Not Good, or the Opposite of Good?

The New York Mets, entering Saturday’s matinee as losers of nine in a row, intermittently overcame some of what was stacked against them. The wind was blowing in at Wrigley Field, but Mark Vientos ripped a fly ball so hard that it landed well over the fence in the top of the second inning. That made for a run. They were going up against the defensively excellent Chicago Cubs, yet during the top of the eighth, a series of bounces and bobbles went their way, allowing them to build another run.

What a great way to take on destiny. Except the Mets have become a team destined to lose on a regular basis, as evidenced by the tops of the other seven innings when they scored not at all. Meanwhile, in those pesky inning bottoms, there was Ian Happ matching Vientos’s solo blast in the bottom of the second, and Freddy Peralta stopping short of serving as a stopper in the sixth. Freddy got the first two outs. Then he issued two walks on full counts. Peralta left. The formerly flawless Brooks Raley replaced him. The very first pitch the lefty threw, to pinch-hitter Carson Kelly, got belted beyond the ivy-sprouting barrier.

At that point, Cubs 4 Mets 1. Ultimately, Cubs 4 Mets 2, a tenth consecutive Mets loss. Not the sign of a good team. I think it’s been established that the 2026 Mets are not good. What few breaks they catch, they drop after an instant. If they can score more than one run in an inning, they don’t. If they are poised to prevent an opponent’s rally, they are instead trampled. A good team finds a way to win. By definition, this eliminates the Mets from consideration as a good team.

Does this make them a bad team? Well, bad is the opposite of good. On the other hand, I’ve watched Mets teams that I knew were bad, and this team, while not good, hasn’t quite sunk to the level where I’m ready to label them as awful. I suppose it doesn’t much matter. A record of 7-14 pretty much labels itself. Maybe it’s the Aprilness of it all that’s kept me from deciding they are truly horrendous. When the Mets dive into a lengthy losing streak in other months, they’ve had time to identify themselves as good, bad, or middling (usually bad or en route to bad). These Mets continue to strike me as assorted individuals not close to forming a collective identity. I’m tempted to say they’ve shown no heart, though it’s only April, probably too soon to render such an unkind judgment. I read a quote from “an American League executive” who termed the Mets “a weird collection of high-profile players,” and observed, “I’m not sure there’s much of a soul to that team.”

Heart in question. Soul uncertain. Identity vague. Wins absolutely non-existent. After each loss, Carlos Mendoza and whichever veteran is designated to step in front of the backdrop of dancing logos to answer reporters’ questions acknowledge the season isn’t going according to plan. Then Carlos and the dour veteran du jour reject any notion that the Mets doubt themselves or need a good internal talking-to. There’s eventually a dose of familiar blather about competing and grinding. None of that rock-steadiness that baseball people love to cite as necessary across a long season seems to be getting it done. Maybe somebody needs to admit they are dwelling on their lack on results. Maybe somebody needs to stand up amid an assemblage of 26 introverts and get everybody else’s attention. Maybe, as long as they played a day game in Chicago, they should all avail themselves of the nightlife on Rush Street.

That same AL executive alluded to above inferred from afar, “That has to be an odd clubhouse […] It just doesn’t scream ‘winning team,’ even though objectively it adds up.” In our decades as Mets fans, we’ve periodically seen clusters of players who’ve proven themselves in other places and seasons simply not coalesce in the here and now. We’ve been able to detect the toxicity of those can’t-miss “back of the baseball card” mixes the second we step off the 7 train. I don’t sense that’s the case here. Whatever constitutes leadership, whether vocal or quiet, appears to be absent. Or most everybody has decided in unison to be less effective at what they do than they have been previously.

If you want to deem them a bad baseball team, the Mets have offered no compelling counterargument, save for just wait until Juan Soto returns. The Bill Parcells insistence that you are what your record says you are rarely fails to apply when it joins the group chat. When your record is 0-10 in your last ten, your record leaves little room for interpretation. You don’t need Bill Parcells to tell you that’s dreadful. Ray Handley could have figured that out.

Still, to not accidentally win even one ballgame over this span while not being clearly one of the worst Mets clubs you’ve ever witnessed is, perversely, kind of impressive. Just not good.