots were just a gleam in young Manfred’s eyes at the time. LGM.
Dear Pete – please keep hitting! Also, please don’t talk.
Well I certainly picked a fine day for my first outing at Citifield in 2023. I wish I had been as spot-on picking attire, as a sweatshirt with cut sleeves and my trusty Kingman jersey did little to counter the unrelenting wind that made it unbearably cold, even in fantastic field level seats behind home.
After 33 years the Missus knows not to bother asking if I want to leave early (I still bust chops about the time when we were first dating and she was cold and we left early, missing a HoJo walkoff). So we were rewarded with the game of the year (How many times will we see this on Mets Classics this winter?!)
Just as I was getting ready to give in to the despair surrounding this team, I feel hope! Play the kids every day!!! Hell, bring up the Kraken and give him a shot too!
A special game deserves a special recap. Thanks for delivering as always. Shouts to all who cling to that glimmer of belief. What is the founding ethos of this franchise after all?
i’ve been admittedly disgusted with this team – and at a hardly watching any games distance. the earliest i’ve ever adopted this stance.
a schedule change of my day – to address the pending WIDESPREAD FROST warning and my 40 houseplants now vacationing outdoors – had me home early. saw the second inning (senga had struck out 5 of first 6 outs…good!)
settled in again after vientos HR and, taking a break before my coveriing my largest, oldest potted trees, settled in to watch what followed.
dramatic, storybook stuff. i was giddy watching the mets for the first time since marte’s hand was broken and wheels fell off.
i absolutely loved pete’s post game and his f-bomb had me howling with laughter.
the frost -which loomed all week as a pending pain in the ass (it was!) kept me from my routine of late – of willfully skipping games. and would kept me from being a chump – assuming i’d have cared (i wouldn’t)
ha! long-haul fatalism. a major aspect of being a fan of the mets.
but giddy faith is all the sweeter for it.
LETS FKG GO METS.
sue me ;0]
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Mets fans know to always listen to that little voice. The rest of the world may think we’re chumps and use the “LOL Mets” meme but we know better than to fall for that. You never know when Fate will wink at the rest of the world, so Don’t Stop Believin’!
The screen shot grab from SNY of Baty, Vientos and Alvarez frolicking across the infield might be destined to be iconic if this season can be righted (and it can). The new meme of Let the Kids Play is joyous and I think those Three Amigos might hold memories of that moment forever. They should savor their first full big league season (I don’t think there’s any way they’re going back to Syracuse, barring injury)because like most first things, it can never be duplicated.Sooner than they know, they’ll be deep in the responsibilities of adulthood, with families and kids, houses and yards, and life-altering decisions on contracts and investments (and G-d forbid, illness) to think about and fret over. But for now, they have brought the fun back to watching the Mets for this fan and many others, and if you’re going to be a lifelong Mets fan, you deserve to celebrate fun when it descends upon you. We are lucky to have these three, and I swear it was only a pandemic ago when the Youth of America was Pete the Polar Bear and Jeff the Squirrel, and only a couple of months before that when it was two Kids named David and Jose. Gather ye rosebuds, indeed.
And we’re even luckier than we know to have Pete Alonso to do what Pete Alonso does, which is hit moonshot home runs, play at full tilt while sick in freezing temperatures, and be a great teammate. I’m not worried that Pete might have been slightly out of sorts after he had emphatically ended the game. I’ve had severe sinus infections, and they are incredibly miserable to deal with and I can’t imagine performing even at half-peak at my desk job while doing so. Pete was leading the cheers in the dugout with his usual enthusiasm after the Vientos and Alvarez homers; he loves this Team and everything it represents, and I hope is shortly signed to a ten-year contract that richly rewards both him and Mets fans who will then not have to worry about any impending arbitrations or free agencies, but can enjoy Pete’s best years and even beyond that. C’mon Steve, make it happen!