It was the bottom of the second in Tuesday night’s game, with two out and nobody on. The Mets led 5-0 and a laugher seemed to be on tap, with good feelings aplenty. Bo Bichette [1] had escaped the back of the milk carton with home runs in the first two innings, Steve Gelbs had conducted the usual sweet pinch-me interview with the parents of Nick Morabito [2] (making his debut wearing the long-put-aside No. 8 for what we’re told will be a single day before a new number is issued), and Nolan McLean [3] was on the mound.
And then it all came crashing down.
McLean gave up a double, hit a guy and yielded an infield single, after which James Wood [4] hit a drive to the fence in left-center which bounced off the heel of a leaping Morabito’s glove. Morabito crashed into the wall, briefly stunned, and Tyrone Taylor [5] … well, I’m still not sure. Taylor, who’s been bafflingly inconsistent of late on defense, seemed to think the ball had been caught, or been bumped over the wall, or taken up to Heaven in some cowhide version of the Rapture. None of these hypotheses was correct: By the time Morabito sprang up and scrambled after the ball, Wood was chugging home for an inside-the-park grand slam.
It got worse from there: McLean didn’t have it and got shellacked; Marcus Semien [6], of all people, made a hideous error; Luis Torrens [7] failed to catch a throw at home; McLean lost an out at third; and Torrens had to endure the Full Lourdes [8] on an ill-advised ABS challenge. It went on and on and on before the merciful conclusion, which saw Old Friend Richard Lovelady [9] roaring like a lion after securing a 9-6 victory [10] over his old comrades.
Sure, Morabito made a nifty hell-for-leather catch reaching into the stands (a run scored anyway, because that’s the kind of night it was), Daniel Duarte [11] prevented further indignities in his own debut, and at the end of the game the Mets had the Yout’ of America Outfield on display: A.J. Ewing [12] in center, flanked by Morabito and relatively crusty veteran Carson Benge [13].
But those were a paltry number of oats for an enterprising sparrow to pick out of … you know what, let’s not finish that metaphor. And let’s not dwell further on this game. It’s over, the Mets play again tomorrow, and until Wednesday’s first pitch they and we should all work on being goldfish.