Like Bob Seger so many summers ago, Bo Bichette woke last night to the sound of thunder. BOOM! before the game. Then he woke the rest of us up. BOOM! in the first inning. BOOM! like crazy in the second. Bo went BOOM! twice in a game that waited for a wicked storm to pass through the vicinity to get going, and drove in six runs before it was done. Talk about some night moves.
Led by an erstwhile Blue Jay who appeared lost once separated from his flock, Bo has found quite a Met groove of late. No doubt superfan/supercritic Gene Shalit would have given Bichette’s character arc a rave review. Bo stands as the main if not sole reason the Mets were 7-5 winners over the Braves on Friday. The Braves are in first place. The Mets are in last. For one sweaty night, the standings were irrelevant. We took a lead in the season series. We clinched the championship of June 12, 2026. We didn’t totally mind enduring a 1:16 delay to do it.
“A plot to plotz from!” NBC’s Gene Shalit raves.
We — a cohort that included my pal Kevin and me, attending our annual Mets-Braves tilt — were cautioned to take shelter as lightning descended over Citi Field as the originally scheduled first pitch time approached. At the moment word of weather danger went forth, we were in the smallest room the ballpark has to offer: the Mets Museum, waaaaay over in the right field corner. There’s enough in there to keep a Mets fan engaged for a good four or five minutes. We’d been in it for maybe two. Since it wasn’t known how long the impending precipitation would pelt Flushing, we were instructed to go wait it out somewhere else, presumably because the guard feared if we stuck around, he’d have to listen to us ask, “What in the name of Edward Emil Kranepool happened to all the stuff that used to be in the museum when the museum was a proper size and in the Rotunda?”
Up in the Promenade concourse, you could mostly avoid the rain if you stood at the appropriate angle. The thunder you couldn’t miss. BOOM! it went, presaging Bo. The loudest claps unleashed the most topical of local chants. “KNICKS IN FIVE! KNICKS IN FIVE!” Soon enough, perhaps.
When the baseball game got underway, Nolan McLean looked untouchable. It was a look we’d miss by the second, but it sure was tantalizing in the top of the first, as he retired the Braves in rapid succession. In the bottom of the first, Bichette offered his first sound of thunder, giving Spencer Strider’s slider a guided tour of the left-center field seats. They could put it in the Mets Museum, but then they’d have to move three other items out in order to accommodate the addition. Juan Soto followed directly with his fifteenth homer of the season. From our seats in 517, I’m pretty sure I saw a mask replace the hard hat for conveying dugout giddiness. Glad we’re hitting so many homers that we’re getting bored with the same old props.
In the top of the second, everything went wrong for McLean except the bottom line. Far too many pitches. Far too many baserunners (featuring Dom Smith in Old Friend™ mode). But only two runs. Nolan McLean may be the pitchin’ magician. We’d prefer that efficient fellow from the top of the first.
Fortunately for the Mets, Bichette enjoyed the sound of thunder so much, he decided to make more of it. BOOM!!!! Three men were on when Bo came up in the second. All of them scored after Bichette swung. Bo joined them. This second homer snuck over the fence in the right field corner, not as far as the first, yet it counted for four times as many runs. Baseball math — go figure.
Supported by that grand slam, McLean fended off the Braves off for a couple more innings. A Bichette sac fly gave Nolan a five-run lead and himself six RBIs. Margin for error had arrived. Cionel Perez could give up a solo homer to Matt Olson, and it wouldn’t hurt much. The Mets could stop scoring, and it didn’t have to be an omen. The Braves could scratch out a couple more runs in the eighth, and…well, that wasn’t ideal. At 7-5, the game was feeling tight enough to fit inside the Mets Museum. It was also late enough that fans who normally catch an eastbound train home from Woodside — which works fine before but not necessarily after midnight — had to scan the LIRR app for more reasonable options. Just like high starter pitch counts guarantees too much bullpen usage, lengthy delays play havoc with postgame commutation.
Devin Williams achieved a four-out save, which I assume means he won’t be available for the next two weeks. That can be sorted out later. It was imperative to get the win that was within reach, and it was attained. Ideally, the win would have occurred at a brisker pace. Instead, it didn’t go final until 11:35. I’d be staying on the 7 well past Woodside and going for the 12:35 out of Grand Central Madison, a sparkling rail hub where I am essentially a gaijin, relative to my lifelong familiarity with grimy Penn Station. Kevin, an East Sider recently back from sampling the wonders of baseball in the Far East, was kind enough to extend his Friday night journey a little longer in order to point me toward the correct escalator. I made my way down to my train. Bo Bichette made his way up in my esteem. Sayonara, Spencer Strider and the rest of you Braves.
