We’re all exhausted, so let’s hurry through the first seven or so innings of Sunday’s desperate affair against the Rangers: A young pitcher was great, the Mets hit a little though not a lot, Carlos Mendoza [1] made an understandable though anxiety-provoking move to get aforementioned young pitcher out amid early signs that the roof might be weakening, and none of it mattered because normally at least moderately reliable members of the bullpen blew the lead.
That was the script on Saturday and on Sunday too, with only the names changing Mad Libs style. On Saturday it was Brandon Sproat [2] (blameless young starter); Pete Alonso [3], Francisco Lindor [4] and Juan Soto [5] (fitful sources of offense); and Tyler Rogers [6] and Edwin Diaz [7] (blowers of lead). On Sunday it was Nolan McLean [8] (blameless young starter); Francisco Alvarez [9], Soto and Brandon Nimmo [10] (sources of fitful offense); and Brooks Raley [11] and Reed Garrett [12] (blowers of lead).
On Saturday the game sputtered from 2-0 Mets to 2-2 to 3-2 Rangers [13]; on Sunday we got the same descent from 2-0 Mets to 2-2, and if you didn’t see 3-2 Rangers coming, well, I guess you’re lucky to have been in a coma for the last eight games, and perhaps since mid-June.
And the Mets tried their damnedest to engineer a ninth straight loss: In the ninth, Diaz immediately hung a slider to Kyle Higashioka [14] to give the Rangers a leadoff baserunner, with pinch-runner Ezequiel Duran [15] piercing through the usual Diaz Maginot line to steal second and then getting bunted to third by the pesty Cody Freeman [16]. Disaster was at hand, but equally pesty Josh Smith [17] lined a ball straight into Lindor’s glove and Duran was trapped off third. Double play, and the Mets had survived.
That felt like deliverance, except nothing feels like deliverance when you’ve lost eight straight and 999,999 out of a million, or whatever the post-June 13 record is now. Again, going back to Saturday, hadn’t the Mets seemed to catch an enormous break when hefty wrecking ball Rowdy Tellez [18] saw a lead-grabbing double take a right-turn bounce into the stands, allowing Diaz to escape the eighth with the game merely tied? That reprieve lasted all of an inning, so the jubilation on Sunday was understandably muted.
(Incidentally: Was this weekend’s timely hitting and smooth fielding from the dismissed-as-Vogelbachian Tellez an indication that I haven’t appreciated his contributions as a player, or a symptom of the kind of things that happen when you’re losing 999,999 out of a million? Show your work, class.)
The Mets did nothing in the bottom of the ninth, though Cedric Mullins [19] did record a single (not a misprint!), and so the game was handed off to Ryne Stanek [20] for the 10th, with Smith beamed down to second base from Rob Manfred’s brain. Smith promptly scooted over to third on a flyout, after which Stanek couldn’t seem to decide whether he wanted to pitch to Joc Pederson [21] or not, eventually walking him. I’d say I didn’t want to face Pederson with the Rangers another fly ball away from grabbing the lead, but I didn’t want to face anybody at that point.
But Stanek then changed speeds and location with textbook execution against Adolis Garcia [22], fanning him on a slider in the dirt. That brought Tellez to the plate, because of course it did … and he hit a harmless pop-up to Mark Vientos [23], because baseball loves when you try to outguess it. Stanek stormed off the mound shaking his mane and screaming, and this time it didn’t seem like even the slightest overreaction.
Lindor headed for second as the Stupid Runner Dreamed Up by People Who Don’t Like Baseball, with Soto and Alonso on tap and the Rangers turning to someone named Luis Curvelo [24]. Curvelo eyed Soto and sensibly sent him to first with four imaginary pitches, giving us the answer to the oh-so-modern trivia question of “How can someone be the first pitcher in an inning and face runners on first and second without having thrown a pitch?”
We were in a baseball situation where the Mets could win the game in an assortment of ways, including ones that didn’t feature another hit. It’s one of those scenarios that’s interesting and delightful on a sleepy summer afternoon when you’re not gasping for your postseason life, which meant on Sunday it was the furthest thing from interesting or delightful.
In a vain effort to keep my anxiety in check I started riffling mentally through the possibilities as Alonso took a slider that nicked the bottom of the opposite edge of the plate for strike one (not ideal but fine) and then spat on a bait pitch lower and farther outside and meant to entice him into expanding the zone and putting himself in a hole (a good sign).
I reshuffled the deck of possibilities: fly ball deep enough for Lindor to take third; little squibber of a fielder’s choice that moves the runners up; double play but Lindor moves to third; single that loads the bases; Curvelo holds onto one too long for an HBP…
As I was cataloging, Curvelo went to the sinker, leaving one in the middle of the plate.
Oh yeah, Pete could also hit one over the fucking fence. That would work too.
After the game, the narrative was about Alonso once again saving the Mets’ season [25], which was probably unavoidable but struck me as a little overheated. That was October and this is trying to get there; there are still an alarming number of days left on the calendar, a series of tough opponents, and the weight of that post-June 13 record still pressing down.
The Mets survived; until Tuesday let’s settle for describing it that way. But hey, at this point survival would be strategy enough.