“Until you’ve been beside a man,” Detroit’s own Bob Seger wailed mournfully [1], “you don’t know what he wants.” And until you have a high-profile reliever on your team, you don’t know what he is. For the Cardinals, Ryan Helsley [2] was lights out. For the Mets, he turns them off on his own team.
Had Helsley done his job perfectly Wednesday afternoon and nothing else about the game he entered at Comerica Park had been different from what it was, the Mets would have still lost, albeit by fewer runs. But Helsley did not do his job perfectly. He came into the seventh inning of a one-run game — Tigers 3 Mets 2 — and proceeded to give up a leadoff single, a walk, then a three-run homer to Kerry Carpenter. The one-run game became a four-run game. Even a little less imperfect keeps the Mets conceivably close. The Helsleyfied margin effectively put the game out of reach.
Cue Mr. Seger and “Shame On The Moon” again: When nothing comes easy, old nightmares are real. Newish nightmares, too. Ryan Helsley has been pitching for the Mets since August 1. Many bad dreams. No light at the end of his tunnel.
Around the time Ryan was dyin’ on Comerica’s hill, word spread that the Mariners — a contender for the postseason just like us — had plucked Jose Castillo [3] from the waiver pile we tossed him on in one of our myriad reliever-roulette transfers. Pardon the simplistic approach to this equation, but in 15.1 innings as a Met this season, Castillo compiled an ERA of 2.35. In Helsley’s eleven innings in orange and blue, his ERA is a black and blue 11.45. I looked at other metrics as well, but none is any kinder to the guy who’s still here vis-à-vis the guy who isn’t. Castillo and Helsley don’t present an apples-to-apples comparison. One’s a lefty, one’s a righty; one’s a quintessential journeyman, one’s got a genuine track record that includes All-Star selections and Cy Young votes; one cost essentially nothing when he was signed to limited notice in the offseason, one was framed as a major get obtained in exchange for three minor leaguers, two of whom are considered viable prospects.
I know the answer, but as I took in the spectacle of the thus far disastrous Helsley continuing to give up runs, and absorbed the ticker-level news that the generally useful Castillo had slipped away to Seattle, I wondered to myself, “Why couldn’t we have just kept the one who usually pitched OK and dumped this guy?”
It’s September. No time for scapegoats. Wednesday’s was a team-effort 6-2 loss [4], starting with Clay Holmes [5] having about as Clay Holmes an outing as Clay Holmes could have. He battled. He lost. That seems to be the ceiling for what a Mets starter can achieve when he can claim more than a few weeks of experience. Stranded a runner in the first. Nicked for a run in the second. Retired the side in order in the third. Worked out of trouble in the fourth. Departed in the fifth with two out and two on after 85 pitches. The runners he bequeathed to Gregory Soto [6] advanced on a wild pitch and scored on a hot shot past short.
G. Soto hasn’t been as stupefyingly unreliable as Helsley, but the lights tend to stay on for hitters when he pitches. Tyler Rogers has had his moments, but not enough to make any Mets fan count lucky stars on behalf of his presence. Jeff McNeil is back to being in center sometimes because suddenly revived Tyrone Taylor strained his hammy and Cedric Mullins has proven, to be kind about it, disposable. What David Stearns shook free from sellers may constitute the least helpful headline haul the Mets have ever brought in on the eve of August. Nobody among Helsley, Soto, Rogers, and Mullins was an acquisition on the level of Yoenis Cespedes, but they weren’t supposed to collectively replicate the impact of John Thomson, Jason Middlebrook, Steve Reed, and Mark Little. Do you remember how those guys came in and helped us compete for the 2002 Wild Card?
Exactly.
The lineup Juan Soto says goes “bananas” with runners in scoring position forgot to swing by the produce section Wednesday afternoon. They faced some good pitching, from Casey Mize over the first five to Old Friend™ and bona fide big league survivor Rafael Montero in the ninth, yet there were legitimate opportunities for the Mets against those pros and their compadres, hardly enough cashed in. If it wasn’t September, you might shrug and say, hey, two out of three from a first-place club, hardly a bad series. But it is September. It’s in our fan contract that we are permitted to gripe this late in the schedule when a sweep isn’t completed and flatness permeates a matinee — and whoa, were the Mets flat as they ended their series in Detroit.
Flat also describes the club’s status regarding its playoff positioning. After 100 games of the current season, the Mets were four games clear of a Wild Card. The division title was our primary aspiration then, so checking our fallback options seemed superfluous. They’ve played 40 games since, gone 19-21 in that span, and are…four games clear of a Wild Card. So much for putting distance between themselves and supposedly lesser competition. The team not quite on their heels or tails, yet a little too visible in their rearview mirror, is now San Francisco. The Giants’ front office gave up at the deadline. They gave us Tyler Rogers (in exchange for three able-bodied players). Those who take the field for them have kept trying, however, thus the Giants have passed the Reds, who are five behind the Mets as our boys prepare to partake of, or perhaps avoid, Cincinnati’s world-famous Skyline Chili this weekend.
Some Septembers you’d be thrilled that the Mets had built a four-game postseason cushion with slightly more than three weeks to go. Thrilling does not really capture the sensation around these Mets. Nor does sensational. I think they’re capable. I find them likable. They just don’t strike me as anything special. Eleven previous times the Mets have made the playoffs, and on all eleven occasions, I was convinced I was rooting for a team on a mission, or a team of destiny, or a team that had done something wonderful just to get where they were regardless of where they were going or, ultimately, where they wound up. September, I presume, is Latin for “subject to change,” so the Mets can get special in a hurry. Or they can stay capable, likable, and a tad too ordinary to inspire.
I’m aware they very recently won games by mounting impressive offensive onslaughts, and that losing, 6-2, is not necessarily a leading indicator of who they are, but neither was winning by consecutive scores of 10-8 and 12-5, any more than losing the two previous games they lost, which were by scores of 11-8 and 5-1. There are no leading indicators where the Mets are concerned, certainly not on a going basis. If Nolan McLean pitches, you’re excited. If Jonah Tong (or Brandon Sproat) pitches, you’re curious. If anybody else starts, you’re gripping the arms of your chair. Whoever relieves, you’re probably not the picture of confidence. If the lineup’s banana stand is open for business, well, you know what they say in Orange County: there’s always money in the banana stand [7]. Score a lot, you’re likely to win. Score not much, you’ll likely hope neither the Reds nor Giants catch and/or maintain fire. They’re not that great, either, the operative word here being “either”.
The Mets have played 140 games and gave up the ghost on being great some time ago. What’s great for them, mostly, is each league’s playoff bracket is built to encompass six teams. Once in, bursts of greatness are required to stick around. A special team can produce those. A capable team too often verging on ordinary would be advised to do the same the rest of September, if only to confirm its reservation for October.