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ABOUT US
Faith and Fear in Flushing made its debut on Feb. 16, 2005, the brainchild of two longtime friends and lifelong Met fans.
Greg Prince discovered the Mets when he was 6, during the magical summer of 1969. He is a Long Island-based writer, editor and communications consultant. Contact him here.
Jason Fry is a Brooklyn writer whose first memories include his mom leaping up and down cheering for Rusty Staub. Check out his other writing here.
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by Greg Prince on 21 May 2013 6:12 am On Monday night, the Mets got not quite enough of what they needed and a bit too much of what they didn’t. While that may sound like a description of any given one-run loss, this one struck me as quintessentially Metsian. I know I’ve seen it before, again and again.
Their starting pitcher could have gotten out of the first relatively unscathed, but didn’t.
Their first baseman could have gotten out of the way of a baserunner, but didn’t.
Their slumping slugger could have delivered a key hit, but didn’t.
Their myriad fly balls that jumped off their bats could have traveled farther, but didn’t.
Their uplifting three-run home run could have completely turned the tide, but didn’t.
Their starting pitcher who righted himself after his rough first inning could have translated his momentum into a great overall outing, but didn’t.
Their perfectly placed bloop between second and center could have fallen in and sparked a rally, but didn’t.
Their relievers working out of potential trouble in tops of innings could have set the stage for redemptive bottoms of innings, but didn’t.
Their manager could have argued an umpire or two into more favorable calls or at least an agreement to seek help from other umpires, but didn’t.
Their last chance against a flamethrowing closer who had recently struggled could have paid off, but didn’t.
This is the Mets loss I saw in 1975 or 1983 or any number of seasons that didn’t — and were never going to — add up to much despite my youthful protestations to the contrary. The difference between now and then is I’m not considerably younger and don’t come away from 4-3 losses like this one to the Reds convinced that we should have won; that by coming close we sort of accomplished something; that because the likes of Shaun Marcum and LaTroy Hawkins pitched somewhat admirably and Marlon Byrd briefly evened the score and Rick Ankiel hit two home runs last week and Ike Davis hit 32 home runs last year and Brandon Phillips couldn’t possibly catch that kind of dying quail again and we really hung in there against Cueto and the umps kind of screwed us when we weren’t screwing ourselves and if only we had a Phillips or a Votto or a Bruce, that, no, the Mets are really good — why does everybody say they’re not?
They’re not. I’m older now and age has granted me the wisdom and insight to recognize the Mets for what they are when they’re not much.
Oh well.
by Jason Fry on 19 May 2013 10:21 pm Don’t look now, but your woebegone New York Mets are winners of three of four. They’re hot!
My recent advice stands: Find something else to do with your summer, with the possible exception of every fifth day, and let the Christmas carolers be a reminder to check on the team’s financial condition. That, more than anything else, will determine whether you should pay attention in 2014 or wait for new ownership.
But the fact that you’re reading this suggests you aren’t any better at taking advice than I am at practicing what I preach, so there we were at 2:20 p.m., a time that will always suggest “Wrigley Field matinee.” Which is a thing to be appreciated even in the worst of seasons.
The Mets fell behind early, thanks to Dillon Gee surrendering a titanic shot to opposing pitcher Travis Wood, which seems more pathetic than it was — I’m not familiar with Wood but he looks doggone Hamptonesque up there. They fell behind, but they kept the snowball from turning into an avalanche leaving behind nothing but scattered orange and blue gear and pissy calls to the FAN. David Wright got them within one on a little bloop, they fell back again when Ryan Sweeney homered and thus avoided being called out at third while actually being safe, but in the seventh Juan Lagares got a 2-2 curveball that hung right over the middle of the plate. Wood gazed at the unrecallable pitch in horror for a split-second before Lagares mashed it into the back of the left-field bleachers for his first big-league home run. (Lagares would get the ball back when a bleacher inhabitant heaved it back onto the field, a tradition that’s fine at Wrigley and annoying everywhere else.)
An inning later Daniel Murphy — who’d hallooed the Cubs batboy into handing over his teammate’s dinger — golfed a Kyuji Fujikawa fastball to the back of the right-field bleachers for an honest-to-goodness Mets lead, leaving Bobby Parnell to record a spotless ninth and sending the Mets home with a 3-and-4 road trip when 0-and-7 would have surprised none of us.
A win in the daytime at Wrigley is always a satisfying thing, but the reason for this post’s title is that the clout that mattered came from Lagares. He’s 24, one of those maybe-prospects whose weaknesses get discussed as much as his strengths. Lagares, it’s generally agreed, shouldn’t be in the big leagues yet — he’s been rushed. Yet when the Mets acquired Rick Ankiel, they compounded the weirdness of that acquisition by keeping Lagares around as half of a platoon instead of sending him back and taking a peek at the barely glimpsed Andrew Brown.
Ankiel’s story is one to admire, yes, but all of that was long ago, and what you get now is a soon-to-be 34-year-old outfielder who struck out 35 times in 62 at-bats with the Astros, who decided even they could do better than that. Lagares is raw, but even as he’s struggled you’ve been able to see that sweet swing and the power potential. This is a platoon between “Maybe” and “Why?” — Lagares has a slim to moderate chance to be something, where Ankiel has an excellent chance at making us think more fondly of Jeff Francoeur.
Given that the Mets aren’t going anywhere near the playoffs this year, I’d sure rather watch “Maybe” than “Why?” All of our hopes for this club are bets on some future that isn’t slated to arrive until 2014 or 2015 … if it arrives at all. The uncertainty is corrosive and infuriating, but we’re stuck with it. Since we are, it would be a small mercy to see the Mets win or lose with guys who might be a part of that future, instead of worn-out vets whose role in the present is baffling enough.
by Greg Prince on 18 May 2013 10:02 pm I’m picturing Mets marketing types watching the games from St. Louis and Chicago this week. They see the deep-seated allegiance in the home crowds set against the respective backdrops of Cardinalia and Cubbishness. There are symbols and there are statues and there is total engagement between the fans and the franchises, one of which has been far more successful than the other, but you don’t necessarily get that sense from the turnout and enthusiasm. The Cardinals and their fans are all in. The Cubs and their fans are just as all in, which is a helluva lot harder after a century-plus of not going all the way.
And then those Met marketing types turn off their TVs and hold meetings to congratulate themselves on their brilliant decision-making.
“Hey, good job deciding to pass on commemorating the 40th anniversary of the 1973 pennant!”
“You mean the Mets’ 1973 pennant? One of four the Mets have won? One of the most iconic pennants in modern baseball history? One that spawned all manner of positive resonance where the Mets brand is concerned?”
“That’s the one.”
“Well, thanks! I’m particularly proud of ignoring that accomplishment. You know, those guys are getting up there. I think it would be best to, at most, invite a few back in dribs and drabs and disperse them through the community quietly and not make much of a deal out of it otherwise.”
“That’s Met executive thinking! We were careful to not gather every living 1962 Met on the occasion of the 50th anniversary last year, and that was only our inaugural team.”
“Caution paid off. We didn’t shower undue attention on those players who survived a historic season and helped create a legacy of goodwill, which means we achieved our goal of not being bothered.”
“Don’t forget how lucky we were to not be disappointed by trying to do something and not necessarily making it translate to a one-day profit.”
“That’s the thing. It’s not about embellishing what the Mets mean in a broad sense and burnishing the memorable moments so they live on as something the Mets stand for over time. It’s about one day and only one day. If having a day to honor the 1962 Mets on their 50th anniversary or the 1973 Mets on their 40th anniversary puts us out, it’s jut not worth it.”
“Any extra effort that speaks to our most loyal fans, let alone cultivates an ongoing connection for our newer fans, is never worth it. We wouldn’t be working for the Mets if we thought it was.”
“I know! That’s why I really respect Terry for telling reporters that fans don’t know anything. Good for Terry!”
“Listen, Terry’s a nice guy, but he kind of backed off that the other day.”
“Really? That’s too bad.”
“Turns out Terry was just frustrated by all the losing and he didn’t mean to take it out on our fans.”
“You mean our consumers? Why not? Screw them and their thinking they have any clue!”
“I agree, but what’re ya gonna do? Terry must not be totally on board with our philosophy.”
“Maybe we need to get him to sit in on another ‘what it means to be a Met executive’ seminar. He must’ve missed the part about not caring what the people most loyal to our brand think.”
“Well, he is busy trying to win games.”
“Oh, you’re funny! Like it matters what he does.”
“Yeah, I thought you’d like that one. Terry gets a pass. Sandy gets a pass, too.”
“Of course he does! We all get a pass! And if anybody complains, they just don’t understand!”
“Hey, if we’re so dumb, why do we still get several thousand people in here most games?”
“If we’re so dumb, how did almost a hundred banners get made going on about how great the Mets are and how people love the Mets?”
“Hundred more than I would’ve guessed.”
“Well, we tried to bury it at like ten in the morning.”
“Good thing we took those instructions seriously.”
“You mean when they sent out those pictures of thousands of people on the field at Shea between games of doubleheaders?”
“Yup, When we were told, ‘let’s not let this happen,’ we made sure it wouldn’t.”
“You’d think the constant losing and never-ending bad publicity would be enough to turn off everybody.”
“Go figure.”
“But we get fans anyway. Fans who pay hard-earned money.”
“Dopes.”
“And we get questions about why there are no statues like in Chicago and St. Louis or why we don’t retire another number or do more with our Hall of Fame.”
“Weirdoes.”
“And they want to celebrate our history and heritage like that’s an important part of being a Mets fan.”
“Insane!”
“You gotta believe they’re crazy.”
“‘You gotta believe’? Hey, that’s a catchy phrase! Is that from something?”
“I don’t know. I might have heard it somewhere. Not sure where.”
“Just wondering. Oh, I forgot to ask, how did the Mets do today? Gary and Keith were talking about what a fun, vibrant scene Wrigley Field is so much that I got tired of hearing that that sort of thing is allowed at a baseball stadium and turned it off.”
“Tell me about it. Uh, let me check…lost again.”
“Hefner?”
“Who else?”
“Was it close at least?”
“Stop! You’re killing me here!”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to get you laughing that hard. You know when Harvey’s pitching again?”
“Every day of the homestand, I hope.”
“Any ideas for effective promotions next week?”
“You mean besides Harvey pitching every home game?”
“Thought so.”
“Hey, wanna grab some lunch?”
“Definitely. Mishandling our responsibility as tenders of the Mets’ legacy always gives me an appetite.”
by Greg Prince on 17 May 2013 9:46 pm They walked on Ninth Avenue, with Harvey and the two friends in front, his sister and her husband behind them. When they arrived at the restaurant, his sister was laughing about what had just happened on the street. “Do you know how many people just did the second take on you?” she said to her brother.
—Tom Verducci, Sports Illustrated, current issue’s cover story
Tom’s brother, Charles, had moved to New York [and] went to work as a caseworker with the New York City Department of Welfare. One day he walked into a tenement to visit a client. Charles saw a photo staring at him from the side of a refrigerator. “That’s my brother,” Charles said, a little surprised.
—John Devaney, Tom Seaver: An Intimate Portrait, recounting a story from 1967
Tonight’s snippet of movie dialogue I’ve fished from my subconscious and retrofitted to reflect the prevailing Metropolitan zeitgeist comes to us courtesy of the 1993 political comedy, Dave, a line uttered by Kevin Kline in the title role:
“It’s Harvey Day. Everything works on Harvey Day, OK?”
Friday was Harvey Day. And everything did work, didn’t it?
It was mostly Matt Harvey making sure functionality didn’t go out of fashion in Wrigleyville. He pitched the Mets to a win, he hit the Mets to a win, he willed the Mets to a win. He had help, but I’m going to assume it was generated by teammates who couldn’t bring themselves to let their ace down.
You only get so many Harveys in a lifetime. A Matt is a terrible thing to waste.
So would have been 7⅓ innings of two-run, five-hit ball, no-walk ball that should be draped with a bigger asterisk than any imagined for Roger Maris or Barry Bonds. If Ike Davis had made himself the slightest bit useful in the first inning and picked a wide but pickable throw from Ruben Tejada, half of Harvey’s runs don’t score. But allowing for humans being human — 24 non-Harvey Mets qualify under that heading — errors happen. Except Davis’s error, committed with Cubs on second and third and one out, was scored a base hit for Alfonso Soriano (with an error tacked onto Tejada’s ledger despite this perfectly decent throw) and one earned run became two. It’s the Chicago way, I guess.
But the Chicago way hadn’t come up against the Harvey way. They pull a home-cooked scoring decision, you pull an almost flawless shutout for the next seven innings. They send your ERA up a little, you send their batters back to the bench without mercy. So just to be clear, in real life, Harvey gave up only four hits and allowed only one earned run. It may not go in the books as such, but that was how it actually happened.
Listen to me fretting over the earned run average of a pitcher who can probably bear the burden of his number rising from 1.44 to 1.55 and not lose a whole lot of sleep. Look at me worried over whether Matt Harvey would go 5-0, stay 4-0 or be saddled with 4-1. Unless somebody’s in serious September Cy Young competition, I don’t pay more than fleeting attention to these kinds of details.
But this is Matt Harvey. I only get so many Harveys in a lifetime, too. I’ve been at this Mets fan thing for 45 seasons and I’m only on my third.
In the past decade, we’ve been occasionally blessed with an ace pitcher commanding games as if everybody else on the field is playing a supporting role in his drama. Pedro Martinez was that pitcher in 2005 and early 2006. Johan Santana was that pitcher during those intermittent stretches when he was healthy enough to be worth every penny of his enormous salary. R.A. Dickey was that pitcher to award-winning satisfaction last year. Hence, it’s not like we’ve been wholly deprived of aces. There is a tendency every time something brilliant crosses our path to forget that it’s not the first instant we’ve encountered something very much like it in the relatively recent past.
 You…you light up our life. Yet Harvey is different. He’s a solid gold throwback to the platinum standards of Met acedom, just as he’s his own singular phenomenon. Some nights he’s another Gooden. Some days he’s another Seaver. Start after start, he’s Matt Harvey and all that’s come to imply. I’ve been careful to not go nuts with these comparisons, partly because it’s kind of lazy, partly because it’s still ridiculously early in his career, partly because it’s Seaver and Gooden, for goodness sake.
I’m willing to go there tonight, though, because Harvey was just so Seaverian against the Cubs. Not one-hit shutout Tom, but putting aside the bumpy first inning Tom and letting the opposing hitters know their fun for the day was over now.
And that was before the most beautifully Seaverian flourish of all kicked in: the helping of his own cause.
With Rick Ankiel on second in a tie game with two out in the seventh, the manager didn’t pinch-hit for his starting pitcher. Worst that could happen from that decision was Harvey would still be pitching in a tie game in the bottom of the inning. Best that could happen was Harvey would do what every starting pitcher is capable of but none of them seem to do anymore.
Harvey we know is capable, and Harvey, we had a pretty good hunch, isn’t the kind to leave his capabilities in a sock drawer. Matt thus singled Ankiel home when he absolutely had to break the 2-2 tie himself. It felt rare enough that Collins didn’t remove him in the first place. But to actually Help His Own Cause? I’m telling you, at that moment, I bought fully into the Seaver comparison because that’s exactly the sort of thing Tom would have done.
No, actually, that’s exactly the sort of thing Tom did. Three times as a Met starting pitcher, Tom drove in a run from the seventh inning on to break a tie he was nursing before going back to work to nail down his win. Once, in 1973, against the Astros, he did it with a squeeze bunt. The other two times were with home runs: off Ross Grimsley of the Reds in a 1-1 tie in the seventh inning in 1972; and off Bill Stoneman of the Expos in a 1-1 tie in the eighth inning in 1971. These were good pitchers late in games. But this was Tom Seaver, who could handle the bat as well as he could handle any lineup. Of course Gil Hodges was going to leave Seaver in. Of course Yogi Berra was going to leave Seaver in. (Mark Simon of ESPN Stats & Information let us know Met starters Gerry Arrigo, in 1966, and Sid Fernandez, in 1993, also drove in go-ahead runs late and went on to win their games.)
I want to say, “Of course Terry Collins was going to leave Harvey in,” but this isn’t 1971 or 1972. Almost nobody leaves anybody in to pitch, let alone to hit. Everybody has a standing conniption over workload and pitch count. But Collins, not necessarily the most innovative (nor most recalcitrant) of managers, understood who was best suited to butter his team’s bread Friday in the seventh. It wasn’t a pinch-hitter to face Edwin Jackson and it wasn’t a reliever to start the eighth.
Harvey, Collins affirmed later, “is a different animal.”
Granted, Matt wasn’t judged an exotic enough species so that when a runner got to second with one out in the eighth that Terry would do the sensible thing and keep faith in his ace. Harvey reluctantly came out, Scott Rice came in and — because Met aces since time immemorial tend to be starved for margin of error — David DeJesus singled to right. The hit sent baserunner Darwin Barney toward home with what seemed like the potential tying tally, the run that appeared destined to non-decision Harvey yet again…except the ball was retrieved and fired quickly and accurately by Marlon Byrd, and Barney couldn’t have been more out had being tagged by John Buck been his intention all along. Greg Burke and Bobby Parnell held the 3-2 fort from there.
No Met wanted to leave Harvey hanging. No Met wants to leave Gee, Hefner or whoever hanging, either, but this is a step up in class. Every fifth day, the 2013 Mets might as well be visitors from 1969 or 1986. Harvey makes their chances of winning that good. Wright homers into the wind. Murphy remains ablaze. Byrd channels Clemente. Parnell is calm and confident. Even Ike Davis eventually gets a base hit.
And Matt Harvey goes to 5-0.
by Greg Prince on 16 May 2013 7:53 pm When the Mets interrupt one of their concentrated spans of ineptitude with a rare show of net-competence — such as that displayed Thursday afternoon at Busch Stadium in an unlikely 5-2 victory over the exalted St. Louis Cardinals of Keith Hernandez’s fundamentally sound fantasies — I am moved to recall an exchange from the 1984 film, Teachers, between conscientious educator Alex Jurel (Nick Nolte) and stodgy disciplinarian Ditto Stiles (Royal Dano), the latter so named because his teaching method consists solely of passing out quizzes he joylessly reproduces at John F. Kennedy High School’s overworked ditto machine. The discussion in question centers around a problem student whom another teacher would prefer to dump in Ditto’s pin-drop quiet classroom.
DITTO: Oh, it’s fine with me. I’ll handle him.
ALEX: You’d bore him to death.
DITTO: What’s that supposed to mean?
ALEX: Whaddaya think it means, Ditto? Your class is boring. Your students don’t learn a thing. If it weren’t for tenure, you’d be selling vacuum cleaners. Have I left anything out?
DITTO: I don’t have to take that from you. I have received three consecutive teaching awards for the most orderly class.
ALEX: Uh-huh.
DITTO: Three consecutive teaching awards for the most orderly class! And what do you think of that about that, mister?
ALEX: Gee Ditto — you sure don’t stink.
And for one day, neither does our baseball team, give or take a .157-batting (as opposed to hitting) first baseman. They’re 1-0 since completing their second six-game losing streak of 2013 and a robust 43-72 dating back to July 8, 2012.
Friday they attempt their first winning streak in two weeks.
How about them Mets?!
by Jason Fry on 15 May 2013 11:44 pm Instead of kicking a ball into foul territory and failing to cover home plate, Scott Rice found a way to lose more efficiently by throwing a wild pitch.
John Buck got caught off second base when he inexplicably thought a lineout to the outfield was up the gap falling in, and got thrown out inexplicably trying to steal.
David Wright had a ball flop out of his mitt on a tag play on John Jay, giving the Cardinals an extra out, which they turned into a run-scoring single.
Wright struck out with Daniel Murphy on third with one out. The Mets didn’t score.
Apparently discomfited by Carlos Beltran coming into second standing instead of sliding, Murph heaved one past Ike Davis, giving the Cards a runner on second with one out instead of nobody on with two out. Yadier Molina, to the surprise of no sentient Mets fan, promptly rapped a single to right to give the Cards an insurance run.
The amazing thing? This sad parade of boneheaded mistakes and failures actually amounts to progress for this broken, pathetic team.
How many times must you put your hand on this particular hot stove? Find something else to do with your summer.
by Jason Fry on 14 May 2013 11:14 pm Terrible pitching, crappy fielding, nonexistent hitting, a stupid media sideshow that will be an overstuffed brouhaha tomorrow — just another checkpoint in the Mets’ freefall.
There’s no point analyzing this game. There’s no point analyzing this team. The franchise has been starved of money until it’s baseball’s equivalent of a North Korean labor camp, with Bud Selig the China preventing reform. Until something gives, the vast majority of our recaps will be interchangeable. What’s the use of complaining, agitating or even watching?
Do something else. This abandoned shell of a franchise doesn’t even deserve your disdain.
by Greg Prince on 14 May 2013 4:16 am The Mets are bad and will continue to be bad for the rest of the season. That I’ve basically made my peace with.
They have the second-worst record in the National League. Since winning seven of their first eleven games, they’ve lost 17 of 24. Nobody’s scored fewer runs among N.L. teams dating back to the Sunday one month ago that the Mets were chased out of Minnesota by freezing rain, while only the Dodgers have allowed more runs. The Mets’ run differential of -43 over this period is the league’s worst. That indicates a team that doesn’t hit, doesn’t pitch and doesn’t field not doing all of it at once over a statistically significant span of the season.
On the season as a whole, the Mets are 6-2 when Matt Harvey starts, 8-19 when somebody else does, including 0-7 when Monday night’s starter, Jeremy Hefner, takes the mound. The last time the Mets began a season 14-21 was 2003, when they finished 66-95. The last time the Mets posted a worse mark through their first 35 games was 1993, when they commenced 12-23 and concluded 59-103.
Yet I watch these bad Mets. Their telecasts are entertaining because of their announcers. Their postgame shows are mesmerizing because of their excuses. Terry Collins can be counted on to mention how close the scores of these losses generally are, as if being “in it” is akin to winning. Hefner, whether he’s a genuinely emotional fellow or just has a vocal tic he can’t help, always speaks after he doesn’t win with a crack in his voice. When I first noticed how upset he sounded, I felt terrible that he takes the game so hard. Now I wonder if he’s Jerry Seinfeld’s girlfriend in the Bette Midler episode, the one who, as Jerry put it, didn’t cry when her grandmother died, but a hot dog made her lose control.
The name of that episode is “The Understudy,” which was supposed to be Hefner’s role in 2013. He’s pitching every five days instead because the Mets have no depth behind their Midler, Harvey. Hefner sometimes pitches well enough to win, but he never does. The Mets are often close to winning, but rarely right there.
It’s not an excuse — that’s another one you’ll hear when you listen in on the sorrow and the pity emanating from the postgame clubhouse. Rick Ankiel, the latest utterly random face to come tumbling out of the pack of cards Sandy Alderson uses to create his 14-21 roster, showed up in St. Louis to give the Mets a proven glove in center field. Except Ankiel — who surely isn’t here to pad the team’s on-base percentage — didn’t think to stash a glove in his carry-on luggage. So the former lefty pitcher used a current lefty pitcher’s glove (Jon Niese’s) and it wasn’t quite the proper length to snare Ty Wigginton’s sinking liner that Ankiel was going to make a very good if not great catch on. It’s not an excuse, Ankiel said, but no, it wasn’t the proper glove.
That was in the seventh, after Hefner had done all he could (6 IP, 3 ER) and, presumably, had taken all he could take. Wiggy, a Met from the last season the Mets lost 21 of their first 35 games, just kept going, just as he has in the nine years since he stopped being a Met. Indefatigable Wigginton hustled into second after Niese’s glove betrayed Ankiel. Next up was Matt Adams, who shot a ball off Scott Rice’s foot that clanged into foul territory…the ball, that is, not the foot. While Rice trailed behind John Buck in pursuit of the ball, home plate went wholly unoccupied. Wigginton raced by David Wright at third (returning the favor from 2004, you might say) and occupied home plate before Rice could evacuate him. A longstanding 3-3 tie was broken in favor of the Cardinals on a trip around the bases reminiscent of 2005 at Shea, when Dae-Sung Koo improbably stroked a ball to center off Randy Johnson and more improbably scored from second on a bunt when Jorge Posada couldn’t get back to the plate to tag him. Except then it all worked out for the Mets.
Monday night, nothing worked out for the Mets. Scott Atchison came in after Scott Rice and allowed a two-out, two-run homer to Matt Holliday that sealed the Mets’ 6-3 fate. Atchison’s been pitching nearly every day and his fingers were numb and he’ll probably be on the DL soon but, the pitcher said manfully in the clubhouse, it’s not an excuse.
No excuses. No wins, but no excuses. Ankiel was an unequipped center fielder trying to make a very good catch…and the Mets lost. He’s supposed to share time with Juan Lagares, a much younger, much more promising center fielder who made a spectacular catch Sunday…and the Mets lost. Adams didn’t hit his ball very far, but it bounced off somebody’s limb…and the Mets lost. The day before, Lucas Duda hit a ball that took a stranger bounce, one off the first base bag so high into the air that there was no way it wouldn’t become a two-out RBI that would pull the Mets even with the Pirates. Except the ball bounced into a Pittsburgh glove and Duda was forced easily…and the Mets lost.
And the Mets lost. It’s a familiar refrain. They’re in close games Sunday and Monday. They’re blown out Friday and Saturday. The starters who aren’t Harvey are fixing arm angles and gaining velocity and if they haven’t kept games close, well, the coaches are sure they’ve picked up something in their respective bullpens that are going to turn them around. The hitters who don’t hit with men in scoring position or at all for innings at a time…it’s just a matter of approach and patience…or is it approach and aggressiveness? The players who act a little too happy because they personally achieved something? Well, let ’em get whacked on the arm by an opponent. That’ll teach ’em to enjoy themselves. Better yet, let ’em get used to being Mets. That’ll flush the joy out of their systems altogether.
I don’t just watch Mets games and postgame shows. I listen to their flagship station sometimes when I hear their general manager will be on to explain just why the Mets are 14-20 going on 14-21. The GM, Alderson, told Mike Francesa Monday that this wretched start bothers him, too, as if he’s a fan, as detached from the process of roster construction as any of us. He said something about Zack Wheeler not being here because he’s not ready (which may be true) not because it will affect his contractual status (which is truth-shading at its shadiest). He said in all practicality Shaun Marcum is still going through Spring Training, except he’s using major league games that count to get the hang of pitching again. Marcum’s understudy was first Hefner, then Aaron Laffey. Alderson is out of understudies. Excuses he can find.
I’ve maintained faith that patience has been the better part of valor since Alderson and his all-star advisory council took the post-Minaya reins. I couldn’t get intensely upset about 2011 because whaddaya want from the guy? That was the deal in 2012, too. It’s the deal in 2013. But the product which Alderson has crafted and Collins shepherds gets progressively worse, not better. I convinced myself to the best of my ability — and cynicism is a tough obstacle when you combine reaching 50 and being a Mets fan most of your sentient life — that the Mets were building a foundation upon which the crown jewels of the pitching staff would be placed carefully and then, with completive standing enhanced and financial wherewithal no longer an overriding issue, we’d be on the cusp of a golden age. Or at least a less tarnished age.
Even after spending eight delightful starts salivating at Harvey and being encouraged by the reports of Wheeler’s progress, I really don’t believe that anymore. I look around and wonder, to paraphrase the GM, “What foundation?” There is little splendid about these Mets individually. There is plenty that is ordinary at best. What always bothers me about puffing up the guys we see day after day is forgetting that other teams have shortstops and first basemen and lefthanded starters. They have prospects and crown jewels. We sucker ourselves into believing ours are the most sparkling, rarely pausing to consider that fans of those other teams probably believe something similar about their inventory, and we can’t all be absolutely correct in our assessments.
Maybe I’m not supposed to be unduly swayed by 35 games or 24 games or a four-game losing streak, but the sum total of consuming as much Mets as I do has left me about as dismayed as I’ve been since dismay became my reflexive reaction to everything I witness. I thought we were putting that era behind us. Either we’re in darkest-before-dawn territory or the era will just keep on extending.
Which brings me back to Alderson, who is a human being, not a caricature, but that may cut both ways. He may just not be succeeding at producing a decent Mets team in the interim and he may not succeed at producing an enduring Mets contender in the long term. It happens. We just spent a weekend with the Pirates, who continue to haul around their two-decade stone of shame until further notice. Maybe this is their year to post a winning record, make a run at the playoffs and validate the love and loyalty shown by Buc-loving people (though not, I hope, the Western Pennsylvanian who sat behind me on Sunday constantly imploring Andrew McCutcheon to “C’MON ’CUTCH!”). Maybe some year soon will be the year of the Indians and their acolytes who have had little to cheer in this century and nothing to celebrate of an ultimate nature since the first half of the last one.
I bring up Cleveland because Alderson’s tenure brought to mind something I read about Gabe Paul several years ago. In Roger Kahn’s October Men, a revisitation of the 1978 Yankees, he mentions Paul’s resignation from George Steinbrenner’s employ prior to that season and the job he accepted as president of the Indians. This was the Tribe as it was reaching the 30th anniversary of its last world championship. Why, Kahn had asked the about-to-turn 68-year-old executive, would he take on the challenge of reviving an eternally moribund franchise, especially after building the 1977 world champs as GM of the Yankees? “Cleveland used to be a great baseball town,” Paul told him, “and it will be again. Right now it’s a sleeping giant. I’m going to start making some good deals for Cleveland and build another winner.”
Kahn, writing some 25 years later: “He never did.”
It happens. Or it doesn’t happen. Or it takes forever. Who the hell knows? If you’re an organization that seems to know what it’s doing, you’re never down for long. You lose your immortal first baseman to free agency and your Hall of Fame-bound manager to retirement and, if you’re the Cardinals, you find your way back to within one game of the World Series anyway. You lose your closer for the year the next year, you just pluck someone else from the ranks and you don’t miss a beat. St. Louis won a World Series without Adam Wainwright. They’re in first place without Chris Carpenter and Jason Motte. It’s downright icky the way Keith Hernandez swoons over them, but his admiration is not misplaced.
The Mets are not an organization about to be accused of knowing what it’s doing. No visiting broadcasters are marveling over their excellence or even competence. They’ve been down far too long. Barring a 68-59 turnaround, the Mets will file their fifth consecutive losing record in 2013. Whatever little goodwill lingered from their last decent spurt has disappeared. It probably disappeared for you an eon ago, but I tend to cling to anything positive and try to make it last. The Mets who won more than they lost every year from 2005 through 2008 (one division title and one playoff series victory plus two historic September collapses, a.k.a. the good old days) at least made me think 2009 and 2010 were maybe aberrations. Jaunty, spunky play for extended intervals of 2011 and 2012 made me think they were renewing themselves for something better.
I’ve ceased shopping at that theoretical store because I simply can’t buy that stuff in 2013. I’ve seen too much bad, blah baseball. I’ve seen the Mets play worse in recent years but I’ve never seen them quite so bad and quite so blah at their essence, not since I was too young to be so cynical about them. The players I trusted to form a foundation strike me more as the players you cycle through to get to the players who will be around when winning replaces losing. If it ever does.
Sunday I saw jerseys in the stands and on the escalators and all around Citi Field that reminded me of who have come and gone in the relatively recent past: REYES 7; DELGADO 21; BELTRAN 15; MARTINEZ 45; DICKEY 43; SANTANA 57. I wasn’t necessarily missing any of those individuals of late — a couple of them are long retired already — but the onslaught of their names and numbers struck me as positively ghostly. Remember good players? Remember thinking the Mets were going to win? Remember being surprised when they lost?
I actually do. It was a while ago and a similar state is probably a while ahead.
As for the games that make one glad to be a Mets fan, there is The Happiest Recap, a subject I was happy to discuss in depth with premier blogger Alex Belth. Read our discussion of Mets wins that stand the test of time at Bronx Banter.
by Jason Fry on 12 May 2013 5:52 pm All right, people. We’ve all get better things to do with what’s left of our day than complain about this listless horrible team. Start reading and we’ll rip this Band-Aid off quick as we can.
Matt Harvey: He was clearly struggling — the fastball velocity was down and the location was off, leading to very few swings and misses. It wasn’t odd to see him out there grimacing and fuming, because that’s the way Harvey pitches even when he’s got all his pitches working and going exactly where he tells them to, but it was odd to see him out there in charge of a repertoire that qualified as merely good. But he toughed it out — he scrapped and scrambled and improvised and wound up with a very good pitching line. That’s impressive any time a pitcher has to do it; for a sophomore pitcher it’s even more so. The legend of Matt Harvey grows even when he has far from legendary stuff.
Everybody Else: What a horror show. Mets swinging and missing, swinging and missing, tapping out, hitting weak fly balls, swinging and missing, tramping back to the dugout looking sad, squinting as they pull off their batting gloves, swinging and missing some more. And don’t try to lay this on Dave Hudgens — it’s not the hitting philosophy that’s lousy but the quality of the student body. Offensively, this is a bad team with one star who does himself no favors by trying to do too much, two guys who might grow into complementary players but might not, and a bunch of guys who are one-dimensional, miscast, too old, Triple-A quality or some fretful combination of those things. The Pirates — the Pirates — just thoroughly outplayed this sad disaster of a club; one shudders to think what damage the Cardinals will inflict over the next four days.
What Not to Do: Bring up Zack Wheeler. First of all, what kind of a reward is it to be chained to an oar as this pathetic ship takes on water? Second of all, given the financial uncertainty around this team and the certainty that they’ll be nowhere near the 2013 playoffs, why put him on the road for escalating paydays in arbitration? Bring Wheeler up in late June or the second half. Perhaps by then his future teammates will only be striking out nine or 10 times a night.
Silver Lining: Uhhhh … Juan Lagares made a catch you’ll see on ballpark highlight reels long after Juan Lagares is forgotten? Seriously, it was neat.
Another Silver Lining?: Nope, that one was already kind of a reach. Go be nice to your mothers. None of this was their fault.
by Greg Prince on 11 May 2013 9:39 pm  I’m just back from the village green of our small town, a town that likes its baseball and may even field a professional team one of these days.
 It’s got this quirky little parade it runs now and then, sometimes too early in the year for its own good, but the folks who march in it wear these big grins after they’ve carried their hopeful, sweet-natured signs, so it’s all in good fun.
 I try to show up in time to give ’em all a big hand, since otherwise there doesn’t seem to be anybody else around to watch ’em wave their homemade placards and such. The organizers aren’t too reliable about saying when the darn thing’ll start, however, so some years — like this year — I catch only the tail end. Maybe the tail end was about the same size as the front end. Either way, I saw the grins.
 The town doesn’t lack for eats, which is nice. My wife’s treating an ulcer — maybe or maybe not related to watching our unprofessional team — so we couldn’t really partake of the big picnic. There was a girl selling gluten-free goodies, though, and she couldn’t have been nicer steering my wife through what she might be able to sample in her condition. Same for the lady inside the market right next to it. The niceness of the folks doesn’t always extend to the people who have to work in our town, but Saturday, we found quite a few kind souls.
 Funny thing about our town is though the baseball team can’t rightly be called professional, the people who put the team out there sure want to make you feel like they’re a big deal. Used to be there was just one enormous-headed mascot, but now he’s got company. Some fella dresses up as a coffee cup and all the folks try to help the one person who’s supposed to find him find him.
 It’s not much, but our town’s pretty small.
 We’ve had the team so long, that it’s hard to remember how good it’s sometimes been. Now and then they tell us “facts” about what happened to the team on whatever date the day happens to be. It’s not uncommon for something to be wrong with the facts by the time they put ’em up where everybody can see ’em. For instance, they said our then-professional team split a doubleheader in Los Angeles 41 years ago Saturday. Actually, that doubleheader took place right next door to our current village green, and the kicker was it was the first day-night doubleheader our team had ever played at home. But they didn’t mention that.
 Easy mistakes to make if you’re not careful looking things up. The folks who run our village green are sometimes kind of careless that way. But we keep coming back anyway. I’m a bit of a stickler about details, yet I’m not all that particular overall. If I were, I probably wouldn’t be so fond of our unprofessional team.
 Yeah, you can call out this or that mistake or that or this silliness, but it’s our little town, with its peculiarities and oversized coffee cups, so you tend to let it go. You try to enjoy the grins instead. You see folks you know, and you chat, and you catch up on life away from the village green. You talk about the local team and its unprofessional performance, too, of course. You can’t help but notice it — or that ever since the village green was built, the team hasn’t had itself a winning season.
 Saturday it played another team that built itself a pretty little park and has never had a winning season there, either, but my word! That team played like champions against our little band of amateurs. I wonder if they’ve suddenly gotten really good or if they just happen to benefit from the good fortune of having been visitors to our village green today.
 Our boys’ record isn’t what you’d call good right now, but I’ve seen it worse. Still, I can’t say I’ve seen them be worse in a very long time. Hmm…I suppose these things go in cycles.
 Say, you know who played for our little team that has yet to requalify for professional status Saturday? Neither do I. The lineup our manger sent out there reminds me of the kinds of packs of baseball cards I got when I was a kid. I’d open the wax paper, let the smell of the freshly planted gum waft over me and then watch the players tumble out randomly before me. Always wished I could’ve gotten better players. Instead, it was either the same old discouraging faces or some no-names that left me wondering who stuffed them in the pack in the first place.
 Our players didn’t play too good Saturday. Our manager didn’t do anything much to help. One of our boys — one of the few we’ve got who’s come through for us lately — got hit with a baseball, but nobody seemed to mind. Not the longest stream of banners. Not many grins after what banners there were got put away. The girl with the gluten-free food was nice, though. And everybody pitched in to help pick out the coffee cup fella. It rained, but not to excess. Then we all dispersed.
 Just another day in our town. Just another season like the ones directly before it.
Photographs by Sharon Chapman.
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