The New York Mets are worth your time. They’ve got a rich history, by turns tragic and comic and occasionally even triumphant, that’s fun to be a part of. And one year, maybe even a year pretty soon, they’ll add something to the triumphant part of that history. And that’ll definitely be worth your time.
But the 2021 Mets? Not so much.
This year’s team can’t get out of its own way. It can’t beat good teams, as it made abundantly clear last month, but it can’t beat bad ones either. Remember a week ago, when this stretch against the Nats and the Marlins was going to be their springboard back into competition? Well, that stretch is done and they went 4-4. When you go 4-4 against the bottom of your division’s barrel, you’ve shown anyone who’s paying attention exactly what you are.
Meanwhile, look around you. Odds are you aren’t in a gulag. (And if you are, well, good on you for finding one with Internet access.) This is the sweet part of September, when the days are still kind enough for shirt sleeves and some of the nights are starting to turn pleasantly cool. Those are nights for languid dinners and romantic strolls and gentle reminiscing and making big dramatic plans. (Though hey, bring a mask.) Make the most of them, because in a blink of an eye the wind will bite and it’ll be dark early and you’ll want each and every one of those nights back.
My advice? Don’t waste the precious remaining ones on terrible ballclubs that can’t get out of their own way [1]. On misbegotten outfits that can play down to any level of competition. On organizations that have rotted from the top and need pruning. On the 2021 Mets, who don’t deserve your belief or your hope, having rewarded neither.
Another incarnation of the Mets will show up pretty soon. Save your passion for that one, because maybe it will love you back in a way this version can’t.
That’s what I’m doing, or at least the mini-version of it. Tomorrow I’m heading to Rome, which means eight and a half blissfully Met-free days await me. That wasn’t the point of the trip — once upon a time I even cringed when I saw I was missing the Subway Series — but all of a sudden it feels like a Get Out of Jail Free card. In my absence be nice to Greg, whose patience with my vagabond ways has probably never been as sorely tested as it’s about to be. Be nice to each other. And don’t forget to be nice to yourselves. Whether that means more baseball or less of it … well, I suppose that’s up to you.