We once had a Squirrel, or should I say, last night he had us [1].
I’ll cop to a touch of Jeff McNeil [2] nostalgia after our longtime second baseman/first-rate handyman returned to Citi Field from the wilds of West Sacramento to take a bite out of his former workplace associates on Friday, getting hot at the plate and looking spry in the field. The Athletics from technically nowhere defeated the Mets who are currently going nowhere, 4-0. The day before, the same nomadic A’s dropped a shutout on the Yankees in the Bronx, making me wonder when was the last a time a team came into a town and blanked different teams on consecutive days.
Pondering such trivia was preferable to wondering when the Mets are going to start hitting again (hopefully before Juan Soto [3]’s calf heals), when Clay Holmes [4]’s tight left hamstring might loosen up (soon, believes the dependable righty who had to exit his latest effective start early), and when the Mets in general will play baseball with their heads free from their asses (ah, the eternal question). I didn’t have to wonder whether McNeil was going to break out of a nagging helmet-slamming slump as one tended to do when The Squirrel was our Squirrel. Whatever Jeff was or wasn’t hitting prior to Friday was no longer something we were compelled to track. Besides, we have known since the dawn of time — or at least the d’Parture of d’Arnaud — that the true Old Friend™ cure-all consists of facing the Mets and swinging away.
It’s April, so I can’t say I worked up instant Baderesque [5] enmity for an ex-Met doing us in. Jeff stinging the ball for a pair of hits and an RBI earned a non-grudging atta Squirrel outta me. His teammates, even the one named Shea, were a different story, but it wasn’t ours to write for a night. This was Jeff McNeil’s homecoming. Friendly reporters lobbing softballs. Fraternization with those he loved playing alongside and those he likely tolerated (and vice-versa). A sentimental Citi Vision video that drew a smile and maybe a hint of a tear in the visitors’ dugout. A warm hand from a chilled crowd that didn’t forget a two-time All-Star and previous champion of batting.
The Mets without McNeil and without so many of his fellow high-profile alums were supposed to coalesce into something more sustainable than they revealed themselves in 2025. Maybe they still will. It’s April. They’re .500. Their best hitter is out for at least a couple more weeks. Their most consistent veteran starting pitcher is, for the moment, issuing provisional assurances rather than innings. Their bullpen is adding a new component, grand old closer Craig Kimbrel [6], about to commence his seventeenth major league campaign, joining his tenth major league club to do it. “We’ll see what he has left” doesn’t necessarily mesh with the stature of a career that has yielded 440 saves, fifth-most ever. But we’ll see what he has left.
McNeil had a good night. Good for him. On Twitter/X, I read Pete Alonso is having as tough a time driving in runs as Francisco Lindor. Not our problem anymore, I reminded myself, but nice of Pete to descend into a sympathy funk on our behalf. Hours after the Mets went down, I stayed up for the Dodgers and Texas taking it to the limit in Los Angeles. L.A. was ahead, but Edwin Diaz, himself 37th on the all-time saves list, was in the process of blowing the lead. Up stepped Brandon Nimmo with the tying run on base. Even the Dodger booth recognized the transcontinental storyline in the works, speculating whether anybody was still up in Flushing to take in Ex-Met vs. Ex-Met. I was close enough to Queens to qualify.
Brandon took a ball. The Ranger runner on first stole second. Dave Roberts ordered Nimmo walked intentionally. So much for East Coast drama unfolding in the Pacific Time Zone. Edwin completed blowing the lead, but the Dodgers are the Dodgers. Max Muncy came up in the bottom of the ninth to sock his third home run of the night to pull it out for the home team. They said it was Muncy’s second career three-homer game. Anecdotally, I’d guess every Dodger game I’ve ever watched has encompassed Max Muncy or some Dodger like him belting three homers, though hopefully not on the Mets’ upcoming road trip.
I’d love to tell you I felt as bad for Diaz as I’d felt good for McNeil, but no. I was more like poor you, go count your money while you get your ring finger sized, an uncharitable outburst of resentment probably touched off from having heard the Dodger Stadium A/V squad co-opt “Narco” for its own nefarious purposes. Nimmo looked happy — happier than Marcus Semien usually does, maybe not as happy as Jeff McNeil was to be part of a victory over the team that told him to go gather his nuts somewhere else.
What the hell, somebody we know oughta be enjoying himself.