A few hours before the Knicks turned New York City into the world’s largest block party, the Mets lost a humdrum game [1] against the Braves by the told-you-it-was-humdrum score of 3-1.
To be fair, the biggest positive of the game was actually worth noting: Sean Manaea [2] got the start and turned in six effective innings, a performance good enough to have translated into a win if only the Mets had offered him any offensive support. Manaea has worked patiently through any number of mechanical issues in coaxing his velocity to return to the point where his fastball can be an effective counterpoint to his sweeper; I still wish he’d taken an opportunity to surgically repair the loose bodies in his elbow, but then it’s always easy to recommend surgeries for other people. Manaea earned a start, showed he can pitch effectively, and ought to get more starts.
Manaea aside, though, there wasn’t much worth one’s time. The Mets could do little with Martin Perez [3], got racked by Ronald Acuna Jr. [4] fill-in Eli White [5], and fell short. Though there are worse things than a humdrum loss, I suppose. Consider, if you dare, what would have happened if Austin Warren [6] hadn’t allowed a Michael Harris II [7] home run in the eighth to give the Braves an insurance run. Juan Soto [8] led off the Mets’ ninth with what was initially ruled a home run and then downgraded to a double after a crew-chief review detected … well, to be honest, hours later I’m still not quite sure what was detected. Soto never advanced beyond second, as Mark Vientos [9] struck out, Marcus Semien [10] walked and Francisco Alvarez [11] rapped into a game-ending double play.
The difference between Braves 3, Mets 1 and Braves 3, Mets 2? Merely cosmetic. But if it had been Braves 2, Mets 1 before Soto hit a ball over the fence that was then ruled to be something else? That would have been an unhappy recap indeed — one I’m pretty glad I haven’t had to write.
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If you remember the name Rick Sweet [12], well, I’m impressed … and you must be a monster at Mets-related Sporcles.
Sweet appeared in three April games for the 1982 Mets, pinch-hitting in all three — he never even got to wear his catcher’s gear as a Met. His big-league career consisted of parts of three seasons. But that thin Baseball Reference entry belies the fact that Sweet is a baseball lifer, having managed 36 minor-league seasons, and is closing in on the record for wins by a minor-league manager. Writing for the Athletic, Tyler Kepner has a wonderful profile [13] of Sweet, a momentary Met you’ll enjoy learning more about.
(Accompanying this post is my own Sweet custom card.)
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The most fun part of the Knicks’ run? It’s been the jubilation in the city. Today I was walking over to help with our kayak program in Brooklyn Bridge Park and passed person after person in Knicks garb, witnessed strangers high-fiving and exchanging good wishes, and overheard conversations about the upcoming Game 5 that covered the entire sports-fan gamut, from strutting confidence to naked anxiety.
I’m merely a basketball tourist: I watched the NBA Finals, enjoyed them and will now go back to worrying more about the Mets’ bullpen construction than I ever will about the Knicks. But the significance of what the Knicks did wasn’t lost on me: They ended a 53-year drought for their fans.
I was born five months, one week and one day before the Mets won their first World Series; I must have seen some of it from on laps and in bassinets but obviously have no memory of it. I was 17 when they won their second one, ending a drought that was coincidentally as old as I was.
I was raised properly: I didn’t assume the Mets would win another title in 1987, let alone feel entitled to one. But it’s now been 40 years since the Mets won the World Series, and the current incarnation of the team doesn’t exactly offer hope of ending that drought before we start talking about 41 years.
I found the Knicks’ citywide block party delightful, and I’m thrilled for their fans. But as Emily and I passed knots of fans outside bars, on our way home to watch the game ourselves, one thought and its variations kept pushing out all the others in my head: I want to feel if winning a title is as sweet as it was at 17. I want Mets fans under 40 to know that feeling. I want this for us.