Having had them imposed on the game we love for only four seasons, we National League fans remain mostly unfamiliar with the behavior of designated hitters during games. We know they come to bat once per order, but unlike their teammates in the lineup, they disappear from our view and our thoughts until they stroll to the plate again. Most DHs, according to my sources (you can do your own research), hang back in usually restricted areas behind the dugout. The word their guild has put out is they’re in the batting cage, swinging away, staying loose, preparing to unleash one mighty swing. In fact, they’re usually playing solitaire, or checking their messages, or filing their nails. A few considerate ones arrange a postgame snack for the guys who’ve played hard in the field all day. David Ortiz was legendary for that, blending sweet and savory flavors that tasted just right, whether the Red Sox had won or lost.
Like any self-respecting designated hitter, Daylen Lile was going about his personal business in the clubhouse of the last-place Washington Nationals early Saturday evening, in his case catching up on his reading — the massive works of Rick Perlstein have been his seasonlong project — when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He figured Miguel Cairo had sent one of his coaches in to remind him he was scheduled to hit in the top of the eleventh. Daylen Lile didn’t need to be reminded by one of the manager’s lieutenants. DHs come equipped with a special pager that vibrates to alert them to their appointments, similar to what restaurants hand patrons when their table is ready. Like the iPads on the bench, it’s a dedicated MLB technology.
The tap, however, did not come from a Nationals coach. It was a figure in a faded orange and blue golf shirt who addressed the visiting DH.
“Daylen Lile?”
“Yes?”
“I require your help.”
Daylen Lile thought this was a misunderstanding. “You must want one of the clubhouse kids. I’m a ballplayer with the other team. Well, I’m a designated hitter. It’s like a ballplayer, but I only play half-ball.”
“No,” the figure said. “I know who you are, and I know what you do. You’re the one I need.”
Daylen Lile slipped a bookmark into his massive copy of The Invisible Bridge and stood up. He was confused.
“What do you want from me?”
“Daylen Lile, I am Destiny.”
“Destiny? Like that’s your name? Isn’t that more a girl’s name? I mean no judgments, man…”
“Destiny is just an identifier I introduce myself with so a ballplayer, even a designated hitter like you, can understand me completely. Consider me, Destiny, something akin to a state of mind.”
“What do you mean?”
“Daylen Lile, I am the Destiny that has been in the Mets’ own hands all season, and I am thisclose to slipping out.”
Daylen Lile wasn’t any clearer on what was going on.
“Look, Mr. Destiny…”
“No need for formality. You can just call me Destiny. Call me Des if you like.”
“Destiny, I don’t even know if you’re supposed to be in here during a game. I only get to be in here during a game because I’m a DH and half the time I serve no purpose.”
“Daylen Lile, you are to serve a great purpose to baseball in the coming minutes. You might even say it is your destiny.”
Daylen Lile looked around. No other Nats personnel or Mets staff was in sight. He saw no choice but to listen.
“Daylen Lile, I am the Destiny that has been in the Mets’ own hands all season…”
“Yeah, you said that.”
“And now I shall continue to say it. The New York Mets have treated me with utter disdain.”
Daylen Lile didn’t have any fewer questions as a result of this explanation.
“If you’re in the Mets’ own hands, Destiny, what are you doing in here right now?”
“Major League Baseball instructs clubs to put their destiny aside once a game starts, so I snuck over from across the way hoping to find you. And now I have found you to ask you to do me a favor — a solid, if you will.”
“What’s that?”
“Get me out of the Mets’ own hands.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t want to be in the Mets’ own hands anymore. At first, I was willing to go along with them happily. I have had a good relationship with the Mets historically, at least in small spurts. These current Mets are not a bad bunch of guys and they’re not a bad bunch of ballplayers.”
“I can see that. We usually have trouble with them, especially up here.”
“Fine, fine gentlemen, really. But when it comes to me being in their own hands, they are clumsy, they are mindless, and it is clear to me that they just don’t care about what their destiny will be.”
“Well, yeah, I guess they have had a tough couple of months, and certainly today’s game…”
Destiny slapped its forehead. “Oh, Daylen Lile, if you only knew. The record the Mets have had since the middle of June! The recurring seven-game losing streaks! The sense that ‘everything’s gonna be fine now’ when they win a couple, the constant refrains of ‘we know we’re better than this’ when they don’t, excusing themselves because the ‘other team’ has good players, too.”
“You know, other teams do have good players,” Daylen Lile interjected. “I mean our record might not show it, but we have good players.”
“Of course you do, Daylen Lile, but does your team have Juan Soto?”
“We used to, I think.”
“Do you have Pete Alonso and Francisco Lindor?”
“OK, I get your point. I guess that is a good team they have over there, or at least they have some big-name players. It’s not surprising that they might go to the playoffs this year.”
“Might? MIGHT?”
Daylen Lile didn’t mean to upset Destiny but apparently had. “Did you know this same New York Mets club your Washington Nationals are playing at this very moment used to lead this division.”
Daylen Lile couldn’t remember back that far, but it was true. Once upon a time, the Mets were comfortably ahead of the Philadelphia Phillies, the same Philadelphia Phillies who clinched the National League East earlier in the week with little stress.
“And, Daylen Lile,” Destiny continued. “Did you know that the teams that have taken turns closing in on the Mets for the third — not the first, not the second, but the third — Wild Card were once each so distant in the Mets’ rearview mirror that no Mets fan except for the most paranoid among them bothered to monitor the scores of their games?”
This was news to Daylen Lile, who played for a team so far out of contention that he had to confess he didn’t exactly know who was where in the standings. As a designated hitter, he tried not to bother himself with the details of a baseball season, but he had thought he’d heard some of the players who play the field saying something about the Cincinnati Reds, the Arizona Diamondbacks, and the San Francisco Giants apparently gaining ground on the New York Mets lately. And when he was in the dugout, Daylen Lile had noticed the Mets not playing a very crisp game this very Saturday.
“Oh, Daylen Lile,” Destiny implored. “Consider what has gone on around you only today.”
“Yeah, we’re playing ’em tough!”
“Young Daylen Lile! I’m talking about the Mets! Their wild pitches!. Their errors! Their wasting of another fine effort from young Nolan McLean! Their failure to generate a single run until the eighth inning! Their tying the game in the ninth but failing to win it when they had the bases loaded and one out! Daylen Lile, how many times this season do you suppose the Mets have entered a ninth inning trailing and came back to win?”
Daylen shrugged. “Gotta be a few, right? That’s a good ballclub, and besides, everybody lucks into one of those now and then.”
“NEVER, DAYLEN LILE! NEVER HATH THE 2025 NEW YORK METS COME BACK TO WIN A BASEBALL GAME IN WHICH THEY HAVE TRAILED THEIR OPPOSITION AS THEY ENTERED THE NINTH INNING!”
Daylen Lile could see this was a big deal to Destiny. “It was right there for the taking in the bottom of the ninth,” Destiny detailed. “Mendoza was being uncommonly aggressive. Pinch-hitting his backup catcher because he saw a better matchup. Pinch-running for his backup catcher when that worked. Getting lucky when Lindor was hit, but not hit too much. Soto placing the ball perfectly. Siri…”
With that there was a female voice audible in the Washington Nationals clubhouse.
“Yes, I’m Siri. What can I help you with today/”
“HUSH SIRI, I WASN’T ADDRESSING YOU!” Destiny demanded of the Artificial Intelligence application that only wished to assist. “Sorry, Daylen Lile. Jose Siri has played so little this year, that the devices at Citi Field still think we’re asking for the other Siri when we invoke the little-used outfielder. Anyway, where was I?”
“Um, Soto placed the ball perfectly…”
“Yes, thank you, Daylen Lile. Juan Soto singled, Jose…you know his last name…dashes home from second, the game is tied, the Mets have runners on second and first, then Lindor and Soto execute a double-steal, Alonso is intentionally walked. How did they not win it then and there?”
“Our pitcher is pretty good.”
“Daylen Lile, your pitcher is not the point. The point is I am Destiny, I have been in the Mets’ own hands throughout this endless season of dismay and disappointment and downright disgust, and the Mets still don’t know how to deploy me. Nimmo strikes out! Marte strikes out! They don’t win in the ninth! Even with the inane automatic runner and getting away with what was probably batter’s interference in the tenth inning, they couldn’t score!”
“Listen, I feel ya, Destiny. But I’m still not sure what this has to do with me.”
“Daylen Lile, you are due up second in the top of the eleventh inning.”
“I know. Hitting against Diaz is gonna be tough.”
“Daylen Lile, you will not hit against Edwin Diaz.”
“Miggy’s taking me out? But I’m slashing better than eight-hundred!”
“No, Daylen Lile, you remain in the game. Carlos Mendoza has taken out Edwin Diaz.”
“What? But that dude threw only…couldn’t have been too many pitches.”
“Edwin Diaz threw only seven pitches in the tenth inning.”
“He was nasty, from what I could tell on the monitors in here when I looked up from my book. Did he pitch last night or something? You can’t overuse your closer, you know.”
“He got up in the bullpen briefly. That will be Carlos Mendoza’s excuse eventually.”
“You can tell the future, Destiny?”
“I can tell what Carlos Mendoza is going to say. He says the same things all the time. And I can tell you now that you will face Tyler Rogers in the eleventh inning.”
“Rogers isn’t bad.”
“Daylen Lile, this is not a matter of one reliever being adequate on a given day. This is about a journey in which I, Destiny, would gladly be with the Mets if the Mets would have me, I mean REALLY have me and embrace me as theirs. But they mishandle me so. I want nothing more to do with them.”
“Did you bet on the Reds or something? I keep noticing commercials where a lady in a bubble bath says you can do that.”
“This is not about the ‘Reds,’ Daylen Lile. The Reds are only a vessel for what is due the Mets for how they have approached 2025, for how they have shamed me while all but letting me go of their own volition.”
“Fine. I’m gonna hit against Rogers. What am I supposed to do.?”
“It is your destiny, Daylen Lile.”
“Huh?”
“Swing hard, Daylen Lile. A runner will be on base. Swing hard, Daylen Lile. Be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aid.”
“Am I gonna hit one out of the park?”
“You don’t have to, Daylen Lile. Just hit it to deep center, and your destiny will take care of itself. Someday, The Daylen Lile Game will be spoken of in varying tones up and down the Northeast Corridor.”
“Um, OK.” Daylen Lile felt his DH pager vibrate, so he grabbed his batting gloves and prepared to return to the visitors’ dugout. “One thing, though, Destiny…”
“Yes, Daylen Lile?”
“Even if I do what you say I am destined to do in the top of the eleventh, the Mets will have a chance to bat in the bottom of the inning. We already used our best reliever for two innings. Isn’t it possible that my teammates in the field won’t stop them from winning?”
“Daylen Lile, how long have you been in the league?”
“I’m a rookie.”
“Oh, Daylen Lile. You have much to learn in the way of the New York Mets and their conduct within seasons like 2025. Now just go out there and help release me from the Mets’ own hands. I am Destiny, and at the rate they are going [1], I cannot be there for them much longer.”