Annnnd we’ve reached another milestone a lot earlier than we might have hoped: the season’s first game that I recap belatedly because I can’t stand the thought of reliving it.
If you didn’t see Thursday night’s game, well, good on you for making better life choices than I did. The Mets largely didn’t hit, yet again — and one of their offensive stars (to bend a phrase nearly to breaking) was Mark Vientos, whom this front office has treated increasingly callously since he stumbled trying to build on what looked like a breakout year.
David Peterson‘s location was abysmal and he got strafed; Sean Manaea showed few indications that he’s due for a resurrection, perhaps not a surprise since there’s been no credible theory for how this miracle is to unfold. The defense was terrible again, with this night’s chief offenders Peterson and Marcus Semien, who have a reputation as sound gloves and aren’t even being asked to play out of position. And yet again there was a dispiriting air of general heads-up-the-assness to everything the Mets did. The final indignity? The Mets went down meekly against former mate Blade Tidwell, whom they discarded with barely concealed disdain last summer and who was returning to the big leagues for the first time since being shipped away.
The Mets’ season has gone from “wooo that was great” to “well that’s a little disappointing” to “ugh they look flat” to “WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKERS” with head-snapping speed. Baseball teams are never as bad as they look when they’re playing like this, but right now that old adage isn’t bringing much solace. I suspect that’s because we all watched this team be every bit as bad as they looked for more than three months last year, and it still rankles.
That’s unfair in a lot of ways — new year, new personnel — but until the Mets show us something convincingly different, it’s an assessment they’ll be stuck with, and one they’ll thoroughly deserve.
The previous night’s futile extra-innings loss to St. Louis triggered my personal milestone of switching from “I’m so glad baseball’s back” to “I hate that baseball is back”. It usually happens a fair bit later in the spring.
Yes, it’s early, and yes, it’s just seven games. But last year was a slow death march, and one loss made all the difference between “near miss” and “embarrassing collapse”. This is what makes this year’s four losses so far feel more unbearable than past sub-.500 starts.
They went down meekly a couple of times this week against former mate Ryne Stanek too, so this was indignity piled on indignity. How much indignity can we take? It’s only April 3rd.
“…there’s been no credible theory for how this miracle is to unfold”
Didn’t Manaea have a loose body in his arm or something? Maybe fishing that sucker out would aid in his resurrection. But I don’t think he ever had surgery for it.
He never did. Which seems increasingly baffling.
Where’s Sidd Finch when you need him?
Friday night, could watch the latest 28 Days film on Netflix but I think the Mets game will do for a horror show.
Or watch Titanic. It takes as long, and has the same ending.