Mere hours after the latest descent of doom across Mets Land, the team dusted themselves off, went out and beat the Yankees.
I mean, it wasn’t easy — in fact, it was decidedly wacky at times — but a win’s a win, even while wearing absurd asphalt and purple uniforms (the bridgework on the helmets gives them a Great Gazoo feel), enduring the occupation of John Smoltz and a FOX crew (on Sunday we’ll at least get our actual announcers), and having to watch Marlins Man in attendance with multiple Marlins Man wannabes riding shotgun. (Whatever this trend is, it can stop right now please.)
The Mets fell behind 1-0, then went ahead on a truly bizarre play in the bottom of the third. Carlos Rodon struck out the first two Mets, but then gave up a double to Carson Benge, a walk to Bo Bichette (so lost I expect to see his face on a milk carton) and another to Juan Soto. Rodon’s first pitch to Mark Vientos airmailed the strike zone, Austin Wells and the home-plate ump, caroming off the bricks and coming back to Rodon, who made an athletic play to barehand it but never got the handle and airmailed the gathering at home plate again, allowing two Mets to score. Rodon trudged back to the mound looking a little perplexed, as did everybody else.
I’d describe David Peterson‘s outing as “good except when he wasn’t” — he departed in the sixth with the Mets up 5-2, and was watching in the top of the seventh as things began truly kooky. Brooks Raley, who’d navigated the last two hitters of the sixth without fuss, started the new frame by allowing a double to Aaron Judge. All seemed well when perpetual Mets terror Cody Bellinger popped a ball up to right, but the ball started drifting and before you could scream “OH GOD I SEE LUIS CASTILLO!” it had clanked off Benge’s glove and it was 5-3. Raley then hit Paul Goldschmidt with a pitch and watched helplessly as the loathsome Jazz Chisholm Jr. popped a bunt perfectly over the mound.
Bases loaded, nobody out, and the Yankees a single away from tying the game as their mook fans bayed in anticipation. Enter Luke Weaver, to face his old team. That was another oddity of the night, even without on-field wackiness: By my from-memory count, six guys who saw action in Saturday’s game were alumni of the other team. (Soto, Weaver, Amed Rosario, Paul Blackburn, Devin Williams and Austin Slater. Throw in minor-league time and Luis Torrens makes it seven. And Carlos Mendoza sort of counts as eight, right?)
Weaver’s had an up and down season, but he picked the right time to come up nails: He struck out Rosario and Trent Grisham before coaxing a harmless groundball from Anthony Volpe. Sent back out for the eighth, Weaver allowed an immediate hit to Wells, filling our living room with muttered uh-ohs, but Vientos — of all people — started a nifty 3-6-1 double play to erase Wells and the speedy Ben Rice, with credit to Weaver for sprinting off the mound instead of spectating.
(Weaver, by the way, is one of baseball’s more interesting postgame interviews. All three of these SNY clips take odd turns that will leave your cliche-expecting brain going, “Wait, what?”)
An inning later, Williams had done his job with minimal anxiety and the Mets had won — and presumably without needing another trip to the IL, though let’s get to Sunday’s start before we’re confident on that last part. Two runs on a wild pitch; pitching out of a bases-loaded, nobody-out jam; and some nifty Vientos defense. Just like we drew it up, right?
