Surely you’ve been told at some point in your life, “Get some rest and you’ll feel better.” I felt fine in the bottom of the sixth Friday night, though I’d felt better before the Royals tied the Mets at one apiece. The part of the rain-delayed game in which Kodai Senga [1] pitched four scoreless innings in his return from the IL made me feel superfine, actually. The lone Met run coming across on a bases-loaded walk issued by Old Friend™ Michael Wacha [2] to Pete Alonso [3] in the third felt OK, though just OK. Pete belting one would have felt fantastic. So would have Juan Soto doing something of that nature, except he struck out prior to Pete’s at-bat. A Mets fan always feels the heart of the order should beat more loudly.
Mostly in the bottom of the sixth, I felt sleepy, thus I closed my eyes and missed the seventh inning, the top of the eighth, and however the bottom of the eighth started. Not that I knew the bottom of the eighth was in progress as I stirred. All I knew when I roused to consciousness was a commercial was on TV. I didn’t know what time it was, because the clock I rely on to tell me that at a glance after I nod off — the clock that has centered three separate living rooms of ours over the past almost 34 years — recently stopped operating. Changing batteries hasn’t worked. Tapping it purposefully hasn’t worked. Sweet-talking it back to ticking and/or tocking hasn’t worked. The clock was a wedding gift from a relative on my father’s side [4] of the family. Its sentimental value is a product of its longevity. It’s our clock. Other methods of accessing the time are easily available to us, but we like our clock. Now it’s an ornament, perched atop a standard-definition television whose purpose these past two baseball seasons is to sit quietly behind the high-definition model we installed so we can consume media like modern folks do. The SDTV, acquired in June 2004, still worked as of January 2024, but it didn’t do enough, so we finally moved on to the kind of thing most people look at. Ol’ Boxy behind it is too heavy to move without calling a coupla guys. That dependable television of yore has therefore become a shelf for a clock that no longer tells time.
[5]And maybe Vientos got fixed.
The commercial I woke to was for a car. I don’t know what kind of car (I can’t stress how not up to date I am when it come to cars), but it was high-end enough to hint that I wasn’t watching in the middle of the night. If it was the middle of the night, an infomercial would be on. More likely there’d be a message on my HDTV to PRESS ANY KEY, because energy-saving mode would have shut off active programming. It couldn’t be terribly late, I figured. Maybe the game is still going. Or we might be in the postgame show. The car commercial would drive off into the sunset, and then Gary Apple would speak in the past tense. I’d hate to think I’d slept through the conclusion of the game. Or maybe I’d hate to find out how the game turned out.
Rewinding the DVR struck me as an option. Or just grabbing my phone. Welcome to the second quarter of the 21st century, pal. It’s all right there on your device. You’re staring at clocks that aren’t running before figuring out how the Mets should make you feel. Get with the times.
Royals 3 Mets 1. Bottom of the eighth. Like Mr. Magoo in A Christmas Carol, I learned it wasn’t too late. But I did learn the Mets were losing, and that didn’t feel great. Bobby Witt had homered while I napped. Ouch.
Commercial break ends. Eyes open a little more. Steve Gelbs speaks. Carlos Estevez is on for the Royals with the bases loaded. Hey, Steve nudges Ron Darling, remember Carlos Estevez from last October? Carlos Estevez…I’m still sleepy, Steve…just tell me. He gave up that grand slam to Francisco Lindor. Good sign, maybe.
Alonso strikes out. So much for signs. Mark Vientos is up with one out. Mark Vientos [6] up hasn’t been a good sign at all this year. Earlier in the game, when I was fully awake, Mark struck out and took it out on his bat at home plate. They showed that replay multiple times. It was dramatic video. But not as dramatic as what Vientos did against Estevez, doubling into the right-center gap. All three Mets on base, including dashing when he wants to be Soto, score. We go from down, 3-1, to up, 4-3. I go from wanting to turn the TV off and fall back asleep to determined to stay up.
The Mets were determined to make awake the way to be. In the ninth, against Taylor Clarke, Lindor launched a fly ball that just cleared the fence between center and right. It counted as a three-run homer. And as I debated whether this was a secure enough lead that would allow me to snooze in peace, Soto did something very similar. His fly ball was to the left of center, but it also went out. Now it’s 8-3. Now I don’t want to sleep quite so soon. I hang in there with Chris Devenski getting the final three outs and stick around for Vientos smiling with headphones on (Gelbs has to interview him from the booth since SNY didn’t spring to station an auxiliary Gelbs in KC), then treat my drowsy self to Apple’s postgame show. My favorite part is when Other Gary goes to commercial by saying, “More to come,” and I reflexively respond, “Mordecai.” I doubt it’s anybody else’s favorite part. The more that came, Mordecai, was Carlos Mendoza agreeing with reporters that it was a big game for Mark, then Kodai Senga and his interpreter assuring the same scrum that all is good on the ghostforker’s end. Plus the Phillies lost and the Mets are only a half-game out, and at least for a night, all is well [7]. Either all is well or not at all well [8] when it comes to these Mets. Take the good night’s rest when the Mets provide it.