So the Mets had another team meeting … and things got worse.
Worse as in 12-1 [1], worse as in out of it by the top of the second, worse as in Travis Jankowski [2] finished up on the mound (before seeing a 2025 Mets AB, no less). Frankie Montas [3] was terrible, the relievers who followed him weren’t much better, Oneil Cruz [4] destroyed two baseballs, and the Mets’ ABs were wan and lacking conviction. It was terrible and endless, concluding with the Mets not only swept by a 100-loss team but defeated by a combined reckoning of 30-4, the most lopsided series defeat in team history.
The lovable, terrible Mets of Jimmy Breslin chronicles? Never beaten this badly. The in-denial North Korea Mets of the first years after Messersmith and McNally? Never beaten this badly. The not so lovable, exquisitely terrible Mets of the Alomar/Phillips era? Never beaten this badly.
And, I must confess, it broke me.
Being a fan in enemy territory means minding your Ps and Qs — you mute your unhappiness, similar to how criticism of the president used to be on hold when he was overseas. But as Montas trudged off the field after the first something came unglued in me and I began booing vociferously, pausing only to scream “HAVE ANOTHER TEAM MEETING!”
I’m a little embarrassed … but only a little. Sometimes you can’t take any more. The last such eruption I can remember came after Braden Looper [5] was incompetent for the fourth or fifth straight appearance; I booed Looper so loudly that I felt something in my throat give way and was reduced to a whisper for a few days.
The Mets are off today, and few teams have needed an off-day more. It will be interesting to see what happens in response to the weekend’s debacle. Maybe nothing — more stoic “such is life” stemwinders from Carlos Mendoza [6] or Francisco Lindor [7] or David Stearns. Maybe a roster shuffle — luckless relievers out, new luckless relievers in. Or maybe it will be decided that a head or two must roll — if I’m Eric Chavez [8] or Jeremy Barnes, I’d be a little nervous every time my phone buzzes.
Should such a thing happen? Don’t ask me that right now — as attested above, I’m a little too PO’ed to see things clearly.
* * *
Baseball aside, Emily and I had a lovely visit to Pittsburgh and PNC. The first time I saw PNC, I was seeing a lot of new ballparks and wrestling with the question of how to weigh the view from parks in assessing them. My caveat about PNC, as stated at the time [9], was that the Pirates didn’t build the view of the Pittsburgh skyline, so why fall to the earth praising it?
I’ve rejected that idea since then — siting is part of the design process, and there are plenty of parks that do nothing with lovely views. (Looking at you, Nationals Park.) But my other (mild) criticism of PNC remains: For a park hosting a team called the Pirates, it’s strangely light on pirate-themed stuff. There are watering holes called the Crow’s Nest and Skull Bar, but they’re just names. Three cannons sound when an enemy better gets struck out, but it’s just a graphic on the video board.
PNC needs a big dumb pirate ship, like the Tampa Bay Buccaneers have at Raymond James. You could put it above the spiral ramp in left field, which is currently topped by an unadorned steel trellis of sorts. Have it fire actual cannon blasts (just smoke, you maniacs) after strikeouts, raise flags and launch fusillades after home runs, and hoist the Jolly Roger after wins. The Crow’s Nest should have shrouds and sails and cutlasses; the Skull Bar should have treasure chests and parrots and old maps. PNC is lovely, but it’s also weirdly subtle. You’re the Pirates! Go all in!
* * *
At the beginning of May I started a new dumb tradition: Every month I try to spot all 30 MLB caps in the wild. (T-shirts and what-not count, provided they’re adorning a person and not, say, on a shelf in a clubhouse store). I found 29 out of 30 clubs in May, with only the Texas Rangers escaping me, and so started over in June — with nine days in Europe making this go-round a little more challenging.
On Sunday Emily and I circled PNC a couple of times before the game started, looking for the three remaining caps I needed: the Brewers, Rays and Rockies. I found a Brewers cap relatively quickly (paired, oddly, with a Toledo Mud Hens jersey), then spotted a Rays t-shirt in an outfield bar.
That was 29 of 30, but a Rockies sighting seemed highly unlikely: Who would wear the gear of an 18-win team while several time zones away and attending a Mets-Pirates game? At least the Rays and Brewers are having good years.
But hey, keep hope alive: As we neared our seats, an older gentleman walked by wearing not only a Rockies cap but also a jaunty Hawaiian-themed Rockies shirt. That meant 30 of 30 for June, and earned the passing fan a salute from me: It’s hard to be Mile or High or Die given what the Rockies are enduring this year, but one man was up to the challenge. Respect!