A dozen or so decades ago, the toast of New York National League baseball was a teetotaler projecting such a wholesome image, he was occasionally referred to in the press as the Christian Gentleman [1], though more readily as Matty or perhaps Big Six. Mostly, he was recognized as the indisputable ace of the Giants. His Hall of Fame plaque identifies him as Christy Mathewson, “greatest of all the great pitchers in the 20th century’s first quarter”. If your current New York National League franchise is winding down the first quarter of the next century by promoting a pitcher who puts a person in mind of Christy Mathewson, even a tiny little bit, it could be doing something right.
[2]Too soon?
Granted, the link at this moment is no more than name deep. John McGraw deployed the Christian Gentleman? Carlos Mendoza had at his disposal Saturday night Christian Scott [3]. They both pitch for NY in the NL, both use their right arm, and to suggest any further similarities, a lot of staying power will be required by the current model. Christy Mathewson won 373 games. Christian Scott has one no-decision.
Still, this young gentleman Christian…I couldn’t help but notice the glove he wore during his first major league start had “Psalm 118:14” imprinted upon it. For those scoring at home, “The Lord is my strength and my defense; he has become my salvation,” or words to that effect, is the text of said Psalm, per what I will assume are informed sources [4] I looked up online. The only so-called Bible I ever read with any regularity was the Bible of Baseball [5], a.k.a. the Sporting News, and by then, it covered other sports.
You have a brand new pitcher, one you’ve heard so much good about in a fairly short span, one you weren’t expecting to descend from the heavens/ascend from the minors so soon, you get curious about the kid. Unusual first name for a Met. Unusual inscription on his glove. Poise I can’t say I’ve seen in ages. The kid didn’t just appear to handle his assignment professionally. He looked like he was having fun out there, especially the way he made the strike zone his plaything. I know I was having fun watching him.
The first few batters Scott faced in St. Petersburg indicated a different story might unfold. Three consecutive hits, one run in, a Rays threat clear enough that it could be discerned on the back of their otherwise illegible jerseys. You didn’t need a scorecard to recognize Randy Arozarena coming up with runners on first and third and nobody out. The Mets’ early 1-0 advantage had already been thrown back into the water, and now their phenom was in danger of being filleted.
Eight pitches later, it was Arozarena who was gutted, striking out on a full-count four-seamer. A slider and double play grounder followed immediately thereafter. Onward Christian Scott! The neophyte succeeding as might a veteran spurred me to recall what Leo McGarry advised Jed Bartlet in the Book of Sorkin 2:1 (the first episode of the second season of The West Wing, that is):
“Act as if ye have faith and faith shall be given to you. Put it another way, fake it ’til you make it. You did good tonight.”
Escaping the first inning with limited damage was a great night’s work for your average 24-year-old whose previous experience in MLB was bupkis. But Scott, doing right by Zack Wheeler’s heretofore hard-to-fill 45, kept doing good. Inning after inning, the Rays didn’t touch Scott, much to the delight of his personal cheering section and vocal pockets of visiting New Yorkers at Tropicana Field. Unfortunately, Met batters treated Scott’s opposite number Zack Littell with disturbing reverence (or maybe the Rays’ starter was inspired by his own family in attendance). A pitching duel ensued, the kind in which Met hurlers seem to engage with regularity, either because we have great pitching and other teams have great pitching, or, you know, we spend too many nights not hitting. A team that scored seven in victory on Thursday and eight in defeat on Friday is certainly capable of generating offense. Let’s say Littell and Scott were equal to their respective tasks Saturday and leave getting hung up on our rampant scorelessness for another day.
Let’s also say Scott being a kid who comes to the majors and goes six-and-two-thirds giving up just that first-inning run and leaving only one baserunner behind for Reed Garrett to brush aside provides an incredible boost, even on an evening when the final score didn’t work out [6]. Adam Ottavino competed like crazy in the eighth (with Adam Amin and Adam Wainwright on FOX offering narration worthy of October), but despite a genuinely Ordoñezesque 6-2 putout on Francisco Lindor’s part exemplifying strength and defense if not salvation, Otto couldn’t quite squirm out of his imperfect control. The Rays plated two runs on consecutive bases-loaded walks, the second of them issued by Sean Reid-Foley. The Mets were behind, 3-1, heading to the ninth, and against the Rays’ pen — or a Bic pen — that loomed as an insurmountable margin.
But between you and me, for one night, so what? The Mets’ top pitching prospect, who burst both into our collective consciousness and then onto the active roster faster than I can remember any top Met pitching prospect doing (don’t we usually have to devote a few months to wondering what’s taking so long to bring up the next savior?) pitched like he belonged at this level, pitched like you wanted to immediately calculate when his next start will be. Not too many pitchers look that good straight out of the box. Too many pitchers don’t look this good after years on the job. Such a performance should be a prime cause for faith among we who are practicing Metsopotamians. Seaver. Gooden. deGrom. We built this city on strikes and outs.
There’s no time like the present to embrace a future that rushes to meet you with such enthusiasm. This may very well be the time of Christian Scott. Who knew it would arrive so soon?