Sometimes You See the Dismissal

To paraphrase Henry Blake attempting to console Hawkeye Pierce in “Sometimes You Hear the Bullet,” the early episode of M*A*S*H in which Hawkeye grapples with the combat death of an old friend, there are certain rules about a baseball season that doesn’t meet its high expectations.

Rule number one is coaches get tossed aside.

Rule number two is you probably have no real idea whether those coaches deserve to get tossed aside.

But aside they are tossed, nonetheless. Having concluded that a third year of Carlos Mendoza managing remains more promising than his second year of managing could be determined culpable for not meeting high expectations, David Stearns and whoever David Stearns takes counsel from decided something had to be done. Or somebody had to be done in.

As postseason prepared to resume in eight MLB outposts, euphemism season was underway on Friday in Flushing, from whence it was communicated that four coaches “will not return in 2026”; one “has resigned”; one “has announced his retirement”; two “have been given permission to speak to other teams”; and three “have been invited back for the 2026 season”.

Euphemism season gets underway.

My first reaction to so much staff deletion was, “The 2025 Mets, who repeatedly appeared to play as if they had not been coached on how to respond to myriad game situations, had eleven coaches?”

My second was, “I’m sorry for however many of those guys who were just doing what they’ve always done, and it worked in the past, but now it didn’t, and they likely didn’t get any less capable in the season that did not meet high expectations, but trying to make work anew what didn’t work just now probably wasn’t gonna work next year, so, y’know…good luck, fellas.”

A season like that which the entire Mets organization just executed until it had no life left in it calls into question whether anyone in or out of uniform who was tasked with helping the Mets win baseball games knew what they’re doing, and if they did, why didn’t they do it? Being a fan rather than a person for a moment, fine, get rid of pretty much everybody. Reasonable exceptions immediately start being made within such thinking, of course, but being reasonable is hardly a fan’s primary impulse when a fan is still mildly shocked (which is not to say at all surprised) that he is not looking forward to watching Game One of the NLDS with a tangible rooting interest.

The best argument for Mendoza — and maybe Stearns — to return is turnover fatigue. I know I’m tired of looking for new and brilliant leadership every two years. Also, they were the guys who guided us up the mountaintop a year ago. Did they suddenly get less capable? Could be. How do we know it wasn’t Mendy and Stearnsie who weren’t holding back the genius of Jeremy Hefner, Eric Chavez, Jeremy Barnes, and Mike Sarbaugh, the four coaches who were tagged with the “will not return” label? Maybe Glenn Sherlock needed to be talked out of retirement, and John Gibbons’s resignation should not have been accepted, and instead of providing permission to Desi Druschel and Jose Rosado to speak to other teams, they should be the ones to build the next brain trust around.

As is, three Met coaches — Antoan Richardson, Danny Barnes, and Rafael Fernandez — have been asked to maintain their positions. Thanks to the Mets’ lopsided base-stealing to caught-stealing ratio, particularly that of lethally efficient Juan Soto, we can safely infer Richardson is a baserunning instructor savant. If he wishes to fashion himself a Tom Emanski sideline and record a video in which he shares his secrets for getting from first to second, I don’t doubt Soto would endorse it at a discount. I have no idea what the other two guys do, but I’m willing to believe they’re filling their respective euphemistic roles (strategy coach and coaching assistant) professionally.

Most of Met pitching went down the tubes in 2025, so there went pitching coach Hefner, hailed perennially as really good at what he did until the results weren’t there. Chavez and J. Barnes had been deemed keepers before the collective lack of hitting when the Mets really needed some overwhelmed their accumulated goodwill and credentials. Sarbaugh waved many runners home successfully, stopped some others too soon. Sherlock’s catching wisdom got through to Francisco Alvarez and Luis Torrens often, if not always, assuming the catchers took their cues from their coach. Gibby was up on his feet and calling the video replay coordinator after every close play. The Mets won a lot of those challenges.

This is all very round and round. I watched games that got lost and went to bed implicitly unimpressed with the coaching, but not really pinning the losses on faulty instruction. Games that got won? Well, the Mets were supposed to win those games and more games besides. When the Ws flashed from the Citi Field light towers, I knew who got the big hit or strikeout. I didn’t dwell on what might have been suggested by who to get the most out of that critical swing or pitch. Coaches in baseball exist as our idealized umpires do. When you don’t think about them, they’re probably doing a decent job.

Next year, balls and strikes will be confirmed via computerization. Coaches, however, will continue to be nothing but people until further notice. I’ll usually feel bad for people who no longer have their jobs if I don’t have any solid reason to be happy they’ve been dismissed. I’d be happiest of all if Met coaching was still going on this month, whoever was doing it.