This is the Way We Walk Them Off

Tie it in the eighth, win it in the twelfth. Blow a lead, get it back. Take as long as you need for more runs than them, provided you prevail. Break a deadlock and hold your ground. Romp from jump.

As long as nobody gets hurt, there are no bad ways to win a ballgame. But the best way, I have decided after experiencing the Mets doing it for the first time in more than two years, is go into the bottom of the ninth trailing, and leave the bottom of the ninth having won. No free runners placed on second. No straining bullpen resources to the point where the Syracuse shuttle is idling at LaGuardia. All the muss right away. All the fuss carrying the day. Defeat shoved from your dugout to theirs. Victory is ours, thanks for playing.

On Saturday, the Mets trailed after eight innings, an echo of that stat that blanketed 2025 and their first swath of 2026. “The Mets are oh-and-a-thousand in their last thousand games when trailing after eight innings.” They rid themselves of that unwanted distinction in May when Tyrone Taylor had one of his The Tyrone Taylor Games by belting a game-tying home run in the bottom of the ninth against some local pickup squad, setting the stage for the Mets to win in ten. The proper response was euphoria, and I was euphoric, yet not fully sated. Same as a few days earlier, when the Mets tied the Tigers in the seventh and went on to win in the tenth.

Productive? Check.
Uplifting? Check.
The best version of a walkoff there is? Check back.

MLB has ruined extra innings to such an extent that I stop just shy of being grateful the Mets survive to make it to a tenth. Saturday, I would have accepted life post-ninth, but I wanted the game to be over immediately, and I wanted its path to the loss column diverted to the one titled win. I wanted it now and I wanted it more than I knew.

On June 13, 2024, with the Mets trailing the Marlins, 2-1, J.D. Martinez stepped up to face Tanner Scott in the bottom of the ninth at Citi Field. Francisco Lindor was on second. Momentarily, Francisco Lindor was at home plate, joined by his teammates as they all congratulated Martinez on hitting the homer that had just won the Mets the game, 3-2. This was one night after Grimace threw out his legendary first pitch, so we weren’t yet giddy as a matter of course the way we would become later in 2024. And despite having had our difficulties getting going that season, J.D.’s walkoff blast marked the fourth instance of those Mets coming from behind in the home ninth. That’s how we got our first win of the year, when we began the arduous process of going from oh-and-five to OMG.

Then, for all the ecstasy to follow, including some memorable top-of-the-ninth comebacks on the road to get us into and keep us inside the playoffs, the 2024 Mets never did quite that again. They’d break ties in the bottom of the ninth. They’d forge ties in the bottom of the eighth and break them in the bottom of the tenth. They’d do enough nutty koo-koo things to keep Paul Shaffer in his bliss. But they wouldn’t come from behind in the bottom of the ninth to win a game in the bottom of the ninth. I missed that.

The Mets missed that altogether in 2025. They missed the playoffs altogether in 2025. They’ll miss the playoffs in 2026, but there’s missing the playoffs and there’s missing the playoffs. Last year was a miss, especially when one remembers, as I was compelled to on Saturday, how the team on the other side of the field had been the impediment to the 2025 Mets’ last, best chance to effect the kind of win I’d been missing since June of ’24.

Daylen Lile hit an inside-the-park home run on the last home Saturday last year. The Mets lost in eleven. Jacob Young made two circus catches on the last home Sunday last year. The Mets lost by one. I don’t walk around steamed at the Nationals every day of the week, but put them at Citi Field, particularly on a weekend like this one, and it all comes rushing back to me, not only their rising to the occasion, but the Mets’ failure to meet it. The Mets tied that Saturday game in the ninth, then left the bases loaded. By act of Manfredity, they had the tying run on in the bottom of the eleventh. The Sunday game was one Young leap from being tied in the ninth. Either way, those two games were part of the oh-and-a-thousand.

The frisky August 2026 Mets seem worlds removed from the drudgery of September 2025. They seem only vaguely related to the wayward Mets of July 2026, who are no more intrinsic to the current New York narrative than the Montreal Expos are to that of the Washington Nationals. You know one led to the other, but nobody’s speaking French now. In the Mets’ case, we aren’t the mopes we recently were. Not the players, not the fans.

I flipped to the Red Sox-Pirates game later Saturday night. Saw some skinny dude pitching for Pittsburgh. It took me more than a second to realize I was looking at Luke Weaver. Luke Weaver was a wonderful Met, but that was when the Mets weren’t wonderful. He broke a twelve-game losing streak. He might have prevented other losing streaks from lengthening. I’ve put quite a bit of that out of my mind. Someday I’ll get back to appreciating the excellence he gave us when we were otherwise mired. But I don’t want to think about the Luke Weaver Mets much at present.

When Sean Manaea came out dealing in the top of the first Saturday, I figured we were set. When we worked Brad Lord patiently and aggressively in the bottom of the first, I figured we would cruise. Not quite two decent weeks of Mets baseball, and I am overcome with confidence. Our boys were walking and stealing, with Jared Young bases-loaded doubling to give us a quick 2-0 lead with surely more to come. Lord threw 44 pitches and was removed after reloading the bases with his fourth walk of the inning.

Then Jorge Polanco, speaking of oh-for-a-thousand, struck out against the second Nats pitcher, Will Dion. Hmm…seems we should be up by more than 2-0. Maybe it won’t matter, given how good Sean looks. It’s the same security schmatta of serenity I wrap myself in when Nolan McLean gets rolling. I try to avoid assuming, but subconsciously, I’m all “we got this.” Then McLean struggles for an inning or two, and “this” gets up for grabs. Manaea was lovely without qualification until Andres Chaparro tagged him for a no-doubter of a home run to lead off the fourth. Just one run, and all that, except this Dion chap was treating every Met batter like Jorge Polanco. Nothing in the second. Nada in the third. A walk preceding nil in the fourth. Blanks in the fifth. Wasn’t this supposed to be a bullpen game for them? Stop with the bulk of Will Dion!

The loveliness of Sean Manaea had its limits in the sixth. Our starter hit Andrew Pinckney to begin the inning. After one long flyout, he walked Chaparro again. Two on. Brady House hooked a ball to left. The game-of-inches truism had teeth. House’s deep fly sure looked like it would continue to hook. The foul pole (or fair pole, if Warner Wolf is still in your head) invited it over for a tickle. Ping! That’s a three-run homer, by inches. That’s a 4-2 Nationals lead. Manaea worked through two more Nat baserunners, with no scoreboard damage done, but the preceding sequence of events felt ominous.

Ominous? For the fifth-place Mets taking on the fourth-place Nats, with the distance between them entering play five-and-a-half games? It’s a game of inches in more ways than determining what’s foul and what’s fair. You inch in when you’re a fan. You get real close to this stuff. You’re winning in the first. You’re losing in the sixth. Maybe it shouldn’t creep along your nerve endings, but it does. You don’t want to lose this particular game to this particular team. I certainly didn’t.

Nor did Carson Benge, who led off the sixth against Tom Cosgrove — Will Dion was done, praise be — with a home run to right. All right, we’ve closed the gap to one. We shall close no more in this inning, however. Manaea returns for the bottom of the seventh, and he dances with danger. Nasim Nuñez singles to lead off. Sean and a cast of thousands pick him off, 1-3-6-3-4. Bases clear. Then the bases get tromped on a beat later when Pinckney triples off the right field fence, his ball bouncing out of the grasp of Benge. Manaea must go now. Dedniel Nuñez enters. Dylan Crews lofts a fly ball to what I think is deep enough right. The Nats agree and send the runner from third. Benge doesn’t concur and fires a one-hop strike home. Pinckney is so out, you forget he’s half of an inning-ending double play. All I saw was Carson and a bolt of lightning delivered to Francisco Alvarez. Yeah, I guess there was a putout directly preceding it.

New Nats pitcher in the bottom of the seventh, Orlando Ribalta. The Mets revert to stymied. Nuñez gets two batters in the eighth. One of them reaches. Jefry Yan replaces Dedniel. Jared Young smothers a potential extra-base hit from CJ Abrams and turns it into a 3-unassisted. Then those who pay attention got what they tuned in for, as Yan strikes out Harry Ford. A Yan strikeout is a sight to behold for the super coda it elicits.

Up in the sky! Look! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s Jefry Yan!

The top of the eighth was Met momentum incarnate. The bottom of the eighth was the vacuum that sucked it right out. Versus Clayton Beeter (boy, has this become a bullpen game), Lindor singles to get things going. Lindor gets thrown out at second on a ball he thinks has skittered far enough away from Ford to advance. It hasn’t. The Nats’ catcher, having gunned down the baserunner, resists the temptation to leap like Yan.

The eighth ain’t dead, though. Bo Bichette singles. Benge walks. They both move up on a wild pitch that skitters helpfully. Jared is up, ready to do another of those things we can recall the next day in order to remark on what a quietly terrific season he’s having. Except Jared strikes out, and Marcus Semien brings that earlier-in-’26 energy to bear by grounding out.

Yan is still in for the ninth. He grounds out last September’s defensive villain Jacob Young. He strikes out last September’s speedy villain Daylen Lile. He believes he has struck out Nasim Nuñez, who is destined to co-star in a viral video. Yan knows he has the K on called strike three. He leaps. He’s barely back from his flight when he realizes Nestor Ceja has called it a ball. With Nestor Ceja being the home plate umpire, that matters. Jefry Yan, brimming with joy and confidence, adds a flourish to his celebration by patting his head emphatically. It’s the international sign for challenging the call. It’s unusual for a pitcher to ask for one of the precious reserve of reviews to be used. It’s frankly amazing to watch the request unfold at the tail end of a WOO-HOO!!/WHAT?? response like Yan’s.

It was a ball. Wow.

But then Yan got the batter swinging. Double wow.

I had a friend in sixth grade named Jeffrey. He was over at my house one day as lunchtime approached. We hadn’t eaten yet. My mother was on the phone with his mother. His mother was concerned about the current lack of food on our table. His mother fretted to my mother, “Jeffrey hasn’t had a thing in his mouth all morning.” It became a running joke in our family for several years. I bring this up because I heard myself think, in my friend Jeffrey’s mother’s voice, “Jefry hasn’t had a win in his mouth all year.” Eventually, my mother saw that sixth-grade Jeffrey got fed. Only the 2026 Mets could tend to their teammate Jefry’s appetites.

The Nationals were up to their sixth pitcher of the game, Yovanny Cruz. The Nats have a reputation for hitting a ton and running wild, but they are also known for bullpens that don’t get them the results they seek. Will Dion was a problem for us, and a couple of other Washington relievers were plenty effective, but ya had to think if we face enough of these guys, their alleged cheap-suit nature would unravel as our hopes required. Brett Baty walking to lead off the bottom of the ninth was a good sign. Jorge Polanco singling next was heaven giving the A-OK. Polanco was now one-for-a-thousand-and-four. Baty moved to second. Cristian Pache came into pinch-run for Polanco. Jorge needed to be removed and placed under glass to preserve whatever mystical force had suddenly infiltrated his abilities.

Alvarez doubled to left on the first pitch he saw. You usually wish Francisco would take a pitch. He took this pitch where we wanted it to go. Baty scored to tie the game at four. Pache zipped to third. Luis Robert, Jr., pinch-ran for Alvy. One inning! Two pinch-runners! Andy Green and I are serious about winning this right here, right now. Maybe not right now, because A.J. Ewing struck out on a full count. But right here, in the ninth…yes! Lindor cracks a liner to deep right that even if it’s caught isn’t going to prevent Pache from scoring the winning run. It goes for an RBI single, and the Mets go into a Yan-like frenzy, having come from behind in the ninth inning to win in the ninth inning, 5-4.

I was certainly frenzied, getting a few desirables in practically one burst. Got that ideal walkoff. Got that punch of revenge I’d been wanting to give the Nats for last September. Got a win in Jefry’s mouth. Got two pinch-runners in one inning, even. Also happy to see Lindor clicking, especially after his baserunning short-circuited what could have been a real rally in the eighth, more especially since he’s been scorching the ball since I suggested in July that he might be done. I love when a Met proves me wrong by going right. I also dug noticing an unfakeable smile-filled embrace between Francisco and Juan Soto. Glad to know those two are getting along.

The scene I enjoyed most from the clubhouse was the interpreted interview with Yan. Man, that kid can smile. There was a Spanish-language hit shortly after I turned eleven called “Eres Tu” by a group known as Mocedades. American radio listeners had no problem not knowing what they were saying, but an English-language version was released just in case. It was called “Touch the Wind”. I heard it a couple of times and decided I didn’t need to be catered to in my native tongue (when I got to seventh grade, I was shocked to learn “Eres Tu” was not Spanish for “Touch the Wind”). My wife, who took German in high school, retains a similar preference for Nena’s “99 Luftballoons” over the version called “99 Red Balloons”.

I bring this up, because I can’t know exactly what Yan is telling reporters without Alan Suriel translating his answers, but I don’t need to know. The kid’s look in these scrums says it all. He’s thrilled to be here. He’s aware that his response to his successes are unorthodox. It’s not that he doesn’t care. It’s just that he’s acting on the outside what he’s feeling on the inside. And, yeah, he’ll rethink that challenge business next time. Jefry, tu eres the real thing.

Carson Benge, in the big leagues about four months longer than Jefry Yan, is an grizzled veteran by comparison. When he was asked about the ballclub being so much more Yannish than it had been, he nodded and said something about how great it is to be reminded of what it was like to play the game the way you did as a kid. Voice of experience Benge is 23. Nolan McLean, another Rookie of the Year contender, was on the same page in Cleveland, saying the vigor his new teammate was generating brought him back to his roots. Nolan recently turned 25.

They’re such old pros! Yet so new to winning baseball games as a unit. The fifth-place Mets have wafted to within four-and-a-half games of fourth place. The Mets haven’t finished alone in last since 2003, the last year before this one that I didn’t go to see the Mets play a team known as either the Expos or Nationals in person. That about-to-lapse streak was more curiosity and coincidence than needing to be on hand for a big Met rivalry, but let’s not stop the assault on respectability now. Let’s catch those Nats! I didn’t think we would be in position to catch anybody or anything other than a higher draft pick.

The Mets have won eight of their last eleven and are 22-22 since Andy Green took over. Green still feels like he’s keeping an eye on the front counter until management can send over somebody full-time, but what he’s doing is working. Or he’s not undermining it. Truly, I don’t know what’s going with these Mets. But dang, do I endorse it.