It happens every spring: A Mets loss arrives and then departs eliciting no reaction beyond a vaguely affronted shrug. A loss — striking in a new season where you still remember every twist of every game, but soon to fade into anonymity, becoming part of the blur of series and road trips and homestands and the season’s ebb and flow.
Happens every summer and fall too, come to think of it.
Kodai Senga looked good against the Cardinals, and if you want to be positive (always recommended), put that summation in your pocket and be done with Tuesday evening. The ghost fork wasn’t always as spectral as one would have wished, but the fastball sizzled and Senga had nothing but good things to say about his mechanics, in-game tactics and other factors that have sometimes come as affronts to his mildly prickly perfectionism. It’s easy to forget what a presence Senga was not so very long ago; Tuesday was a good sign he could be one again.
The Mets’ defense faltered at what turned out to be a key moment, though it wasn’t because Jorge Polanco or Bo Bichette or Brett Baty had been asked to play out of position; rather, the missteps came from Luis Robert Jr., normally reliable in center field.
Those missteps helped put the Mets in a 2-0 hole, one that got half again as deep when Richard Lovelady gave up a home run. Poor Lovelady: It’s no secret that his roster spot will go to A.J. Minter once that more accomplished lefty is ready, and it sure looks like the Mets will find some other warm body before then, once they conclude Lovelady has been battered and bruised beyond even what current negligence will allow.
(Cue Lovelady turning to a postgame interlocutor who’s gently asked about the possibility of finding another line of work: “What, and give up showbiz?”)
A couple of defensive lapses, a late bit of non-relief: None of it might have mattered if the Mets had done anything at all with the bats. Instead they offered us a trio of hits, a quartet of walks and exactly one runner making the acquaintance of third base.
That’ll happen too. Every spring, even. Though one devoutly hopes it doesn’t happen very often.
