Some nights, you just know. On Monday night, I just knew the Mets were headed to defeat as they fell behind almost immediately, which is to say some nights, you just think you know.
I thought and knew it didn’t look good as Kodai Senga endured his customary first-inning struggles, and not even the redoubtable glove of Tyrone Taylor, installed in center a day after it might have done the most good, could catch up to Trea Turner’s sinking liner that became a triple. Kyle Schwarber, with a well-placed grounder rather than a characteristic out-of-sight homer, turned that into a 1-0 lead, and in the top of the third at Citi Field, the Phillies were finding more ways to nettle the scuffling Senga. With two out, Alec Bohm singled home two runs. The next batter, Brandon Marsh, doubled into the right field corner. Juan Soto didn’t handle it cleanly, and in the scoreboard of my mind, I’d already revised the tally to Philadelphia 4 New York 0, the Mets drifting into divisional oblivion and holding on for dear Wild Card life.
Except Bohm, who could have easily scored, was held up at third by his coach, Dusty Wathan. Did I have any idea who the third base coach of the Philadelphia Phillies was before his hand went up? Absolutely not, because as we established a few weeks ago [1], you don’t notice most coaches, not even your own, until they do something that results in an out or a missed opportunity. It was only the third inning, but Wathan and the Phillies had just done Kodai a massive favor. They refrained from taking a run that was right there in front of them. Such gentlemen!
At that moment, or maybe the moment Senga flied out Max Kepler to end the inning and strand Bohm where Wathan halted his progress, I just knew (or perhaps thought hard) that the Phillies would regret it. Sure enough — and there isn’t a lot of “sure enough” to the 2025 Mets — the Mets rose from down 0-3 to, bit by bit, tie, lead, and squash the Phils, rendering Cristopher Sanchez’s early dominance into a footnote. The final score wound up New York 13 Philadelphia 3. I didn’t know the Mets would win by a ton [2]. I didn’t know the Phillies’ lumber would fall into slumber, not at all touching five Met relievers over five innings. I sure as hell didn’t know that in the visitors’ fifth, Bohm would have problems with a parabolic microphone’s positioning, tucked as it was in the lower right corner of the center field batter’s eye…or, to be honest, that the thing that looks like a miniature satellite dish is called a parabolic microphone. The umps ordered the item moved, a process that required fourteen minutes, all so the next batter, Marsh, could have an unobstructed line of sight to ground out on the very next pitch Jose Castillo [3] was finally permitted to throw. Castillo became the pitcher of record once the Mets took a 4-3 lead in the bottom of the fifth. The pouring on of Met runs assured he’d be credited with his first major league win in seven years, a wait that I suppose made fourteen minutes of standing around and staying warm tolerable.
Oh, you could tolerate these Mets every night if you could get them on a regular basis. Mark Vientos and Jeff McNeil are still steaming at the plate. Luis Torrens [4] knocked in five runs. Taylor didn’t catch that Turner triple, but he did collect three hits, walk once, and never make you think, “Gee, I’m glad the Mets went out and traded for Cedric Mullins.” While Reed Garrett went on the IL, thus explaining Castillo’s sudden presence, all the more or less regulars who’d been nursing aches and pains were back in the lineup, and even Francisco Alvarez took some BP. Not that Alvy’s availability was a press concerning after Torrens went deep to hoist the Mets’ run total into double-digit territory.
All problems were not solved Monday night, but the Mets who win ballgames proved preferable to the Mets who lose ballgames. They’re the same team, but we so want to believe the version that scores thirteen unanswered runs isn’t the same version whose starting pitcher couldn’t make it out of the fifth, nor the same version whose Biggest Three — Lindor, Soto, Alonso — goes 2-for-14 amid an offensive onslaught. More than enough cylinders were firing in Flushing. We may not get many nights when the engine purrs exactly as we wish. We’ll certainly take the games when more goes right than wrong.
After Sunday’s grumbly affair, I stumbled into something of a state of Met Zen. Win ballgames and make the playoffs was my new mantra. And if the Mets don’t win the ballgames it will take to make the playoffs, then it won’t happen, can’t worry about what I can’t control. It’s probably as healthy an attitude as a Mets fan can take given how this team has played, never mind that much of the fun of being a fan is thinking you or your actions possess a wisp of control over the actions of others that you decided long ago would define your mood on a going basis. Then they roused to life Monday, overcame their shortcomings, and blew away the team in front of them in the NL East standings. Win ballgames and make the playoffs still made sense to me, but now I was less at peace about letting it be should the alternative come to pass. If you can win a ballgame like that, why can’t you win ballgames more often than you do? Huh? HUH?
So much for Met Zen.