Calling the Roll

In the early days of Citi Field, there was an attempt to start a first-inning Yankee Stadium-style roll call. Thankfully wisdom prevailed and the attempt got shelved — that tradition belongs in the Bronx, just like “Sweet Caroline” belongs in Fenway. But there’s no rule that we can’t do it here.

Juan Soto: I heard Soto’s third-inning blast via the audio feed as I was putting away kayaks down in Brooklyn Bridge Park. Howie sounded excited and impressed, and the footage didn’t disappoint once I finally got to see it for myself — a majestic arc of a home run against his original team that came down to the right of the Mets’ bullpen, with a nifty catch by a young fan on the other end.

Brandon Nimmo: We sometimes judge Nimmo’s performances against our memory of him as the table-setter he was a few years ago, a top-of-the-order slash-and-dash hitter who drew walks and stole bases while chipping in ~10 homers a season. He isn’t that player any more, having traded on-base percentage and average for power while moving from center to left. We should move along with him: Two home runs — the first an opposite-field slice that almost looked accidental, the second a more conventional drive pulled to right — will play just fine.

Tyrone Taylor: It took a weirdly long time for the second-line umps to confirm that Taylor had thrown out Luis Garcia Jr. at home in the eighth, preserving David Peterson‘s shut-out and along with it, most likely, his chance at a complete game. Out in center, Taylor looked serene and unruffled, waiting for Chelsea (it’s now Midtown but so what, Chelsea sounds better) to declare that nothing supported the Nats’ oh-why-not challenge of the call. And why wouldn’t Taylor be serene? He’s not tearing the cover off the ball (no one ever is, come to think of it) but he’s playing impeccable defense, and somehow always does something that gets his name in the recap.

Luis Torrens: One of baseball’s pleasures is that it’s primarily a game of individual endeavors, yet one that adds up to collective victory or defeat. In the middle of that, though, are partnerships, duos that have to work in sync. Pitcher and catcher, for one; outfielder and catcher, for another. No Peterson complete game without Torrens thinking along with him, no Peterson shut-out without Torrens’ smooth tag at home. And note that the play didn’t end there — after tagging out Garcia, Torrens lost the ball on the transfer because he was looking to throw behind an unwary Nats runner. The man knows what he’s doing back there and we’re lucky to have him.

Carlos Mendoza: If Ryne Stanek had come out for the ninth, it would have yielded a postgame question or two for Carlos Mendoza about whether Peterson had wanted to go nine and if he could have. But it would have been a momentary, nostalgic aside and not a serious interrogation: The game has changed and it’s safe to say that Tom Seaver‘s franchise complete-game records (21 in 1971, 171 overall) are safe. Mendoza knew Peterson wanted to try, talked through the plan with Torrens, and gave Peterson his chance.

John DeMarisco: Kudos to SNY for staying with the game after the eighth inning was concluded, letting us see Peterson heading out to the mound alone (nice touch, Mets) and letting us hear the crowd’s jubilant welcome for him. That was the kind of moment those of us watching at home generally miss because of business considerations, and have come to assume we’ll miss. The Mets’ broadcast director gave us a chance to see it.

David Peterson: Well of course. Early last year I had a mild fit about “feckless nibblers” in the Mets’ rotation, a criticism that’s pretty much out of date as the pitching braintrust has encouraged Met hurlers to simplify their arsenals and trust their stuff. On Wednesday Peterson was anything but feckless and anything but a nibbler, throwing first-pitch strikes, pitching aggressively and trusting his defense. It wasn’t so long ago that we’d consigned Peterson to the prospect-turned-suspect column, wondering if he’d ever stop getting out of his own way. Time to abandon that idea: His hip is healthy and he’s made great strides in the part of the game that a starting pitcher wins or loses above the neck. Ron Darling did a good job on the broadcast talking about this element of pitching, referring to a long-ago Mets teammate whom he said had better stuff but less conviction. Darling likes to poor-mouth himself as a pitcher so I didn’t pay much attention to the first part; I did spend the better part of an inning on the second part, reviewing old Mets rosters in my head and wondering whom he was talking about.

Us: The Mets are 26-7 at Citi Field, the best home record in the game. (And the inverse of the poor Rockies’ home record, if you were wondering.) That’s overwhelmingly a result of their being really good, but let’s give at least a rounding error’s worth of credit to the big crowds that have come out all year. In the eighth and ninth my eyes were on Peterson, but also on the stands, where a significant percentage of the rooters knew what was at stake and were determined to give Peterson whatever lift they could. Cardinals fans? Bah. Fenway partisans. Meh. Wrigley rooters? Whatever. Mets fans are a wonderful combination of wary and paranoid, defiant and hopeful, history-haunted and dreamily optimistic. They also always know what’s going on.