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Greg Prince and Jason Fry
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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Talent: Swell; Performance Less

At any given moment during the baseball season between Opening Day and August 31, there are 780 active players on major league rosters — 30 clubs, each with 26 players. Maybe a few more are scattered about if the 27th Man clause is invoked for a day-night doubleheader or neutral-site contest. On September 1, when rosters expand to 28, the total rises to 840+. Given the steady stream of personnel promotions and corresponding demotions over the course of a campaign, it seems certain that MLB never encompasses the same 780 or 840 players from one day to the next. For example, the team we root for used 63 different players across 162 games in its most recent season, and activated two others who never saw action.

Across the entire 2025 calendar, according to my best reading of Baseball-Reference, well over 1,400 different individuals played in at least one Major League Baseball game. It’s not a snap to suss out an exact figure that doesn’t double-count position players who pitched, or pitchers who might have drifted into the offense portion of box scores through late-inning batting order machinations (let alone whatever handful of pitchers actually did something other than pitch), or players who played for multiple teams. This is not to mention Shohei Ohtani, who is his own category. Without picking apart thirty sets of statistics, I’m confident in asserting there were somewhere between 1,400 and 1,500 ballplayers in the majors last year, probably closer to 1,500.

The exact number isn’t essential, but the point that every player who entered a game at the highest professional stratum of the sport has to be pretty damn good to have done so is. I hark back to Gary Cohen’s response at the press conference preceding his Mets Hall of Fame induction a couple of years ago when I asked what was different about the major league life than he might have imagined when he was aspiring to it.

“Going from being a fan to a broadcaster at the highest level in Major League Baseball, I think the thing that you learn very quickly is what extraordinary athletes these guys are. You know, it’s very easy for people to sit in the stands and watch major league baseball players fail, and it’s a game of failure, but even the last guy on a major league roster is an extraordinarily talented athlete, and just standing behind a batting cage and watching the hand-eye coordination involved, again with the lowliest of major leaguers, is so far beyond the ken of those of us who can’t do those things, I think it makes you appreciate just what this game is, and how difficult it is to play, and how monumentally talented all of these players are. To me, that was the most eye-opening piece.”

Gary said that in 2023, but it’s returned to my consciousness in the wake of 2025, particularly the part about “how monumentally talented all of these players are”. More than 1,400 players, and if they’re not all great, they each can be on this pitch or that swing. If it’s not a wholly level playing field from one team to the next, the difference between competing rosters from day to day is likely smaller than we imagine when we’re making our semi-informed preseason picks.

All of this, rather than what a splendid postseason the Mets had this past year, is in my head because one word kept coming up as the Mets’ chance to keep playing into October slipped away: talent. The Mets, the Mets themselves kept telling us, had too much talent to not make the playoffs. They were too talented to not suddenly rekindle their mysteriously disappeared winning ways. They were too talented to keep reeling off lethal losing streaks. The talent in their clubhouse was too substantial to not coalesce into desired results.

Except it wasn’t. Because everybody’s got talent. Some more than others. Some less than others. Some who it apparently doesn’t matter how much they have, because the talent can’t necessarily be converted to consistent success.

That last cohort includes us. It informs why Faith and Fear in Flushing’s Nikon Camera Player of the Year for 2025 — presented to the entity or concept that best symbolizes, illustrates, or transcends the year in Metsdom — is Talent’s Limitations. If the Mets didn’t have all the talent in the world, they claimed a copious share of it. And it got them nowhere, or at least not where they and we assumed they’d be once the regular season was over.

Why? Because, again, everybody’s got talent. Maybe not what we would have estimated as Met-level talent when the Mets’ talent was registering win after win as a rule, but enough to stay in a game and pull it out late, or take a lead early and maintain it to the end. The 79-83 Marlins could do that, and did it five out of seven times to the Mets in August and September. The 66-96 Nationals could do that, and did it four out of six times to the Mets in August and September. Seventy-nine times in 2025, somebody beat the Mets, leaving them a defeat too far from an opportunity to continue playing. It was counterintuitive to bet against this ballclub, but maybe that’s why some people yearn to build gambling facilities adjacent to ballparks.

Before the losses added up to one too many, the Mets kept reminding everybody, including themselves, that they were too awesome to fail.

“There’s a lot of belief in this group. There’s a lot of talent in this room.”
—Pete Alonso, June 26, 2025

“We’re not playing well. But [we have] too much talent. We’re going through a very tough time right now, but there’s a lot of good players there. We haven’t played well, but we’re still pretty much right in the thick of things. We gotta find a way.”
—Carlos Mendoza, August 14

“This is the most talented team I’ve ever played on. So I know exactly what we’re capable of. It’s just going out there and executing it every night.”
—Brandon Nimmo (remember him?), August 26

Funny, but nobody ever mentioned how much skill and aptitude had infiltrated the clubhouse.

If only the 2025 Mets could have thrown their reputations or self-regard out onto the field. Instead, it was the 2025 Mets themselves who had to take care of business, which they missed doing. Continual witnessing of their attempts to maintain a division lead, then a Wild Card edge, then a last gasp advised the attentive observer that this team would not reach any of the thresholds required to keep playing beyond Closing Day.

The 2025 Mets, talented as they were, lost seven games in a row in June; seven games in a row spanning late July and early August; and eight games in a row in the heart of September. They had pretty much inverted Val’s big number from A Chorus Line. For looks — on paper — they might have been a 10, yet when it came to performance between the white lines, particularly the dance down the stretch destined to determine their fate, they were more like a 3. I don’t think the second seven-game losing streak was complete before it occurred to me that an admirable aggregation of talent was swell, but not immune to fomenting disappointment in the long run. The talented team must think. The talented team must execute. It’s preferable that the talented team’s players vibe, but as long as they jibe in terms of winning games, cordial working relationships seem sufficient. When the Mets won, they’d all gather into a festive oval and offer a triumphant group kick. I’m not sure if anybody was delivering figurative kicks in the rear after losses. If they were, they weren’t effective.

In the 93 games the 2025 Mets played after they peaked at 45-24 on June 12, they went 38-55, a disqualifying enough mark. More damning? In the 71 games when the Mets weren’t going 0-22 amid their three signature skids, their cumulative post-June 12 record ran to a mere 38-33, indicating they weren’t doing so terrific during the bulk of the days when everything wasn’t skidding downhill. As a point of comparison, the 1999 Mets endured losing streaks of eight games at midseason and seven games in the second half of September, enough to smother an ordinary team’s postseason dreams. But Bobby V’s extraordinary troupe negated that 0-15 by posting a 96-51 record the rest of the time, enough to qualify them for the one-game play-in versus the Reds that ultimately earned them a playoff berth (back when each league offered one Wild Card rather than three). That Mets team’s Mojo was irrepressibly Risin’. This one’s sagged and stayed sagged.

Still, I bought into the talent notion as much as any fan.

• I heard myself tell a friend of mine during one of the games that followed the first seven-game losing streak, as we bandied about trade deadline possibilities, “I’m taking postseason as a given.”

• As chronically keeping an eye on the Phillies gave way to tracking the Reds’ trajectory, I couldn’t quite accept the need to redirect my scoreboard-watching, as if monitoring Cincinnati was, honestly, a little beneath us.

• In July, I reluctantly accepted a doctor’s appointment for late October, despite my concern I would be too consumed by what the Mets were likely to be doing to keep it.

• When Reed Garrett returned from the injured list and delivered a shaky September outing, I thought to myself, “I don’t know if he should be on the postseason roster,” as if a postseason roster was sure to be constructed.

• In the euphoria enveloping me in the final minutes of my alma mater’s college football conquest for the ages — USF 18 UF 16 via walkoff field goal on September 6 — I not only clicked away from the Mets-Reds game still in progress (something I rarely do during any Mets game, let alone one with playoff implications), but alerted the gods that if the Bulls can pull off this upset of the Gators in Gainesville, “I don’t even care if the Mets lose tonight”…which the Mets were en route to doing, anyway, at the instant I spoke my sacrilege aloud.

I was fully conscious in the moment that I was willing to give away a Mets game against a team they very much needed to defeat. I also caught onto my other multiple karmic faux pas as I said or thought them. The hardened fan in me knows you don’t assume in advance, in deference to what Felix Unger spelling out what it inevitably makes of you and me. Yet, like Alonso and Mendoza and Nimmo and the rest of those who spoke for the Mets, I deep down believed, nah, we can’t possibly blow this.

Lesson learned yet again.

Then it got blown, and it was somehow not a shock. Nor that much of a surprise. A year earlier, it took me a while to come around to the idea that the 2024 Mets were really good. It took me a little longer a year later to come around to the idea that the 2025 Mets might not be that great, but it did sink in. It didn’t quite make surface-sense that the Mets couldn’t flash their credentials and gain admission to the postseason, but their rotation did keep falling apart; and all those relievers who were supposed to provide relief in relief of their relievers who chronically fell short did fall even harder (here’s hoping the next one won’t); and third base did reinstall its ancient revolving door; and center field did prove an utter sinkhole; and slumps weren’t snapped in a timely fashion; and vapor locks occurred nightly; and other teams got on the field and didn’t care that the Mets had so much talent, unless it motivated those other teams to play a little harder.

I’m not sure if piss & vinegar sentiments akin to “so what if they’ve got Soto and Lindor and Alonso and Diaz and all those hyped guys, they ain’t no better than we are!” are actually expressed among the ranks of professional athletes, but watching the Nationals take four of six from the Mets, and the Marlins take five of seven from the Mets, when we were certain there was NO WAY that should have happened over the final six weeks of the season, maybe the alleged dregs of our division did dig a little deeper, while the Mets dug fairly shallow. As was, the Mets dug their own competitive graves while losing seven in a row, seven in a row again, and eight in a row (independent of those Marlins and Nationals debacles), and they jumped right in. The sub-.500 clubs from Washington and Miami, the ones that didn’t have many or maybe any hyped guys, were absolutely capable of kicking a little more dirt on what was left of the Mets’ hopes, and that they did.

The Mets had all that talent. What did it mean in the end? I don’t know. I doubt any of us does.

FAITH AND FEAR’S PREVIOUS NIKON CAMERA PLAYERS OF THE YEAR

1980: The Magic*
2005: The WFAN broadcast team of Gary Cohen and Howie Rose
2006: Shea Stadium
2007: Uncertainty
2008: The 162-Game Schedule
2009: Two Hands
2010: Realization
2011: Commitment
2012: No-Hitter Nomenclature
2013: Harvey Days
2014: The Dudafly Effect
2015: Precedent — Or The Lack Thereof
2016: The Home Run
2017: The Disabled List
2018: The Last Days of David Wright
2019: Our Kids
2020: Distance (Nikon Mini)
2021: Trajectories
2022: Something Short of Satisfaction
2023: The White Flag
2024: Suspension of Disbelief

*Manufacturers Hanover Trust Player of the Year

All 105 Mets Postseason Games Ranked

You may have noticed the New York Mets played no postseason games in 2025. To compensate for our favorite team’s autumnal shortfall, we are happy to have harvested a bushel of postseason Mets games as a coda to the completion of the most recent World Series…even if none of them is from 2025.

Faith and Fear in Flushing proudly presents an update to its 2020 feature that endeavored to rank EVERY Mets postseason game ever played. At the time of its initial publication, the Mets had participated in nine postseasons and 89 games therein. Five years later, those totals have risen to eleven and 105, respectively. Below we examine every fall festival in which the Mets have partaken and seek to contextualize every Wild Card (1), Wild Card Series (6), League Division Series (20), League Championship Series (49), and World Series (29) game the Mets have played, daring to put them in order, No. 105 to No. 1.

The motivation for such an exercise, as spelled out in 2020 — with numbers revised to reflect current totals:

The Mets have played 105 postseason games, winning 59 and losing 46. When each was played, each was the biggest game of all time to us. That’s how the postseason is when our team is involved. But when we pull back, years and decades following 105 final pitches, not all throb with the same meaning we attached to them as they alighted and unfolded in 1969, 1973, 1986, 1988, 1999, 2000, 2006, 2015, 2016, 2022, and 2024. Some we talk about constantly when we talk about the Mets. Some we think about probably every day since they happened. Some we attribute all kinds of enduring mishegas to even if they were only one game. Some thrust us forward. Some stopped us cold. Some dictated much of what came next. Some are memorialized and revered. Some, somehow, were plowed under by the games and seasons that came next. Each, in one way or another, informs who we are as Mets fans and how we consider the Mets when we consider the Mets…which is what people like us do with as little pause possible.

There’s no statistical formula to this, just loads of paying attention and 105 episodes of revisitation. These rankings are rendered in good faith, sans fear. It’s not a My Favorites list, regardless of the subjectivity inherent. It’s not a Best Games list, exactly, though aesthetics certainly influenced the contemplation. It’s not a wholly YAY METS list, either. Each of the 105 postseason games the Mets have played tells a story to us as Mets fans and to all as baseball fans: the impressions they left, the legends they created, the myths they made, the resonance that resounds, the history that lives on. These are 105 games that explain us and define us, for better and for worse.

The 46 Met losses, unfortunate as it is that they exist, are intermingled here with the 59 Met wins. No harm to any Mets fan’s psyche is intended by being brutally inclusive. Our self-perception, as well as that the world at large has developed of our ballclub, is based largely on these October/November successes and the not-quite-successes. To play in postseason implies success to begin with. Failure may not be an option, but it’s also not the right word to describe any team that gets as far as these eleven Met teams did. Still, sometimes history turned on the games that got away. Or at least seemed as if it did.

The sixteen games that have transpired since the list’s original incarnation have been plugged in where deemed appropriate, naturally affecting the earlier rankings, but none of the games that predate this updating have otherwise exchanged places. A modicum of tweaking to the text has been done for exposition’s and clarity’s sake, but the commentary for the games spanning 1969 to 2016 is mostly the same as it appeared when published in 2020. For the record, the bulk of each of the 2022 and 2024 entries was written in the immediate aftermath of when those games happened, as I figured I’d be revising all this eventually.

Eventually has arrived. Here’s hoping more Mets postseason action will follow — and give us something to be thankful for — in the years ahead.

105. OCTOBER 13, 2024 — NLCS Game One: DODGERS 9 Mets 0
The concept of “just one game” never loomed larger after the Mets lost by their largest postseason margin to date. Kodai Senga, attempting to build his endurance to three innings, never made it out of the second. The bullpen wasn’t better, the offense was tepid versus Jack Flaherty (Jesse Winker, one of the few Met baserunners, pulled a boner between second and third to kill the closest thing to a rally the Mets mounted all night), and the defense committed a pair of errors. After the game, it was reported Brandon Nimmo was dealing with plantar fascitis, explaining the limp he displayed in the series opener. The whole team limped toward the next day, when the sun rose and the Mets were granted a chance to pull even in their next version of just one game.

104. OCTOBER 16, 2024 — NLCS Game Three: Dodgers 8 METS 0
Temperatures dropped in Flushing as did the probability that the Mets would grab a series lead. If you listened closely, you could almost hear winter clearing its throat. Luis Severino, named a Gold Glove finalist the day before, had trouble with a couple of comebackers, which helped lead to the first two Dodger runs in the second; the Met starter lasted into the fifth and didn’t give up anything else. Meanwhile, Walker Buehler, on the long, hard road back from Tommy John surgery, returned to ace form for four scoreless innings, assisted a bit by the Flushing winds that knocked down what could have been a couple of game-turning longballs. The Dodger pen lived up to its notices, stymieing the Mets offense the rest of the way, as a trio of Dodger sluggers — Kiké Hernandez, Shohei Ohtani (unstoppable with runners in scoring position all postseason) and Max Muncy — went deep off of Met relievers and salted away a whitewashing that looked and felt a lot like the Game One blanking the Mets endured at Chavez Ravine, except it was warmer then and more time remained to shake off such a miserable loss.

103. OCTOBER 17, 2024 — NLCS Game Four: Dodgers 10 METS 2
The Mets matched the Dodgers’ run total, not in the runs category, but rather the number of at-bats they took with runners in scoring position. They came up ten times with a chance to drive in a runner from second and/or third, yet took a collective ohfer. The Dodgers, meanwhile, went 6-for-15 in the same category, and that was pretty much all she wrote as L.A. moved to within one game of a World Series berth and New York trudged closer to putting a great deal of postseason merchandise on remainder.

102. OCTOBER 14, 2000 — NLCS Game Three: Cardinals 8 METS 2
The weather was great, with temperatures peaking in the high seventies. The Mets came in with all the momentum inherent in a two-nil series lead. Then they were clobbered. Rick Reed threw his only bad postseason start. The Mets’ only two runs scored on double play groundouts. Yet when it was over, the Mets still maintained their momentum, with two more home games directly in front of them. It made for a sunny forecast.

101. OCTOBER 6, 1999 — NLDS Game Two: DIAMONDBACKS 7 Mets 1
Adrenaline carried the Mets through four absolute must-win games over Pittsburgh and Cincinnati to get them into the playoffs and propelled them high above Randy Johnson & Co. to grab a series lead once they landed in Arizona. They likely needed a breather. Versus Todd Stottlemyre and the Snakes, they took a nap.

100. OCTOBER 4, 2000 — NLDS Game One: GIANTS 5 Mets 1
This one played to the form expected in some circles. The top-seeded Giants jumped on the Wild Card Mets to stake themselves to an early advantage. Past World Series MVP Livàn Hernandez handled the Mets with ease. Derek Bell sustained an ankle injury that ended his postseason. By the time this NLDS was done, Hernandez’s mastery and Bell’s absence would barely be footnotes.

99. OCTOBER 15, 2006 — NLCS Game Four: Mets 12 CARDINALS 5
Oliver Perez made his first postseason start. David Wright hit his first postseason home run. Carlos Beltran went deep twice. The Mets set a franchise record (since bettered) for most runs in a postseason game. Most importantly, they evened a series that threatened to get away from them. And nobody ever brings any of it up.

98. OCTOBER 20, 2015 — NLCS Game Three: Mets 5 CUBS 2
How about that time Jorge Soler fell down in right and allowed Wilmer Flores’s ball to roll all the way to the wall, letting Wilmer scoot to third and scoring Michael Conforto all the way from first, extending the Mets’ sixth-inning lead to 4-2? If you remember that, it’s your mind playing tricks on you, or perhaps you stepped away while the ball was deemed to be stuck under the ivy. The potentially highly memorable moment was downgraded to a ground rule double, sending Conforto back to third. Neither baserunner scored and Jacob deGrom got back to silencing the Cubs regardless.

97. OCTOBER 5, 2006 — NLDS Game Two: METS 4 Dodgers 1
96. OCTOBER 12, 2006 — NLCS Game One: METS 2 Cardinals 0
Tom Glavine’s finest moments as a Met, so fine we have opted for the spelling by which he was identified prior to 9/30/2007. Six innings to chill the Dodgers one Thursday. Seven innings to ice the Cardinals one Thursday later. Shea Stadium roared in support of its lefty ace twice. This really happened, less than a year before Tom Glavine became T#m Gl@v!ne.

95. OCTOBER 2, 2024 — NLWCS Game Two: BREWERS 5 Mets 3
“Six outs away” loomed as the stuff of regretful legend when Phil Maton allowed three eighth-inning runs on two home runs to turn a tenuous 3-2 Mets lead into a crushing 5-3 deficit and grant the Brewers all the momentum in the world or at least Wisconsin. So close to clinching a trip to the next round, so far from actually sealing the deal. Would a night when the Mets stopped scoring after the second and left nine runners on base come back to haunt them? Only the Polar Bear knew for sure, and he wouldn’t reveal the answer until late in Game Three.

94. OCTOBER 8, 1999 — NLDS Game Three: METS 9 Diamondbacks 2
Shea’s first postseason action in eleven years was destined to be overshadowed by Shea’s next postseason action the following afternoon. This Friday night featured Todd Pratt’s first postseason start, which itself was overshadowed by the reason Tank was starting, namely the unavailability of the usual starting catcher, Mike Piazza. For the record, Pratt walked twice and scored a run. It wasn’t Pratt’s finest hour (that would come in less than 24 hours).

93. OCTOBER 14, 2006 — NLCS Game Three: CARDINALS 5 Mets 0
It deserves to be remembered parochially as the Darren Oliver Game, so named for the six innings of scoreless relief the ageless lefty gave Willie Randolph from the second through the seventh. If it’s remembered at all, it’s for the five runs Steve Trachsel gave up in the first. Really, it’s not remembered much.

92. OCTOBER 28, 2015 — WS Game Two: ROYALS 7 Mets 1
Jacob deGrom was on his way to emerging as one of the premier starter of his generation, yet his first (and thus far only) World Series start is the most obscure game among five his team played in their most recent and perhaps most star-crossed Fall Classic.

91. OCTOBER 17, 2006 — NLCS Game Five: CARDINALS 4 Mets 2
Game Five in a seven-game series is either decisive or pivotal. In hindsight, this one was both, backing the Mets to a wall from which they would never effectively detach. Yet this particular T#m Gl@v!ne disappointment (4 IP, 7 H, 3 BB, 3 ER) escapes collective memory, while Jeff Weaver (6 IP, 6 H, 2 BB, 2 ER) is rarely berated in the realm of opposition villainy.

90. OCTOBER 18, 2015 — NLCS Game Two: METS 4 Cubs 1
The set of contests that determined where the 2015 National League pennant would fly has settled in memory into a blur of Daniel Murphy home runs. This game definitely featured one of those.

89. OCTOBER 1, 2024 — NLWCS Game One: Mets 8 BREWERS 4
The designated hitter rule represented blasphemy to hardcore National League types from the moment the American League adopted it in 1973. In real baseball, pitchers hit for themselves, never more gloriously than on May 7, 2016, when Bartolo Colon, nearing the age of 43, socked the first home run of his career. If Bart was no longer an automatic out, no pitcher should ever be considered one again. Alas, alleged progress’s encroachment on authenticity proved unstoppable. When the DH infiltrated the NL to stay in 2022, rock-ribbed traditionalist Mets fans couldn’t help but grimace that their beloved senior circuit had given in to this passing fad. They probably also noticed the Mets were having a hard time making use of the innovation intended to generate offense. In the wake of an era when the Mets had pitchers who were capable hitters (not just Colon, but the likes of Syndergaard, Matz, Harvey, Wheeler and the still extant deGrom), the 2022 Mets went to the playoffs with two designated hitters — Daniel Vogelbach and Darin Ruf — and received exactly no hits from them.

In 2024, with a club that had just stormed into the postseason under the banner of actual Grimace, the existence of the DH within their own domain wound up giving Mets fans a reason to briefly smile without scorn for what commissioner Rob Manfred had done to further destroy the integrity of their beautiful game. In the second inning of the Wild Card Series opener, DH Jesse Winker slashed a two-run triple off Brewer ace Freddy Peralta to pull the Mets into a 2-2 tie (cameras captured fierce jawing between Winker and former teammate Willy Adames on Winker’s route from second base to third, likely another outgrowth of Jesse being Jesse and not everybody loving him the way Mets fans had come to). In the fifth, responding to a Milwaukee pitching change, Carlos Mendoza opted to pinch-hit J.D. Martinez for Winker with the bases loaded, the usual fulltime DH subbing for a DH who sometimes played the outfield. Neither Met had been as much as lukewarm most of September — Martinez challenged the Mets’ franchise ohfer record by going hitless in 36 consecutive at-bats — but October was here, and so was J.D.’s long-proven ability to drive runners home. He smacked a two-run single to right to provide an 8-4 lead for Luis Severino, a starter who had struggled early in the game, but was still on in part because National League managers no longer had to think about pinch-hitting for their pitchers. The Mets wouldn’t do any more hitting on the night, but Severino, Jose Butto and Ryne Stanek combined to put down the final 15 Brewer batters in order, allowing the Mets to be designated winners.

88. OCTOBER 13, 1999 — NLCS Game Two: BRAVES 4 Mets 3
87. OCTOBER 12, 1999 — NLCS Game One: BRAVES 4 Mets 2
Setbacks at Turner Field, even in October, all looked alike for a dismal spell there in the late ’90s. The second showdown in Atlanta sticks out a little more than the first thanks to it including Melvin Mora’s first major league home run (and, if one wishes to be Metsochistic, the loss going to Kenny Rogers).

86. OCTOBER 8, 2022 — NLWCS Game Two: METS 7 Padres 3
The status of deGOAT was at least a little in question. Jacob deGrom was the consensus pick as premier pitcher on the planet from 2018 to the middle of 2021, ascending from the flowing-locks comer he’d been when he helped the Mets to the 2015 pennant to a superhuman league of his own. Unfortunately, while deGrom cut his hair and gained cachet, the Mets mostly lost, whether he pitched or not. Then Jake missed the second half of ’21 and the first four months of ’22 with injuries. When he returned to action, the team was doing wonderfully and Jacob picked up where he left off…for a while. By late September, the Mets’ stumble from undisputed occupancy of first place coincided with deGrom’s disturbing bouts of fallibility. Now the ball was in his right hand to keep the Mets alive versus the Padre — and, if business turned out to be business, perhaps it would be the final time he’d pitch before Citi Field fans as the home starter. Jake had made clear he’d exercise the opt-out in his contract, and after that, who knew what his free agent future foretold?

The present was priority, though, and for six innings, deGrom was as deGOAT as he needed to be, snuffing San Diego threats across six innings, limiting the opposition to two runs, striking out eight and leaving with a 3-2 lead. The Met offense, rarely Jacob’s biggest supporter, not only put him ahead on Francisco Lindor and Pete Alonso home runs, but provided the relievers who followed him with a plush cushion manufactured via a best-case 2022 Mets kind of rally in the seventh, grinding two ten-pitch walks to set up four additional runs. The Mets stayed alive and deGrom stayed a Met, each preserving those precious statuses for another day.

85. OCTOBER 9, 1986 — NLCS Game Two: Mets 5 ASTROS 1
In the fifth inning, Nolan Ryan knocked down Lenny Dykstra. Lenny Dykstra got up and singled off Nolan Ryan. Lenny Dykstra would score after Wally Backman singled and Keith Hernandez tripled off Nolan Ryan. Immortals. Legends. Characters. Drama! And together the whole thing usually rates, at most, a paragraph in retellings of this sizzling series.

84. OCTOBER 12, 1986 — NLCS Game Four: ASTROS 3 Mets 1
The yellow highlighter of the 1986 NLCS. It made sure you would remember “Scott” was crucial in knowing what to study for in preparing for the big test.

83. OCTOBER 23, 1986 — WS Game Five: RED SOX 4 Mets 2
Roger Angell was impressed by this one because it was Fenway Park’s last chance to exude enthusiasm for the year; “less than a classic, perhaps, but there was spirit and pleasure to it.” Surely there were also visiting-team charms to be derived from it, as Tim Teufel homered and doubled in the Mets’ only runs, and Sid Fernandez turned in four foreshadowy innings from the pen, but any footprints Game Five left behind were about to be stomped out but good.

82. OCTOBER 15, 1999 — NLCS Game Three: Braves 1 METS 0
Gl@v!ne outpitches Leiter. Rocker taunts the howling masses. The Mets face elimination. A series that appears to be out of breath gasps ahead of its second wind.

81. OCTOBER 12, 2000 — NLCS Game Two: Mets 6 CARDINALS 5
Close, back-and-forth, see-saw affair, with the Mets eking out a lead in the top of the ninth and Armando Benitez holding tight to it for a commanding series lead. The Mets couldn’t do any better in terms of results, but for an outfit that does postseason drama as a matter of course, it doesn’t particularly pop.

80. OCTOBER 13, 2015 — NLDS Game Four: Dodgers 3 METS 1
Clayton Kershaw picks this opportunity to shed his postseason reputation for not-so-hotness, keeping the Mets from clinching a series at home, but in defeat, Daniel Murphy makes it a night to begin a historic streak to remember.

79. OCTOBER 6, 2024 — NLDS Game Two: PHILLIES 7 Mets 6
The good news: four Met home runs, including two from Mark Vientos, one of which tied the game in the ninth. The bad news: Bryce Harper and Nick Castellanos combined for two homers in the sixth, erasing a 3-0 Mets lead, with Castellanos coming through again in the bottom of the ninth with the game-winning hit off Tylor Megill (a tired Edwin Diaz had already contributed his part in the seventh for better and the eighth for worse). The consolation: the Mets could finally return to Citi Field and look forward to playing a home game after two weeks, regular season and postseason, on the road.

78. OCTOBER 8, 2024 — NLDS Game Three: METS 7 Phillies 2
The MTA sent a Grimace train out to the Mets-Willets Point stop, and don’t think fans didn’t light up when their lucky charm stepped out of one of the cars. The co-branding exercise between the ballclub and the fast food franchise for whom the big purple blob usually pitches was part of the Met kismet all summer long. Fall had at last arrived at Citi Field in the form of postseason baseball, so all the talismans were out in force. You could wave your OMG signs, you could clutch your playoff pumpkins, you could be one of the 44,000-plus screaming your head off, but mostly you could watch Pete Alonso and Jesse Winker go deep; Starling Marte and Jose Iglesias be clutch; Tyrone Taylor and Mark Vientos nab baserunners; and Sean Manaea shut down the imposing Phillie lineup for 7+ innings. When it was over, the Mets — who’d been on the road for two weeks — were one game from an opportunity to clinch at home, a home that in October there was no place like.

77. OCTOBER 11, 1988 — NLCS Game Six: Mets 5 DODGERS 1
76. OCTOBER 18, 2006 — NLCS Game Six: METS 4 Cardinals 2
October’s Mets are known to their fans for the splendor of their Game Six efforts. These were indeed splendid, yet they’re not nearly so well known, their residue vacuumed up as they were by the Game Seven results to follow. Still, let us appreciate David Cone (CG five-hitter) and Jose Reyes (leadoff HR; 3 H; 2 R) carrying the Mets to necessary ties eighteen years apart.

75. OCTOBER 7, 2022 — NLWCS Game One: Padres 7 METS 1
The great Max Scherzer was hired at significant expense ($130 million over three seasons) for this moment. The great Max Scherzer didn’t show up. Somebody wearing his uniform took the mound for the New York Mets’ first postseason game in six years, yet it’s almost unfathomable to connect the SCHERZER 21 credited with culturally transforming the Mets into a powerhouse to the SCHERZER 21 who surrendered four home runs — seven earned runs in all — before being removed to home crowd boos in the fifth inning. Were there lingering effects from the oblique injury that twice sidelined Scherzer during an otherwise triumphant 2022? Were there simple mechanical issues that Max might have adjusted had another start awaited him a few days later? Was age catching up to the 38-year-old lock Hall of Famer? Did it matter once the Mets found themselves down, 7-0, to perennial tormentor Yu Darvish? The Mets were playing in this new Wild Card round because the NL East title that would have ensured them a bye to the League Division Series slipped away in a showdown at Atlanta late in the regular season, and Scherzer hadn’t been particularly great in that battle, either. “It’s baseball,” the club’s co-ace said later. “You get punched in the face. It doesn’t matter who you are.” Mets fans nursing an ice pack against their collective jaw after falling behind in the best-of-three set were in no position to argue.

74. OCTOBER 20, 2024 — NLCS Game Six: DODGERS 10 Mets 5
Starter Sean Manaea (2+ IP, 6 H, 2 BB, 5 ER) didn’t have it. Half among the six relievers who Carlos Mendoza called upon after dismissing Manaea in the third didn’t have it, either. Seven of nine Met batters who batted with runners on base didn’t have what it took on their end. Thirteen Met baserunners looked longingly at home plate but did not cross it. The Dodgers, MLB’s “it” team had it all, or at least the National League pennant by night’s end. L.A.’s blend of superstars, simply stars and requisite October surprise personnel — heretofore unsung shortstop Tommy Edman won NLCS MVP honors — combined with a solid enough bullpen to run out the clock on New York’s Cinderella story. Pete Alonso’s good-luck playoff pumpkin was last seen “settled at the bottom of a blue trash can in the visitors clubhouse at Dodger Stadium,” per Tim Britton of The Athletic, right where you might have found any of Mendoza’s preliminary plans to piece together another desperate pitching strategy for Game Seven. In the Mets’ four losses, their well-worn arms gave up 39 runs…and their first baseman one talisman gourd. But OMG, the team of memes itself never gave up. They just didn’t have quite enough to battle all the way to the World Series. Mets fans could hold their heads high in the aftermath of the year’s final loss, though could certainly be forgiven if all they could manage the morning after was one dour grimace.

73. OCTOBER 18, 1973 — WS Game Five: METS 2 A’s 0
Little is more Metsian than Jerry Koosman coming through in the postseason. Nothing is more Metsian than Tug McGraw slamming his glove to his thigh upon closing out a win. Together, the legendary lefties crafted a most Metsian shutout and pushed their club to the brink of a world championship.

72. OCTOBER 17, 2015 — NLCS Game One: METS 4 Cubs 2
Harvey outpitches Lester. Murphy goes deep. D’Arnaud dents the Apple. Mets never trail. After seven losses to the Cubs in seven regular-season contests, the tone between the two teams is reset.

71. OCTOBER 7, 2006 — NLDS Game Three: Mets 9 DODGERS 5
The previous instance in which Greg Maddux started a postseason game against the Mets, Game Five of the ’99 NLCS, day turned to night, the innings totaled fifteen, a fair ball that left the park was ruled something less than a home run and, when it was all over, Atlanta’s lock future Hall of Famer was demoted to an afterthought no more obvious to the outcome than his New York counterpart, Masato Yoshii. The forty-year-old Maddux of 2006 who threw only four innings in what loomed as the Division Series finale might have no longer been the Cy Young-in-residence of the 1990s, but it was still gratifying to watch the Mets outlast an old nemesis. Between withstanding Maddux and sweeping the Dodgers, this game should probably stand out more in Mets lore. It didn’t necessarily stand out in that night’s scores, because the Mets advanced on the same day that the Yankees were eliminated in their ALDS, their dismissal a bigger New York story in the moment. To be fair, watching the Yankees exit, no matter that they stole some Metsian spotlight (and weren’t what they used to be, either), was also pretty gratifying. Or as Manny Acta and Jose Reyes said in call & response fashion in the postgame celebration out west, “Party in Queens, entierro in the Bronx.” Entierro, not incidentally, is Español for burial.

70. OCTOBER 8, 1988 — NLCS Game Three: METS 8 Dodgers 4
69. OCTOBER 17, 1973 — WS Game Four: METS 6 A’s 1
It was the heat of the moment that defined a couple of frigid dates at Shea. In the moment, the heat got intensely hot. The controversy of 1988 involved Dodgers closer Jay Howell going to his glove for pine tar, which earned him a suspension from National League president Bart Giamatti. While L.A. argued the punishment did not fit the crime, the Mets emerged in the frozen muck of Flushing with the go-ahead game that seemed to swing momentum New York’s way. Fifteen years before, the man in the spotlight within a Series of legitimate stars was backup A’s infielder Mike Andrews, a pawn amid Charlie Finley’s ever-shifting manipulations. Commissioner Bowie Kuhn wouldn’t let Finley officially scapegoat Andrews, whose fielding had contributed to the A’s loss in Game Two, off Oakland’s active roster, so when Mike came up to pinch-hit in a game the Mets had well in hand (sore-shouldered Rusty Staub homered and drove in five), he was accorded a standing ovation by righteous Mets fans. Good sportsmanship, however it arrived, was by no means dead in Queens.

68. OCTOBER 5, 2024 — NLDS Game One: Mets 6 PHILLIES 2
If it was a day that ended in a “y” this particular week, there was an excellent chance that day included a five-run inning for the Mets. The same offense that crossed the plate five times in the eighth in Atlanta in service to clinching a playoff spot the previous Monday and put up a five-spot on the Brewers in the fifth on Tuesday revved up late at Philadelphia during this Saturday series opener. Their engines were silent for seven innings against Old Friend™ Zack Wheeler, but it was nothing but noise from the Mets bats when the Philly bullpen got involved. From down, 1-0, they rose to lead, 5-1, and looked every part the team of destiNY.

67. OCTOBER 18, 1986 — WS Game One: Red Sox 1 METS 0
66. OCTOBER 13, 1973 — WS Game One: A’S 2 Mets 1
Was this any way to start a World Series? In either case, no way. In both cases, the images that lingered were that of Met second basemen who couldn’t pick up simple ground balls: Felix Millan in ’73, Tim Teufel in ’86. Each E-4 led to an opposition run that made all the difference in getting off on the right foot versus shooting themselves in it. It was just one game twice…but a one-game deficit ASAP.

65. OCTOBER 18, 2024 — NLCS Game Five: METS 12 Dodgers 6
Down three games to one, the Mets weren’t too proud to beg for anything to change their luck — in this case, enlisting the Temptations to come to the ballpark before first pitch and lead the fans in singing “My Girl” all together, as had become custom ahead of every Francisco Lindor at-bat, anyway. Yes, the Mets had their backs to the wall, but on this night, backs to the wall meant the wall was in trouble once the Mets got going on this latest postseason do-or-die mission. The way this team did the things it did, that meant that with two runners on in the first inning, Pete Alonso put a ball well over Citi Field’s fence, and several of his teammates went on to assault said barrier with extra-base hits that sent the Dodgers scurrying in the direction of the deepest reaches of Flushing’s outfield. Four doubles, including three from Starling Marte. Two triples. Tons of what Carlos Mendoza reflexively labeled “traffic” on the bases (despite the Mets’ admonition to fans that they should use mass transit), with not a single Met batter striking out. All of it gave Mets pitching — starting with David Peterson for three-and-two-thirds and continuing through the yeoman efforts of Reed Garrett and Ryne Stanek and concluding with two shutdown frames from Edwin Diaz — plenty of cushion against an L.A. attack that had filleted Met starters and relievers alike the previous two nights. One borough over from where John Travolta strutted to keep pace with the Bee Gees, the Mets were stayin’ alive.

64. OCTOBER 9, 2022 — NLWCS Game Three: Padres 6 METS 0
Two ears. One hit. No chance. Joe Musgrove’s spin rate was so beguiling that by the sixth inning, Buck Showalter felt compelled to ask the umpires to check the Padres’ starter for suspect substances. Not in his glove, but behind his ears. Social media was alive with closeups of something shiny beneath the righty’s cap. The umps had a look and a feel. They were satisfied that nothing shady was hidden back there. Musgrove resumed his utter domination of the punchless Mets through seven. Pete Alonso’s single to lead off the fifth and Starling Marte’s base on balls in the seventh constituted the entirety of the Mets’ offense, an entity completely stymied by a pair of Padre relievers in the eighth and ninth in front of a not exactly packed house at Citi Field. Meanwhile, Chris Bassitt and several Met penmen succumbed to the Padres’ unrelenting attack, led by unlikely postseason hero Trent Grisham, who batted .500 from the eight-hole in his club’s three-game series victory. But “unlikely” and “postseason” always seem to know how to find one another.

The dozen wins that separated the 101-61 Mets from the 89-73 Pads in the regular season evaporated, much as the 10½-game lead the Mets held on the Braves at the beginning of June had. San Diego would be in the League Division Series round, thanks to beating the Mets, and they’d go on to upset the even more statistically imposing Los Angeles Dodgers (111-51). Atlanta would be there, too, thanks to a bye earned in large part from their beating the Mets, yet the Braves would go on to be upset by the least statistically impressive team in these NL playoffs, sixth-seeded 87-75 Philadelphia, a club that, oh by the way, was beaten fourteen of nineteen by the suddenly eliminated Mets between April and August. Alas, this was October, and the 2022 Mets, despite totaling the second-most wins in their history during the year — and despite claiming the exact same 162-game record as the division champion Braves (losing the East on a head-to-head tiebreaker) — would be idle until Spring Training, thanks to an early fall you couldn’t have foreseen amid the heights of summer.

63. OCTOBER 24, 2000 — WS Game Three: METS 4 Yankees 2
Lost amid the epic frustration of four losses that each stick in the craw for its own specific reason is the one Met win of the 2000 Fall Classic. It oughta be the other way around given all the compelling elements: Rick Reed strikes out eight in six; Robin Ventura homers; Todd Zeile doubles in the tying run; Benny Agbayani chases the heretofore indomitable El Duque; Brooklyn’s own John Franco gets the win; Armando Benitez, whose allergies clearly included October, garners the first Met World Series save since Jesse Orosco. And the Mets beat the Yankees! What more could a Mets fans want from a Subway Series? Three games more like it.

62. OCTOBER 10, 1988 — NLCS Game Five: Dodgers 7 METS 4
It was supposed to be a travel day. In a sense it was, as the Mets seemed to stand in the terminal waving goodbye to their chances to make their second World Series in three years. Rain the previous Friday forced the series into a Monday makeup barely enough hours removed from Sunday night’s twelfth-inning conclusion to have sleep rubbed from the home team’s eyes. The Dodgers, on the other hand, were all adrenaline, taking a 6-0 lead by the fifth. The Mets’ last best hope was snuffed in the bottom of the eighth when wunderkind Gregg Jefferies got himself called out by running into a batted ball. Shea mostly cheering an injury to Kirk Gibson turned karma in the same direction as momentum — against the Mets.

61. OCTOBER 14, 2024 — NLCS Game Two: METS 7 Dodgers 3
Who’d want to face Francisco Lindor when a home run could do you real harm? The Dodgers probably weren’t thinking this way when this game began, but maybe they should have. Opener Ryan Brasier pitched to Francisco and the resulting leadoff blast instantly reversed the momentum from the Dodgers’ whitewashing of the Mets the night before. An inning later, with the Mets now up by two, the Los Angelenos had to make a decision: try their luck with Lindor again with runners on second and third, or intentionally walk the East Coast MVP and load the bases for Mark Vientos. The shortstop had already burned them, so it was decided the best chance to avert further charring was pitching to the third baseman. As Vientos put it after the game, “I took it personal.” He also took the pitch he got from Landon Knack and deposited it into the right field stands to extend the Mets’ lead to 6-0. Sean Manaea and three relievers bent a little later, but it was the Mets who broke away from L.A. with what they wanted — a split of two games with the National League’s one-seed and a happy flight home to New York.

60. OCTOBER 5, 1969 — NLCS Game Two: Mets 11 BRAVES 6
59. OCTOBER 4, 1969 — NLCS Game One: Mets 9 BRAVES 5
Silly Mets thought they could get by on their sparkling young pitching and anemic offense. Sagacious Braves would teach Tom Seaver and Jerry Koosman about the pressure of October. Sure enough, neither of the aces who combined to record 42 wins in ’69 could escape the hammer of Hank Aaron and his Atlanta accomplices. Maybe taking down the champions of the Western Division was going to take more than a couple of talented arms. So the Mets brought more. Lots more. Twenty runs, divided almost evenly, carried the weekend and launched the Mets from the Launching Pad and toward a pennant (Art Shamsky alone had six hits). Seems it was the Braves who were taught a lesson, namely that when you get to October and face the Mets, expect the unexpected.

58. OCTOBER 13, 2006 — NLCS Game Two: Cardinals 9 METS 6
The Mets led the series, 1-0. They led the Cardinals at various junctures of Game Two by scores of 3-0, 4-2 and 6-4. They were using home field advantage to its fullest force. Then the Mets’ bullpen got a little too involved. Guillermo Mota, until Game Two a savvy pickup, imploded. Billy Wagner, most of 2006 a brilliant closer, did much the same. Throw in some shoddy outfield defense from Shawn Green and a little too much pluck and spunk from the likes of Scott Spiezio and So Taguchi, and, well, leads proved to be precarious things.

57. OCTOBER 5, 1988 — NLCS Game Two: DODGERS 6 Mets 3
Come and listen to a story by a man named Cone
Twenty-game winner couldn’t leave an edge alone
Before Game Two in his column with his ghost
Wrote himself some words that perturbed his playoff host

Tattooed he was
Vengeful style

Next thing you know David Cone is oh-and-one
Having a byline wasn’t any fun
Said, ‘Hey, Bob Klapisch — this column ain’t for me’
The Mets hopped on their flight, all tied for Game Three

56. OCTOBER 11, 2000 — NLCS Game One: Mets 6 CARDINALS 2
Mike Piazza had been a regular-season beast his entire career, but postseason opponents had yet to fully feel his wrath. Then, in the course of opening the series that would determine the pennant, Mike whacked a first-inning RBI double off Darryl Kile that inspired third base coach John Stearns to shout into his Fox clip-on mic, “The Monster is out of the cage!” By invoking for national consumption his fellow hard-nosed catcher’s clubhouse nickname, Bad Dude had enhanced Piazza’s legend. More importantly, Piazza, en route to batting .412 and slugging .941, had enhanced the Mets’ chances to take command of the NLCS. (Mike Hampton’s seven shutout innings didn’t hurt, either.)

55. OCTOBER 4, 1988 — NLCS Game One: Mets 3 DODGERS 2
The invincible Orel Hershiser, he of the 59-inning scoreless streak that he rode to the end of the season, loomed large. But the Mets were on a roll of sorts, too. Not only had they come into the 1988 playoffs after tearing off 29 wins in 37 games, they hadn’t lost a postseason contest since a certain ball rolled through a certain Red Sox first baseman’s legs. This was a different October, but that old Met magic was brought to bear at Dodger Stadium. In the top of the ninth, with Hershiser ahead, 2-0, the Mets went to work like it was 1986. Darryl Strawberry cracked Orel’s latest string of goose eggs with a run-scoring double, and Gary Carter — the same Kid who started that tenth-inning rally versus Boston in Game Six two years before — stroked a double into center field to bring home Straw and Kevin McReynolds for a 3-2 New York edge. When Randy Myers set down L.A. in order in the bottom of the ninth, the Mets were up where they belonged: one-nothing over the Dodgers and three games from a presumed return to the World Series.

54. OCTOBER 19, 1986 — WS Game Two: Red Sox 9 METS 3
Fans of elite starting pitching couldn’t have asked for a better matchup to salivate over: the best of 1985, Dwight Gooden, versus the best of 1986, Roger Clemens. When the epitome of “highly anticipated” was over, connoisseurs of hurling were spitting the bad taste out of their mouths. Clemens, the 24-4 dynamo of the regular season, was a few shades shy or ordinary, not lasting long enough to earn a win. But there was a win for Boston, given that Red Sox batters more than made up for Clemens’s 4⅓ innings of five-hit, four-walk, three-run ball. The likes of Boggs, Barrett and Buckner jumped ugly all over Gooden, whose 24-4 slate from ’85 might as well have occurred in the prior decade. Doc’s six earned runs allowed all but buried the Mets by the fifth inning, and the throwback effectiveness of erstwhile Bosox closer Bob Stanley (3 IP, 0 R) prevented any chance of resurrection. The Mets were down oh-two in the World Series and could have been easily mistaken for dead.

53. OCTOBER 9, 1973 — NLCS Game Four: Reds 2 METS 1(12)
The villain gets his vengeance in what turns into the penultimate chapter of a playoff potboiler, as Pete Rose’s twelfth-inning homer off Harry Parker proves the difference. Rose’s sprint around the bases, as he raised a fist in the air to Shea’s vocal displeasure, cemented his role as Flushing’s quintessential heel. Of course the game was still in progress, with the home team in line to clinch a pennant, thanks to Rusty Staub’s dramatic robbery of Dan Driessen at the right field wall in the eleventh. Ironically, the Met crowd got more Rose and less Staub from the bargain, for Rusty wrecked his right shoulder and was doomed to sit out deciding Game Five, which was going to provide its own page-turning chapter to the proceedings. Obscured in the passions of Game Four: four-and-a-third scoreless innings of relief from Tug McGraw on top of six-and-two-thirds frames from George Stone that were marred by only a Tony Perez solo blast. Alas, the Mets could do next to nothing (1 R, 3 H) versus Red hurlers Fred Norman, Don Gullett, Clay Carroll and Pedro Borbon.

52. OCTOBER 9, 2015 — NLDS Game One: Mets 3 DODGERS 1
When the Mets were scuffling at midseason, they rated only one National League All-Star, Jacob deGrom. When the Mets roared to a division title, there were many who performed in stellar fashion, but there was no overlooking the guy who’d been great for them all along. Starting the Mets’ first postseason game in nine years, the NL’s most recent Rookie of the Year lived up to all his burgeoning billing, going seven strong innings, striking out thirteen Dodgers, and outdueling defending Cy Young/MVP Clayton Kershaw. Jake’s supporting cast, featuring Daniel Murphy (a leadoff homer in the fourth) and David Wright (a two-RBI single in the seventh), made sure the Mets ace’s best efforts weren’t for naught.

51. OCTOBER 25, 2000 — WS Game Four: Yankees 3 METS 2
With the Mets back in the Subway Series following their Game Three victory, two battles within the battle within the intracity war defined the fourth game. First — meaning upon the very first pitch in the top of the very first inning — Derek Jeter took Bobby Jones deep to give the Yankees an immediate lead. A one-run deficit shouldn’t have seemed impossible to overcome, but it would be, even when the Mets encountered their most glittering opportunity of the night. Come the bottom of the fifth inning, with the Mets trailing, 3-2, and Mike Piazza coming to the plate having already homered in the third off Denny Neagle, Joe Torre lifted his starter in favor of David Cone. This wasn’t the 20-3 Cone from 1988 who rescued the Mets from the brink in Game Six of that year’s NLCS, nor was it the Cone who was so indispensable to three Bronx world championships over the previous four Octobers. This was David Cone with a regular-season ERA pushing seven, removed from the rotation, and all but shunted to the shadows for the balance of this postseason. Yet Torre called on his 37-year-old veteran for one mano-a-mano at-bat. As Jeter was versus Jones, Cone proved to be, shall we say, the mano against Piazza, gaining the upper hand as he induced an inning-ending popout. Four innings remained, but, per on-field pregame entertainers the Baha Men, the Mets’ chances to do anything constructive had, like the dogs, been let out.

50. OCTOBER 16, 1973 — WS Game Three: A’s 3 METS 2 (11)
49. OCTOBER 6, 1973 — NLCS Game One: REDS 2 Mets 1
Twenty-seven times between his 1967 debut and the end of the 1973 regular season, Tom Seaver had gone at least eight innings, given up no more than two runs, and won nothing. The postseason isn’t the ideal setting for manufacturing microcosms, but in October of ’73, a larger baseball audience got a taste of what Mets fans had seen beset Seaver repeatedly during the first stages of his Hall of Fame tenure. Tom at his most Terrific; the Mets not scoring; the Franchise not winning; and the franchise losing. As part of the coda to his stressful second Cy Young season, Seaver unfurled two superhuman efforts versus two of the signature squads of the Seventies: 8⅓ IP, 2 ER, 6 H, 0 BB, 13 SO at Cincinnati; 8 IP, 2 ER, 7 H, 1 BB, 12 SO against Oakland. For his troubles, Tom came away with a loss and a no-decision, with the Mets losing the latter in extra innings at frigid Shea.

In the NLCS at Riverfront, Tom threw a wrench into the Big Red Machine for seven shutout innings (and doubled in the Mets’ lone run in the second) before Pete Rose nailed him for the tying homer in the eighth and Johnny Bench beat him the same way in the ninth. In the World Series, meanwhile, after Seaver had won the pennant-clincher over the Reds, the Mets’ ace held the Swingin’ A’s at bay as long as he could, carrying a precarious 2-0 lead to the sixth and a 2-1 lead to the eighth. This time, there were no opposition longballs, though the opponents’ most famous power hitter would offer words of praise after first-hand exposure. “Blind people,” Reggie Jackson marveled, “come to the park just to listen to him pitch.” What people watching and listening saw and heard after Seaver left Game Three was the A’s weave a go-ahead run in the eleventh inning on a walk, a missed strike three and a single. According to Baseball-Reference, only five postseason pitchers approximated Seaver’s lines from these two games versus the Reds and A’s in 1973 during the rest of Seaver’s lifetime, and none of them did it more than once.

48. OCTOBER 22, 1986 — WS Game Four: Mets 6 RED SOX 2
47. OCTOBER 21, 1986 — WS Game Three: Mets 7 RED SOX 1
Tourists who visit Boston are often drawn to the Freedom Trail, a walkable exploration of sixteen historic sites designed to tell a story of America’s founding. That wasn’t the trail the Mets were seeking out on their trip north in the middle of the 1986 World Series. Trailing two games to none, they were concerned only with the comeback trail. They found it immediately, starting with Lenny Dykstra leading off Game Three with a homer around Fenway Park’s right field foul pole, continuing through the Red Sox’ blown rundown play later in the first inning, and culminating in a pair of victories that re-established the 1986 Mets as the threat they had been dating back to Opening Day. Two starting pitchers who came embroidered with a Red Sox storyline — Bobby Ojeda who used to pitch for them and Ron Darling who grew up rooting for them — shut down Boston’s bats, while Gary Carter belted two home runs and totaled six RBIs. New England entered the middle portion of the Series blanketing itself in sweep dreams. New York’s invasion surely changed the course of Red Sox events.

46. OCTOBER 16, 2000 — NLCS Game Five: METS 7 Cardinals 0
Mike Hampton unwittingly threaded a needle of accomplishment and perception, giving Mets fans something they’d very badly wanted for a long time yet garnering very little in the way of lasting gratitude. Hampton had been imported from Houston to push the Mets past the heartbreak of having their postseason end in the NLCS as it did in 1999. The lefty had won 22 games for the Astros. He seemed a good bet to make the difference another lefty, Kenny Rogers, couldn’t. In the fifth game of the 2000 NLCS, Hampton delivered, authoring a shutout that clinched the Mets’ fourth pennant. His three-hitter stamped the Mets’ ticket to their first World Series in fourteen years and, when paired with a similar splendid outing in Game One, earned him MVP honors for the League Championship round.

When Hampton had finished being his best self, the idea of participating in the 2000 Fall Classic loomed as an unalloyed positive — the ALCS was still in progress, so its outcome might have meant a trip to Seattle — and Mike was, naturally, still under contract to the Mets. Nobody knew how the World Series would unfold and nobody knew where Hampton, with free agency pending, would decide to pitch in 2001…or how inartfully he’d articulate his choice. You won’t learn any of that in any school (in Denver or anywhere else), but it doesn’t hurt to review how much Mike meant to the Mets at one very important franchise peak just in case there’s an exam.

45. OCTOBER 12, 1969 — WS Game Two: Mets 2 ORIOLES 1
Wasn’t it enough that the Miracle Mets had reached the World Series? No man among their ranks would have said yes, and after losing their first game in Baltimore, they set out to guarantee they’d snare more than a runners-up trophy for 1969. Jerry Koosman was so determined to put the Mets on the board that he kept the Orioles completely off it, no-hitting the home team until the seventh. Donn Clendenon had given Kooz a one-run lead in the fourth with a leadoff homer and it stood tall until three innings later when Brooks Robinson singled home Paul Blair from second. The less-celebrated of starting third basemen, Ed Charles, instigated a two-out, ninth-inning rally. The Glider registered a base hit, raced to third on a Jerry Grote single, and crossed the plate when Al Weis singled to left. In the bottom of the ninth, with two out and Ron Taylor on, it was Ed topping Brooks one more time, as Charles grabbed Robinson’s grounder and threw it to Clendenon to close out the Mets’ first-ever World Series win.

44. OCTOBER 5, 1999 — NLDS Game One: Mets 8 DIAMONDBACKS 4
Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Unit? Anybody with any sense while Randy Johnson was in his lengthy prime, but the ’99 Mets didn’t have time to fully consider their mound opponent’s perennial Cy Young credentials as they arrived in the postseason essentially after the last minute. Having completed their 162-game season knotted with the Reds for the NL’s final playoff spot, they had to contest and capture a tiebreaker in Cincinnati to qualify for the Wild Card. Well, they did that, as Al Leiter blanked the Reds, 5-0. A quick champagne shower and long westward flight later, they were in Phoenix to take on the Western Division champions. The most venomous Snake in Arizona, who had struck out 364 batters in 1999, awaited them. The Mets didn’t wait to get to whacking. Two-hole batter Edgardo Alfonzo homered to give the Mets a quick lead in the first. John Olerud, in an episode of lefty-on-lefty crime to which the Unit was rarely victimized, bopped a two-run dinger in the third to increase the Mets’ edge to 3-0. The Mets led until the sixth, when their starter, Masato Yoshii, ran out of gas. Having survived the initial New York onslaught and granted a cleanish slate via a 4-4 tie, Johnson got characteristically tough. Through eight, the Big Unit had racked up eleven strikeouts. Randy’s late-game magic finally evaporated as the Mets loaded the bases in the top of the ninth. The Unit exited. Bobby Chouinard entered. With two outs, Fonzie returned, detonating a grand slam that ensured the Mets would attain the advantage in their first postseason series since 1988.

43. OCTOBER 16, 1999 — NLCS Game Four: METS 3 Braves 2
They were off the mat. They had life in them. They were naturalized citizens of Cliché Stadium. However you termed it, the Mets absolutely needed to win what could have been their last game of the twentieth century, and they did. As was the case regarding basically everything in 1999, it wasn’t easy. Rick Reed dueled John Smoltz effectively for most of seven innings, but a couple of solo home runs left Reed and the Mets behind, 2-1, in the top of the eighth. The backs/wall ratio was overwhelming, but it wasn’t over until it was over, and it most definitely wasn’t over. In the bottom of the eighth, Roger Cedeño, Melvin Mora and John Olerud (who had earlier homered) engineered a breath-holding rally that not only created the necessary two runs to constitute a comeback, but they scored the tying and go-ahead runs with John Rocker on the mound, which made the resuscitation even sweeter. Armando Benitez held Fort Ninth Inning for the save and, yup, the Mets lived another day.

42. OCTOBER 4, 2006 — NLDS Game One: METS 6 Dodgers 5
In an echo of the NBA’s old “three to make two rule,” the Mets improvised a scenario that indicated the ball was destined to bounce their way in their first postseason appearance in six years. John Maine, a surprise starter with Orlando “El Duque” Hernandez sidelined by a calf injury, allowed the first two runners of the second inning on base via singles. With Jeff Kent on second and J.D. Drew on first, the Dodger threat was palpable this late afternoon in Flushing. When Russell Martin lashed a ball to the right field corner, Kent seemed a sure bet to score. But Shawn Green handled it cleanly off the wall and made a quick relay to second baseman Jose Valentin, who in turn unleashed a dart to Paul Lo Duca. Lo Duca turned and tagged ex-Met Kent, who did not get a very good jump off second. If one out wasn’t enough to electrify the Shea crowd, what happened a beat later did the trick. Drew kept charging and ran into the Met catcher’s second tag of the play, touching off an jolt of joy as loud as anything takeoffs out of or landings into LaGuardia could produce. Martin took second amid the breathtaking pair of home plate outs and scored on Marlon Anderson’s ensuing double, but the Dodgers taking a 1-0 lead felt like a Los Angeles letdown. Though there’d be some back-and-forth on offense — Carlos Delgado doing the most to carry the Mets forth by going 4-for-5 with a homer — the 9-4-2 chain of DP events instigated by three former Dodgers defined the day in the Mets’ favor and set the series’ trajectory on its way.

41. OCTOBER 6, 1969 — NLCS Game Three: METS 7 Braves 4
Had 1969 taken place in 1968, this step would have been unnecessary, but the Mets’ place in 1968 was ninth, while in 1969, the only thing the best record in the National League won you was a spot in something called the Championship Series. The 100-62 record the Mets notched in the regular season was indeed tops in the senior circuit, but for the first time since the NL eliminated a four-team playoff format implemented to determine its 1892 champion, the best record wouldn’t necessarily add up to a league pennant. For that honor, the Mets would have to complete their business against the Atlanta Braves, the 93-69 team with the best record in the division opposite them. In this inaugural showdown between East and West, the Mets showed the Braves on whom the league’s sun rose and set. Henry Aaron may have put the visitors out front in the first (he homered in every NLCS game) and Gary Gentry may have been less than his sharpest thirteen days after throwing the shutout that clinched the division, but the Mets would not be denied. Tommie Agee, Ken Boswell and Wayne Garrett all homered. Nolan Ryan threw a mere seven innings of relief. And, in the ninth inning, with two out and the Mets up by three, when Tony Gonzalez grounded to third baseman Garrett, who threw to Ed Kranepool at first, Ralph Kiner explained the result simply and succinctly: “The Mets are National League champions!” The team that had never remotely challenged for any kind of title — other than worst ballclub ever — had now earned its second flag of 1969 and was poised to compete for its third and ultimate.


40. OCTOBER 10, 2015 — NLDS Game Two: DODGERS 5 Mets 2

For thirteen regular seasons, the name Chase Utley elicited little worse than grumbles among Mets fans who had grown used to the Phillies’ All-Star second baseman occasionally contributing to defeats of their beloveds (it wasn’t for nothing that the area by the right field foul pole at brand new Citi Field had been grudgingly dubbed Utley’s Corner). But by the second week of October 2015, the Mets were beyond the regular season and Utley was no longer a Phillie. The Dodgers had traded for the six-time All-Star second baseman, and fate would pit the former division rival against the NL East champions…and then fate would really bring it on where these two entities were concerned. Utley was on first base in the home seventh at Dodger Stadium, with Kiké Hernandez on third, as Bartolo Colon came on to relieve Noah Syndergaard and protect a 2-1 Met lead. Howie Kendrick’s chopper to second scored Hernandez and unleashed havoc. Daniel Murphy’s attempt to start a 4-6-3 double play went for naught as Utley slid into shortstop Ruben Tejada rather than the bag Tejada was straddling. Tejada suffered a broken leg. Utley incurred the wrath of Mets fans a continent away. Worse, from a New York perspective, Utley was awarded second despite never touching the base he nominally sought. The mess spiraled into a four-run rally for L.A. and hard feelings that would not dissipate soon or, really, ever.

39. OCTOBER 5, 2000 — NLDS Game Two: Mets 5 GIANTS 4 (10)
Several Mets played the roles those who intensely observed them expected to see. Al Leiter threw eight strong innings, allowing only two runs. Edgardo Alfonzo ripped a clutch ninth-inning home run to extend the Mets’ lead to three runs. And Armando Benitez…well, Armando was Armando, the closer who shut down most every ninth inning except for the ones that seemed a little more important than the rest. J.T. Snow drove a three-run homer out of Pac Bell Park to tie the contest and send it to extras. But then a couple of additional characters got their hands on the script. With two outs in the top of the tenth, Darryl Hamilton doubled and Jay Payton followed immediately with a run-scoring single to regain the lead for New York. Finally, it came down to two new names deeply known by anybody who’d been watching the Mets vie for victory over the past decade-plus. In the batter’s box, with a runner on first and two out, was Barry Bonds, about as dangerous a lefty hitter as baseball history had to offer. On the mound, John Franco, the veteran southpaw whose career was dedicated to putting the clamps on the most lethal of lefthanded batters. Franco vs. Bonds worked its way to a full count. Finally, on a fairly borderline pitch, Bonds was called out looking. Strikeout and win to Franco, split in San Francisco for the Mets before both teams would split for the airport and a trip to Shea.

38. OCTOBER 27, 2015 — WS Game One: ROYALS 5 Mets 4 (14)
37. OCTOBER 21, 2000 — WS Game One: YANKEES 4 Mets 3 (12)
For a franchise that made a habit of waiting forever to get back to the Fall Classic, the Mets sure had a knack for sticking around on the nights they arrived. The opener of the 2000 World Series, an event for which they hadn’t qualified since 1986, was an antsy affair in the Bronx. Despite several opportunities unredeemed (most notably one wasted on Timo Perez not hustling his head off from first to home on a Todd Zeile double that just missed going out), the Mets nursed a 3-2 lead to the bottom of the ninth. Alas, Armando Benitez lost a ten-pitch battle to Paul O’Neill and, after walking the Yankee right fielder, eventually let him score. The Mets hung around Game One until the twelfth, when, with two outs and the bases loaded, their former shortstop, Jose Vizcaino, singled in Tino Martinez to put the Mets in a one-game hole. If it wasn’t exactly déjà vu all over again fifteen years later, the next time the Mets started a World Series generated an eerily similar storyline. This time it was a 4-3 lead at Kansas City gone awry when Alex Gordon lined a Jeurys Familia quick pitch over the Kaufman Stadium wall to tie things up. Tied they stayed into the fourteenth, until Eric Hosmer put everybody to bed via a bases-loaded sac fly. Two very long nights (ten hours total), two deceptively deep one-nothing deficits.

36. OCTOBER 21, 2015 — NLCS Game Four: Mets 8 CUBS 3
The Cubs had a billy goat. They had a cinematic omen. They had ivy, romance, perhaps the heart of America on their side. But the Mets had Lucas Duda, and Duda didn’t care that in the 1989 feature film Back to the Future II, this date in Mets history was the date the Chicago Cubs finally won a Fall Classic. The Mets’ slugger wasn’t in a movie, though he certainly earned a starring role in highlight reels by bashing the first-inning grand slam that sent the North Side’s world championshipless streak at least another year into the future. The Mets took that 4-0 lead and embellished it ASAP when Travis d’Arnaud added a solo home run. The Mets never trailed in the game, just as they never trailed in the series. When Jeurys Familia struck out Dexter Fowler in the ninth — after NLCS MVP Daniel Murphy had homered for a record sixth consecutive postseason game (and the ghost of the goat of a 1945 legend named Murphy failed to haunt Wrigley with any kind of good home team luck) — it was the Mets who had accomplished the stuff of modern myth: a four-game sweep and their fifth National League pennant.

35. OCTOBER 31, 2015 — WS Game Four: Royals 5 METS 3
The Mets had been flipping Daniel Murphy’s coin throughout the 2015 postseason, and it had come up heads more often than not. One too many flips, however, left the ballclub on its tail. With seven home runs in the NLDS and NLCS behind him, it was easy to forget that Murph’s defense at second base had never been his strong suit. Yet in the eighth inning of the fourth game of the World Series, all of Metsopotamia was reminded that the extraordinary autumnal offensive performer had generally always lacked a position. He had made himself a suitable second baseman, but then a ground ball confounded him. The Mets were clinging to a 3-2 lead, as Tyler Clippard walked Ben Zobrist, then Lorenzo Cain with one out. Jeurys Familia took over and got the desired result from Eric Hosmer. It was a grounder to second. Except it was mishandled by the Mets’ second baseman, and Zobrist scored the tying run. Two singles to right followed and the Royals a built a two-run lead. Daniel attempted to make amends for his error with a one-out single in the bottom of the ninth, but Yoenis Cespedes (speaking of 2015 heroes running out of steam) would get caught off first on Lucas Duda’s game-ending line drive to third and the Mets landed a game away from elimination.

34. OCTOBER 21, 1973 — WS Game Seven: A’S 5 Mets 2
The name “Oakland” doesn’t translate in some ancient tongue to “land beyond belief,” but that’s where the Mets wound up. The team that rode stifling starting pitching and the You Gotta Believe mantra from last place most of the summer to the precipice of a second world championship came up one game short in the Oakland Coliseum. Jon Matlack, who had been so good in Games One and Four, not to mention Game Two of the NLCS, didn’t have his best stuff. The lefty didn’t last three innings, having been taken deep for a pair of two-run homers by Bert Campaneris and soon-to-be-named MVP Reggie Jackson. Ken Holtzman and Rollie Fingers teamed to tame the Mets into the ninth inning, but apropos of the way the 1973 Mets kept pushing from the rear, New York brought one run in and put two runners on in the ninth, provoking Dick Williams to call on Darold Knowles to extinguish their final fire. Knowles became the first pitcher to appear in all seven games of a World Series. With everything on the line, he could have faced potential pinch-hitter Willie Mays, the legend on the edge of retirement, but Yogi Berra stuck with regularly scheduled batter Wayne Garrett. Garrett popped up and the A’s finally deflated the Met balloon that stayed aloft longer than anybody would have guessed when they themselves were stuck in the basement as late as August 30.

33. OCTOBER 12, 1988 — NLCS Game Seven: DODGERS 6 Mets 0
The Dodgers moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles in 1958, which gave them thirty years to understand how Hollywood stories were supposed to climax. The Mets of New York apparently had no idea, and 3,000 miles removed from their Queens stage, they performed several levels shy of Broadway-caliber. They were off-off their game from the second inning on. A five-run debacle, including four L.A. hits, a pair of Met errors and the replacement of stunned starter Ron Darling with never-before reliever Dwight Gooden, all but closed the curtain on what had been a blockbuster season. Once the inning was over, the Mets were down by six. Orel Hershiser would seal his NLCS MVP honor by going the distance on a five-hitter, striking out Howard Johnson looking to grab for the ’88 Dodgers the mantel of miracle-workers. The Dodgers had a date with the A’s and destiny. The Mets were destined to wait a very long time to see a postseason again.

32. OCTOBER 15, 2015 — NLDS Game Five: Mets 3 DODGERS 2
After he put himself and his team on the postseason map in Game One, there was little doubt Jacob deGrom could measure up to Zack Greinke when it came time to contest the deciding game of the Mets’ first playoff round in nine years. Yet after the Mets nicked the usually impervious Greinke for a run in the top of the first, deGrom struggled. The Dodgers sent seven batters to the plate, scoring twice. As Greinke settled in, deGrom squirmed some more, as Los Angeles steered a man to scoring position in each of the next four innings. Terry Collins left Jake on the mound, and Jake wriggled out of every jam. Greinke, meanwhile, mostly displayed the form that saw him unfurl a 45⅔-inning scoreless streak during midsummer. Then again, it was the Mets (with deGrom as the batter) who broke that streak, so leave it to this ballclub to find a way against the former Cy Young Award winner. In the fourth, Daniel Murphy pretty much stole a run, taking third from first on a Lucas Duda walk and coming home on Travis d’Arnaud’s foul ball sac fly. In the sixth, Murphy belted a home run to push the Mets ahead, 3-2. Jacob finally gave Collins his first clean inning and then turned the pitching over to Noah Syndergaard — Thor’s first relief appearance — and Jeurys Familia. The result was a breath-holding series-finale victory that transformed the 2015 Mets from postseason guests to the home field hosts for the start of the NLCS.

31. OCTOBER 7, 1973 — NLCS Game Two: Mets 5 REDS 0
The Big Red Machine had cranked out only two runs the afternoon before, but it was enough to sneak by Tom Seaver. Cincinnati was about to find out two runs was the most any Met pitcher would allow them in any of the days ahead. On Sunday, they discovered Jon Matlack was every bit as ready as Seaver to clog the Machine’s valves. The Western Division champs of Pete Rose, Joe Morgan, Tony Perez and Johnny Bench produced exactly a pair of base hits — and it was second-string outfielder Andy Kosco who rapped those out. Otherwise, it was all zeroes for Cincy. The Mets’ lineup wasn’t having a ton more luck versus Red lefty Don Gullett, subsisting for quite a while on only a Rusty Staub solo homer in the fifth. New York’s 1-0 edge expanded to more than comfortable via four ninth-inning runs, after which Matlack put away Morgan, Perez, Bench and any notion that these 99-win Reds would be too much for these 82-win Mets.

30. OCTOBER 12, 2015 — NLDS Game Three: METS 13 Dodgers 7
Citi Field opened in 2009, yet needed seven seasons to immerse itself in the baptismal waters of October intensity. Nobody in Flushing wished to wait that long, but it’s hard to say the first post-Shea playoff game in Mets history wasn’t worth hanging in there for. The pregame festivities could have netted the price of admission themselves, encompassing as they did two particular introductions. When the Dodgers came out to figuratively tip their cap, one visitor in particular received a rousing reception. With Game Two villain Chase Utley appealing his suspension, he was eligible to line up and take his vocal medicine from the 44,276 who had rejected his appeal altogether. Received 180 degrees more warmly was Utley’s victim, sidelined shortstop Ruben Tejada, limping out of the home dugout with a Mets-logoed cane to uproarious approval. Thus inspired, the Mets pounded Brett Anderson and Alex Wood for ten runs total in the second, third and fourth innings, with Yoenis Cespedes tearing the metaphorical roof off the proverbial sucker with his game-breaking, rip-roaring, bat-flipping, three-run blast to the distant seats of the Left Field Landing. Not that anybody in any section was much sitting this night, which was different from all other Octobers when Citi Field seats sat vacant as a matter of course, because the playoffs had passed over the Mets. Postseason had arrived in the house at last.

29. OCTOBER 15, 2000 — NLCS Game Four: METS 10 Cardinals 6
Good vibrations abounded at Shea Stadium. Very good vibrations. Very vibrant vibrations. If you were there, as 55,665 were, you feel it still. It’s the stuff of oral history, passed along by word of mouth, not that a Mets fan could much hear what the Mets fan to the side of either ear was saying. It was that tumultuous. It was that tremendous. It was, after Bobby Jones spotted the Cardinals a pair or runs, a barrage of five doubles off Darryl Kile to put four runs on the board in the home first, followed by another three runs in the second. By the time Todd Zeile produced the Mets’ sixth double, the entire Upper Deck felt ready to either soar into orbit or plop down atop Field Level. Either way, gravity was rendered all but immaterial. Such was the force of the jumping around that turned Shea Stadium into a house of pain for the Cards and a pleasure palace for patrons of the Mets. Home field advantage has rarely been as voracious. When Citi Field on its most boisterous days is said to have grown as loud as Shea, this is the Shea Mets fans have in mind.

28. OCTOBER 5, 2016 — NL Wild Card Game: Giants 3 METS 0
If reaching the 2016 postseason embodied the concept of sprint over marathon for the New York Mets, the team’s experience in the playoffs amounted to once around the track and out. Following a rush of 27 wins in 39 games to emerge from under .500 in late August to clinch a Wild Card on October 1, all the Mets got for their efforts was one guaranteed date, versus the league’s other Wild Card, the San Francisco Giants. Win that, and move on to a deeper version of October, but that was the epitome of easier said than won. True, the Mets earned hosting rights, but considering that the Giants’ postseason master Madison Bumgarner was regularly virtually unhittable at Citi Field, the site didn’t seem to much matter. The Mets’ best pitcher of 2016, Noah Syndergaard, was equal to the task and to his opponent for seven innings; defensive support from Curtis Granderson in center certainly didn’t hurt. Eventually, however, the scoreless tie shifted into the hands of the Met bullpen, and from there it slipped. In the top of the ninth, Jeurys Familia, he of the team-record 51 regular-season saves, surrendered a leadoff double to Brandon Crawford, a one-out walk to Joe Panik, and the cruelest blow of all, a three-run homer to Conor Gillaspie. Gillaspie’s postseason bona fides were non-existent entering the evening, but in the moment they became every bit as substantive as Bumgarner’s. In the bottom of the ninth, the World Series MVP from 2014 showed his standard October stuff, completing the five-hit shutout and closing the door on the briefest of the Mets’ nine postseason appearances thus far.

27. OCTOBER 8, 2000 — NLDS Game Four: METS 4 Giants 0
Bobby Jones going for the Mets in, say, 1997, would have loomed as a formidable obstacle for any team, but by 2000, Jones was three years removed from his All-Star form, plagued by inconsistency and injury. In the middle of the first summer of the new millennium, Jones took a trip to Norfolk to right himself as a Triple-A Tide once his MLB ERA bloated to 10.19. Back in New York, his second half showed notable improvement, so when Bobby Valentine needed a pitcher for a potential NLDS clincher, it was within the realm of rational to expect a serviceable start from his No. 4 starter. Yet nobody claiming sanity could have anticipated what Jones’s next nine innings would yield: one Giant hit — a Jeff Kent double to left to lead off the fifth, lined just a little too high to meet the vertical leap of Robin Ventura — and absolutely nothing else. San Francisco would load the bases on walks but make no hay in the fifth, nor any other inning. Ventura had stroked a two-run homer in the first. Edgardo Alfonzo doubled the Mets’ lead with a two-run double following Jones’s escape act. The rest of the game was all about Mr. Jones. The second-most famous righthander ever to emerge from the Fresno pitching scene squelched the Giants right down to their bitter end, reached when Barry Bonds (a .688 slugger in the regular season, but a .176 hitter in this series) lined to Jay Payton in center to send San Fran home and the Mets to a chance at bigger and better things. As Bob Murphy summed it over WFAN, “A one-hit shutout for Bobby Jones…what a magnificent game. The Mets have never had a better ballgame pitched in their thirty-nine year history than this game pitched by Bobby Jones.”

26. OCTOBER 8, 1986 — NLCS Game One: ASTROS 1 Mets 0
The best-hitting team in the National League — tops in batting average, on-base percentage and slugging percentage — met its match on a mound deep in the heart of Texas. It was a match nobody in New York wanted much part of to start the postseason. The Mets were also the best-pitching team in the National League, at least as measured by full-season ERA, but as 1986 ended, no staff presented itself as scarier than that of the Houston Astros, and nobody could cast a more frightening specter than their ace, Mike Scott. Scott didn’t just throw a shutout to clinch the Western Division title, he threw a no-hitter. The ex-Met proved every bit as daunting as his momentum indicated, going the distance, striking out, 14 and getting inside the Mets’ heads with a split-finger fastball that the Eastern champs were sure had more than just skill propelling it into catcher Andy Ashby’s mitt. Though in the box score it says the margin of victory was provided by Glenn Davis’s second-inning solo homer off Dwight Gooden, the night may have been decided in the first when Gary Carter couldn’t convince home plate ump Doug Harvey that Scott’s pitches were scuffed. However the Astros did it, they grabbed the series lead and their pitcher donned an aura of presumed invincibility.

25. OCTOBER 11, 1969 — WS Game One: ORIOLES 4 Mets 1
Oddsmakers said there was no way Cinderella’s darlings and everybody’s underdog were going to touch the team with the best record in baseball. The Baltimore Orioles had been installed by Las Vegas oddsmakers as an 8-5 favorite to collect their second world championship in four years. For one day, listening to what the house said seemed to be the best bet. In the bottom of the first inning of the first World Series game the New York Mets ever played, the first batter to face them, Don Buford, homered. That the ball he hit off Tom Seaver barely eluded Ron Swoboda’s jump at the right field fence didn’t make it count any less. The Mets, predicted months earlier by nobody to be joining as imposing an outfit as the Orioles in October, were down, 1-0. After nine innings, they were down, 1-0, on the larger Series scoreboard. Down, but hardly out. The Mets were new to Fall Classics, but the odds were they understood it would take four wins to crown a champion.

24. OCTOBER 10, 1973 — NLCS Game Five: METS 7 Reds 2
In the first do-or-die postseason game the Mets ever played, the Mets most decidedly did. Yogi Berra’s makeshift lineup might have indicated it was going to be an unusual afternoon. Cleon Jones was in right instead of left. Ed Kranepool was in left instead of at first. Rusty Staub was on the shelf with an aching shoulder. And dethawed from cold storage, not having played in more than a month, was 42-year-old Willie Mays, who’d received gifts and hosannas upon announcing his retirement in September, yet was still technically active. More than technically, actually. Amid a fifth-inning rally that saw the Mets break a 2-2 tie, Willie came up with the bases loaded and did something he’d been doing since 1951: he drove in a key run and helped push his team toward victory. The five-run fifth fortified Tom Seaver, who pitched into the ninth, handing the ball with one out to Tug McGraw, who had saved so many big wins down the stretch. You had to believe Tug got the final two outs and, on the same day Spiro Agnew resigned the vice presidency of the United States, the New York Mets accepted the nomination of the National League to represent the senior circuit in the World Series. Judging by the thousands who poured onto the field when the result went final, you might say the Mets won by acclamation.

23. OCTOBER 26, 2000 — WS Game Five: Yankees 4 METS 2
The Subway Series functioned better as hype than it did happy ending from a Met perspective. All the games were close, but only one of them could be termed successful. With one more opportunity to reroute momentum, Al Leiter conducted the train at Shea as best and as long (142 pitches) as he could, nursing a slim lead from the second through the fifth, then maintaining a tie into the ninth. But after registering two swinging strikeouts to start the ninth, Al got squeezed in at-bat that became a walk to Jorge Posada. Following a single from Scott Brosius, Leiter induced backup infielder Luis Sojo to tap a routine ground ball that might have been harmless had it not cleverly sussed out for itself a narrow hole between short and second. Posada and Brosius each scored, leaving the New York home team two runs behind the visitors from nearby. The Mets’ final chance in the bottom of the ninth died in the heavy night air of Flushing, as Mike Piazza’s deep fly ball to center flew not quite deep enough. The Subway Series was out of service. Last stop: close but no cigar.

22. OCTOBER 9, 2024 — NLDS Game Four: METS 4 Phillies 1
It was the sixth inning. The Mets hadn’t scored. They trailed the Phillies, 1-0, mainly because they couldn’t break through against Ranger Suarez, long a thorn in their side in divisional play, regular-season encounters when you can shrug off a tough loss and tell yourself there’s always another game against these guys. This was the playoffs. With the chance to clinch a postseason series at home for the first time in the life of Citi Field (and cancel a potential deciding Game Five in Philadelphia), it didn’t feel like the right time to reason, “We’ll get ’em next time.” Maybe they would, against Zack Wheeler two days hence, but the desire to find out was minimal. The Mets had been leaving runners on base all night against Suarez and his successor, Jeff Hoffman, isolating their own mostly successful starter Jose Quintana (5 IP, 2 H, 1 R, 0 ER), on deGrom Island. The sixth unfolded as another inning designed to tempt opportunity. Versus Hoffman, J.D. Martinez singled and advanced to second on a wild pitch; Starling Marte was hit; another wild pitch moved them both up a base; Tyrone Taylor waked. The bases were loaded. Francisco was up — Francisco Alvarez. His infield grounder resulted in a force of Martinez at the plate. The bases reloaded. Phillies manager Rob Thomson exchanged relievers, bringing in Carlos Estevez. The Met order turned over to Francisco — Francisco Lindor.

Opportunity’s temptation never blared louder, not when you had a batter who strode to the plate to the literal sound of the Temptations. Mets fans were about to have sunshine on what was not going to be a cloudy night. Talkin’ ’bout Lindor…Lindor! The East Coast’s MVP delivered the RBIs the Mets and their 44,103 acolytes in attendance had been waiting innings, maybe decades for, four in all. It was a grand slam to thrust the Mets into the lead and toward the National League Championship Series, a trip certified by David Peterson and Edwin Diaz over the final nine outs. Diaz got the save and a warm embrace from teammates (there was no jumping up and down for Edwin, given what happened to his right knee the last time he tried that, in 2023’s World Baseball Classic), but it was left to Lindor, who had so calmly rounded the bases after imploding the Phillies and elevating the Mets, to serve as a human pitcher’s mound for most of the Mets. They piled on him, as did the adoration from the stands. It wasn’t cold outside. It was the month of October 2024.

21. OCTOBER 30, 2015 — WS Game Three: METS 9 Royals 3
David Wright’s twelfth major league season was his first as a World Series participant. It didn’t take Noah Syndergaard but five-and-a-half months to arrive in the brightest lights of October. But together they strove to immediately erase the glaring zero that had followed the Mets home from Kansas city. To begin the game, Syndergaard brushed back Royals leadoff hitter Alicides Escobar, a pesky type who swung at every first pitch except the ceremonial kind. Message sent…and if the visitors didn’t like it, Noah stressed, “they can meet me sixty feet, six inches away.” David spoke softly and carried his big stick to the plate in the bottom of the first, erasing KC’s 1-0 lead with a two-run homer. It was the first in Citi Field World Series history and the first of a career that had inspired Hall of Fame talk before spinal stenosis changed the conversation. Though the Royals snatched the lead back in the second, Curtis Granderson put the Mets ahead to stay with his own two-run homer in the third, and David extended the home team’s lead with a two-run single in the sixth. For one night, all was Wright with the World Series.

20. OCTOBER 14, 1986 — NLCS Game Five: METS 2 Astros 1 (12)
The marquee didn’t lie. For most of this Tuesday afternoon makeup game, it really was a battle between two superstar starting flamethrowers delivering their pitches from opposing demographic poles. Doc Gooden, 21, went ten innings for the first time in his brilliant three-year career, scattering nine hits and giving up only one run. Nolan Ryan, 39, who’d been pitching in the majors since 1966 — including a memorable relief appearance during the 1969 World Series — went nine, struck out twelve, and gave up only two hits. Unfortunately for him, one was a ball Darryl Strawberry guided over the right field fence. The 1-1 tie was handled with care by both bullpens until the bottom of the twelfth, when Wally Backman reached first against Charlie Kerfeld and took second on a pickoff throw gone awry. Kerfeld intentionally walked Keith Hernandez to face Gary Carter, not as much of a matter of picking one’s poison as it reads, since Carter was mired in the deepest of October slumps (1-for-21). Properly disrespected, Kid — who Kerfeld made look very bad two games before — was determined to unslump. True to character, the catcher lined a three-two pitch into center to score Backman and lift the Mets to within one game of the franchise’s second World Series since Ryan was in New York’s bullpen.

19. OCTOBER 7, 2000 — NLDS Game Three: METS 3 Giants 2 (13)
Sheer stubbornness carried the day, even as the Flushing day carried on into night. After the Giants pushed two runs across the plate off Rick Reed in the fourth inning, Reeder and five relievers simply refused to give up another San Francisco run. Meanwhile, Mets batters chipped away for a tally in the sixth (Timo Perez driving in Mike Bordick, who had walked) and another in the eighth (Edgardo Alfonzo doubling home Lenny Harris, who had reached on a fielder’s choice and then stole second). The ninth inning passed. Then the tenth. And so on, clear into the thirteenth when, with one out and five hours and twenty-two minutes logged, Benny Agbayani belted an Aaron Fultz pitch practically to his hometown of Honolulu.

18. OCTOBER 11, 1986 — NLCS Game Three: METS 6 Astros 5
A chilly afternoon at Shea grew positively frosty as Ron Darling was rocked for four early runs. The Mets being the Mets of the year that it was rocked back in the sixth, tying the game on Darryl Strawberry’s three-run bomb to right. As soon as the Mets drew even, they fell behind again, and stayed behind until the ninth. Facing Dave Smith, a top-notch closer against every National League club except the one he needed to shut down ASAP, Wally Backman led off with a bunt that got him to first. A passed ball sent him to second. One out later, it was time for Backman’s companion top-of-the-order pest Lenny Dykstra to wreak havoc. Usually Lenny did it on the basepaths. This time Nails hammered Smith over the wall with as unlikely a game-winning, two-run homer as anybody on hand could have imagined. It was a game the Mets had never led until it was over, and now they held an edge in the series for the first time yet.

17. OCTOBER 19, 1999 — NLCS Game Six: BRAVES 10 Mets 9 (11)
Just to land in the eleventh inning of this mustest-win game of a year pretty much spent with their backs against the wall the whole time took some doing for the 1999 Mets. Al Leiter dug the Mets a five-run hole in the first inning. Long reliever Pat Mahomes shoveled the dirt right back in the Braves’ faces for four scoreless innings, but it was hard to believe it wasn’t too late. Then again, the Mets are all about believing in October, even at Turner Field. Three sixth-inning runs snuck the Mets back into the game. Though the Braves would grab two back in the bottom of the inning, the top of the seventh revealed a beating heart and pounding pulse emanating from the New York dugout. Rickey Henderson and John Olerud each drove in a run and Mike Piazza smashed a line drive two-run homer to tie this Met gala at seven. Given that the Mets had withstood starter Kevin Millwood and obliterated miscast setup man John Smoltz, it seemed momentum was on their side and perhaps destiny favored them in the last place it had ever done them any favors. Sure enough, Melvin Mora produced the go-ahead run in the eighth. The Mets at last led…but not for long, as the Braves stitched together a tying run off John Franco. In the tenth, it was Todd Pratt’s turn to shove the Mets in front once more, 9-8. Alas, in the bottom of the inning, it was Armando Benitez’s turn to let it get tied again. Finally, in the eleventh inning, another starter coming in from the bullpen cracked, as Kenny Rogers allowed a double, a sac bunt, and two intentional walks. With the bases loaded, Andruw Jones received a fourth ball that wasn’t issued on purpose. The 1999 Braves won the pennant. The 1999 Mets captured forever the heart of anybody who lived and ultimately died with them.

16. OCTOBER 22, 2000 — WS Game Two: YANKEES 6 Mets 5
It is only slight hyperbole to estimate the countdown to this game began 106 days earlier when Roger Clemens, frustrated at his inability to keep Mike Piazza from hitting balls very hard and very far — .583 batting average against in Interleague play, highlighted by three home runs — simply hit the Mets catcher. Piazza hit the ground, the Mets hit the roof, and from July 8 forward, the baseball nation and the city that served as its turn-of-the-millennium capital looked forward to a possible second close encounter between the two megastars. Here it was, on a Sunday night in the Bronx, in the first inning. On one hand, there was neither another beanball nor longball. On the other hand, we had wood. Piazza fouled off a pitch and broke his bat. The bat splintered. Its barrel flew toward Clemens. Piazza jogged toward first before realizing the ball wasn’t in play. Then he found he had the sizable bat shard thrown at him by Clemens. As a sequel to their midsummer exchange, it was bizarre. By itself, it was unprecedented. What pitcher throws a broken bat after a foul ball at the batter? The Mets’ and Yankees’ benches emptied, jaws were exercised, interborough tempers flared, but nothing of substance came of it, other than Clemens’s testimony that, gosh, he thought he was tossing the ball out of play and Piazza just happened to get in the way. After the Yankees leapt to a six-zip lead and the Mets fell short of tying them in a furious ninth-inning rally, the Piazza-Clemens interlude went down as the Subway Series in miniature — the Yankees got away with another one and no Mets fan wished to abide by the outcome.

15. OCTOBER 14, 1973 — WS Game Two: Mets 10 A’S 7 (12)
Willie Mays’s career encompassed enough hitting, running, catching and throwing to render the phrase “signature moment” inadequate. There were enough signature plays across 22 seasons to fill an autograph book. Yet a period imprinted itself on the end of his nonpareil story, whether it deserved punctuating or not. The well-worn phrase, “Willie Mays fell down in center field” was born this overly sunny Sunday afternoon in Oakland, which was less about a defensive miscue and more about symbolism. Mays, 42, had no more than a week remaining as an active player. He hadn’t played much in his final year, but Yogi Berra turned to his unmatched experience and residual excellence to help carry the Mets toward a Series tie. Willie didn’t look great tracking a fly ball that he admitted he couldn’t see. The Say Hey Kid stumbled. The ball, hit by Deron Johnson, fell in. Aging athletes ought to get out before the getting gets less than good, went the narrative that was born immediately and re-emerges every instant an immortal dares to show a little mortality. A companion Game Two image, portraying sad old Willie down on his knees adjacent to home plate reinforced the talking point when presented without context; in reality, Mays was theatrically beseeching umpire Augie Donatelli to reverse a dreadful call ruling Buddy Harrelson out, supporting his teammate and being as into the game as any player at any age could be. Less bandied about in the decades that followed: the run that served to put the Mets ahead for good in what was then the longest World Series game ever (4:13) was driven in off eventual Hall of Fame reliever Rollie Fingers by Hall of Fame shoe-in Willie Mays. You could make quite a fuss about a man at the end falling down, but you couldn’t ignore the manner in which he got back up.

14. OCTOBER 8, 1973 — NLCS Game Three: METS 9 Reds 2
What began as a routine enough 3-6-3 double play wound up cementing more than one reputation in legend. The technical instigator was a simple ground ball, bounced to John Milner by Joe Morgan in the fifth inning of a 9-2 game, the Mets the team ahead by seven. Milner, at first base, diligently fielded it and zipped it to shortstop Buddy Harrelson for a force play at second. Harrelson, twice an All-Star and once a Gold Glove, naturally threw it right back to Milner to retire Morgan. The unnatural element in all this was the baserunner from first, Pete Rose, barreling not so much into second to try to break up the DP but hurling himself into the lithe Harrelson in an effort to fire up the Reds or perhaps take out the Reds’ frustrations on a slender Met. Whatever the motivation, it got very physical very fast between both teams. Bob Murphy noted that “Jerry Koosman is in the middle of the fight,” which is exactly where you don’t want your starting pitcher to situate himself. The hostilities extended to an undercard featuring home team reliever Buzz Capra and visiting counterpart Pedro Borbon — with Borbon mistakenly donning a Mets cap in the confusion and then trying to tear it apart with his teeth. The melee painted forevermore Harrelson as the hero of the little guy, Rose as the big Red meanie and, just when it might have seemed tensions calmed, Shea as a stadium that was prepared to devour its most despised foes by any means necessary. The fans in left field took to showering Rose with every object reachable. The Mets’ comfortable lead was suddenly in jeopardy of transforming into a forfeit. A peace delegation of Yogi Berra, Tom Seaver, Rusty Staub (who’d homered twice), Cleon Jones and Willie Mays had to march out to left and urge a ceasefire. The debris stopped flying. The game kept going. The animus toward Rose in Flushing never quite died down.

13. NOVEMBER 1, 2015 — WS Game Five: Royals 7 METS 2 (12)
12. OCTOBER 20, 1973 — WS Game Six: A’S 3 Mets 1
Regrets, Mets fans have had a few. More than a few, actually. But two stand out for the what-iffery that informs the pitching choices that have never stopped serving as the source of heartfelt regret or at least hardy debate for more than a few Mets fans. In 2015, there was the pitcher who was going too well to take a seat. In 1973, it was the pitcher who had gone too well to not take a start. The context for Matt Harvey was the most urgent. Down three games to one, the Mets had to have Game Five, and for eight innings, Harvey had darn well gone out and gotten it for them, shutting out the Royals while striking out nine of them. Now it was time to…what, exactly? Terry Collins was ready to call Harvey’s night complete. Harvey was not so agreeable. Neither was the Citi Field throng. Matt emerged from the Met dugout to start the ninth. He didn’t finish it. Instead, the Royals got to him for one run, Jeurys Familia (and some shaky fielding) for another, and the game the Mets had to have was no longer theirs. What if Harvey had simply taken a seat and Familia had taken the ball?

And what if, 42 autumns earlier, Yogi Berra had not opted for another righty ace who might not have had enough left when he had a conceivably better option standing by. George Stone was a 12-3 fourth starter for the 1973 Mets, but for Berra in the World Series, he was assigned to contingency status. The manager felt more comfortable relying on another George to potentially close out the Mets’ second world championship. George Thomas Seaver would soon be voted a second Cy Young and had mostly overwhelmed the A’s in Game Three. Why wouldn’t you want Tom out there on the Coliseum mound with all the marbles in your grasp? Perhaps because since April he had thrown more than 300 innings, and going on short rest when there was a very good option available wasn’t necessarily optimal. It’s not as if Seaver got lit up, but Reggie Jackson beat him with doubles twice in the first three innings and the Mets barely touched Catfish Hunter. In Game Seven, when Seaver could have gone on full rest had Stone not hypothetically finished the Series, Berra went with Jon Matlack, also with just three days off and clearly less than was needed in his tank. For more than a half-century, no discussion of the Mets’ near 1973 miss gathers moss before Stone’s name rolls to the fore.

11. OCTOBER 3, 2024 — NLWCS Game Three: Mets 4 BREWERS 2
A week that began with Francisco Lindor launching arguably the most clutch ninth-inning home run in Met autumnal history continued with another incredibly timely piece of data to debate. Sure, Lindor thrust the Mets into the playoffs by beating the Braves, 8-7, on a two-run dinger on Monday, September 30, but three days later, the Mets needed another powerful shot of whatever had been fueling their meteoric rise since June, and, once more, they needed it as outs were dwindling to a precious few.

Six innings of nothing-nothing ball — with Jose Quintana doing the zero honors on the Met side — had gone by the boards in the seventh when Jose Butto gave up a pair of homers and dug the Mets a 2-0 hole. Edwin Diaz came on, appeared somewhat askew if judged by Brewers reaching base and then stealing more of them, but he righted himself without allowing further scoring over an inning and two-thirds of work. Come the top of the ninth, it was Lindor representing the vanguard of the Mets’ final hope by working an eight-pitch walk. One out later, Brandon Nimmo singled Lindor to third, bringing up Pete Alonso, conceivably for the final time as a New York Met. Alonso’s impending free agency lurked over the horizon. For six seasons, he’d been building toward the franchise’s all-time home run record, sending 226 skyrockets in flight since 2019. In his very immediate past, however, there’d been precious little delight, as Pete hadn’t homered since September 19, and hadn’t done any hitting of note in the Wild Card Series.

Against Brewers All-Star closer Devin Williams, however, Pete got it all back at once, homering to right, pushing the Mets to a 3-2 lead, and making New York believe in miracles anew. The longball transcended “there’s something you don’t see every day” (even though we’d seen something an awful lot like it three days earlier) as it was revealed to have been the first-ever go-ahead homer struck from behind in the ninth inning or later of a winner-take-all postseason contest. As the player who popularized the hashtag #LFGM might have said, it was a BFD. Jesse Winker and Starling Marte combined for a tack-on run, and David Peterson emerged from the pen to record the first save of his career in the best spot imaginable. On the wings of a Polar Bear, the Mets were on their way to Philadelphia for the NLDS, where the first of his next 755 plate appearances as a Met (through 2025) would await Alonso.

10. OCTOBER 9, 1999 — NLDS Game Four: METS 4 Diamondbacks 3 (10)
Six days earlier, when Melvin Mora raced home with the walkoff run on a wild pitch to push the Mets into the one-game playoff that determined the National League Wild Card, it was hard to escape the historical overtones of the date: October 3 — the 48th anniversary of Bobby Thomson’s Shot Heard ’Round the World — nor the irony inherent in the moment. Bobby Valentine’s father-in-law was Ralph Branca, the Dodger pitcher who gave up the home run that made Russ Hodges shout euphorically and repeatedly, “the Giants win the pennant!” when Brooklyn and New York dueled in their tiebreaking three-game 1951 series. “Win or lose,” Branca said from the manager’s office after the 10/3/99 game, “I wanted to be here. I was saying October 3 owes this family one and I was hoping I was right.”

With Branca’s blessing secured, maybe it was time for the spirit of Thomson to inhabit Shea as well. Playing the role of the Flying Scot for the Mets in the tenth inning was the man known as Tank, Todd Pratt. The backup catcher who wouldn’t have been playing if not for an injury to Mike Piazza (and a ballplayer who gave up the game altogether three years earlier) stepped up with the stadium tense and the score tied and drove a pitch from fireballing Arizona closer Matt Mantei to deepest center field, just over the 410 sign that indicated a leaping Steve Finley had run out of room. It was the fourth walkoff home run to decide a postseason series in baseball history, including those launched by Bill Mazeroski, Chris Chambliss and Joe Carter, but not counting Thomson’s because Thomson’s technically took place at the extended end of the regular season. By the same token, the Mets didn’t “win the pennant!” that Pratt-powered Saturday afternoon, yet as October shots that catapulted the New York (NL) team forward on just one swing went, nobody’s ever ruled out the possibility that a gust coming in from Coogan’s Bluff is what blew that ball inches beyond the reach of Finley’s glove.

9. OCTOBER 14, 1969 — WS Game Three METS 5 Orioles 0
8. OCTOBER 15, 1969 — WS Game Four: METS 2 Orioles 1 (10)
A team that won its division by eight games and swept its pennant round in three shouldn’t have been considered any kind of historical accident. Yet the sobriquet Miracle Mets proved it permanently fit 1969’s Metus Operandi not only for whence the Mets had come from prior to ’69 but for how they proved they belonged where they’d climbed. The miracles within the Miracle — the episodes that keep the Miracle Mets a topic of awed conversation more than a half-century after the fact — unfolded in earnest once the club returned to Shea Stadium after splitting two games with the Orioles in Baltimore. Games Three and Four were the days of miracle and wonder, the days of Agee and Swoboda, most specifically — though hardly exclusively. Tommie reaching out in center twice and swiping approximately five runs total from the Birds in Game Three (while keynoting the affair with a leadoff home run) and Rocky sprawling inelegantly and preserving brilliantly the gem polished to a high gloss by Tom Seaver in Game Four certified the Miracle as actual and the real as spectacular. Because these were the 1969 Mets, they weren’t alone in executing indelible exploits. First baseman Ed Kranepool homered one day. First baseman Clendenon homered the next. Nolan Ryan held the fort out of the pen for Gary Gentry one day. A three-man relay, with the baton passing from Jerry Grote (hustly bloop double) to Rod Gaspar (heady pinch-runner) to J.C. Martin (wristy pinch-bunter) captured a ten-inning thriller for Seaver the next. There was so much to catch those two afternoons, so much for a Mets fan to never let go of.

7. OCTOBER 17, 1999 — NLCS Game Five: METS 4 Braves 3 (15)
The long haul is what a true fan signs up for. However long it takes for your team to near the heights, you will agree to stick close by. If it takes more than a decade. If it takes all season, no matter how often the stressful impedes the ebullient. If it takes several brushes with elimination. If it takes extra inning upon extra inning…in the rain. If it takes one final reincarnative rally to provide life anew. Whatever it takes is what you’ll endure, up to and including:

• ancient import Shawon Dunston working a 12-pitch at-bat, matching the number on the back of his jersey, until he singles to put a leadoff runner on, down one in the bottom of the fifteenth;

• Dunston stealing second;

• ace pinch-hitter Matt Franco patiently pinch-walking;

• Edgardo Alfonzo (he of the 108 regular-season RBIs) bunting them along for the calculated greatest good;

• John Olerud receiving an intentional bases-loading walk instead of a chance to drive home the tying run;

• Roger Cedeño, his back still sore from jubilantly stomping on home plate in the previous night’s death-defying maneuvers, pinch-running for Franco at third;

• Todd Pratt, who eight days earlier was a series-deciding walkoff home run hero, settling for a less climactic contribution by taking game-tying ball four from rookie Kevin McGlinchy in his lone NLCS appearance — McGlinchy was Bobby Cox’s sixth pitcher against Bobby Valentine’s nine;

• and Robin Ventura, aching and far off his regular-season MVP form (0-for-16 in the series until the eleventh inning of the fifth game), yet comfortable enough to swing at a two-one pitch and send it over the right field wall for what Gary Cohen prematurely called “a game-winning grand slam home run,” a call in need of immediate clarification because, as Cohen himself immediately observed amid what should have been, if you’ll excuse the inadequacy of the adjective, a routine game-winning trot around the bases in the fifteenth inning of an elimination-averting five-hour, forty-six minute spectacle of the gruelingest grit imaginable, “They’re mobbing him before he can get to second base.”

That improvised conclave was a matter of Pratt turning from second to tackle Ventura after he rounded first to not wait one second longer than necessary to smother him in ecstasy, and all of their teammates following suit. Once it was confirmed every Met who was required by regulation to move up exactly ninety feet had indeed touched at least one base, the grand slam home run was downgraded in the official scorekeeping to what became referred to in franchise lore as the Grand Slam Single. When you’re in it for this long and this epic a haul, a traditional slam would surely suffice, but perhaps you’re entitled to something somehow grander, not to mention singular.

6. OCTOBER 9, 1988 — NLCS Game Four: Dodgers 5 METS 4 (12)
A team doesn’t lose a best-of-seven series when the team leading that series two games to one goes from leading the fourth game late to having it tied. But does that team lose something intangible enough that doesn’t show up in the line score of the moment? Eleven years before another Mets club made much of their Mojo Risin’, that certain indescribable quality seemed to slip from the franchise’s grasp in the ninth inning of the fourth game of an NLCS going their way until it wasn’t. Darryl Strawberry and Kevin McReynolds homered in succession in the fourth to give the Mets a one-run lead. Gary Carter expanded the edge to two on a sixth-inning triple (though was left stranded after landing on third with nobody out). Dwight Gooden made the Mets’ advantage hold up through eight and was given every opportunity to finish what he started.

The visitors’ ninth started with John Shelby battling for nine pitches until he walked. The home bullpen remained silent. Mike Scioscia turned on the very first pitch he saw from Gooden and lofted it over the right field fence, into the Mets’ inactive pen. Scioscia batted more than 400 times in 1988 and homered only thrice, but a bat in the hand is worth all the stats in the bush. Three outs from a three-one lead in the series, the Mets were now even with the Dodgers in a game that grew instantly pivotal and eventually aggravating.

The Mets left a runner on first in the tenth and two on in the eleventh. Kirk Gibson grabbed L.A. the lead with a two-out solo homer off Roger McDowell in the twelfth. The Mets responded by loading the bases in the bottom of the inning but failing — against three different pitchers, concluding with the previous afternoon’s starter, Orel Hershiser — to drive any of them in.

Game Four turned on Scioscia’s swing. Despite three more innings and three more games, so did the series. Maybe the Met dynasty that had seemed like destiny also found out it wasn’t going to happen that night. Nineteen Eighty-Eight appeared primed to restore the Mets to the throne they’d unintentionally vacated after 1986. They were 100-60 against everybody in the regular season, 10-1 against the Dodgers. They were loaded. Yet the Mets of Doc, Darryl and the rest of this star-studded production didn’t win their second pennant and never returned to the postseason. In a matter of three years, what was left of these Mets fell completely from contention, then plummeted from grace.

Had lefty Randy Myers been warming during Shelby’s AB to face lefty Scioscia…or had Gooden gotten strike three over on Shelby…or had things played out to the statistical form embodied by Scioscia’s career batting average to date versus Gooden of .184…but none of that happened, and the next Mets’ World Series trip was postponed by a dozen years. Sometimes what doesn’t happen is a direct result of what does happen. Sometimes what does happen, however, is just one of those things you wish hadn’t happened.

5. OCTOBER 15, 1986 — NLCS Game Six: Mets 7 ASTROS 6 (16)
Given the tension and the stakes, it takes a helluva circumstance for invocation of the first Game Six from the 1986 postseason to go viral long after the fact. Game 161 of 2024 at Atlanta had that kind of is this really happening? feel, and therefore — judging by broadcaster commentary and social media reaction — it summoned widespread instinctual thoughts of exactly that precedent. On September 30, 2024, the Mets were the visitors to a hostile environment on a weekday afternoon; their foes loomed as implacable; and the back-and-forth battle at hand simultaneously boggled the mind and pre-empted the possibility that anything not Mets-related would be accomplished during business hours.

With just one win needed to guarantee October life, of course Game Six from Houston loomed in the thoughts of Mets fans 38 years later. There was another strand of connective tissue, though it offered little comfort decades before or in the present: neither Game Six of the 1986 NLCS nor this Game 161 was precisely do-or-die. Had the Mets lost to the Braves in 2024, there was a second game of the makeup doubleheader waiting. But who in orange and blue wished to take such a chance? Likewise, the 1986 Mets, leading their best-of-seven three games to two, technically had a Game Seven on which to fall back if they could not eliminate the Astros in six, yet that statistical reality rang as hollow as their prospective cushion in the moment.

Mike Scott didn’t strike out any of the Mets in Game Six. Striking fear into the depths of their souls was enough. The Mets were in front three games to two yet proceeded as if behind the eight ball. Lose Game Six, invite Scott to the mound in Game Seven. Play Game Seven, then you’re playing Russian roulette with the deadliest bullet rattling around in Astro manager Hal Lanier’s chamber. No, don’t go there if you can help it.

But could they help themselves at the Astrodome against Bob Knepper, the Game Six starter and a lefty who carried his own ability to smoke them? For eight innings, the Mets’ bats sawed wood. Knepper had lulled them to sleep in making a 3-0 lead achieved in the first inning hold up. Bobby Ojeda and Rick Aguilera kept the hole shallow, but the way Knepper was going — two hits, one walk — the Mets may as well have been stuck down a well. The climb up and out took forever to commence and then happened all at once. Lenny Dykstra pinch-hit to lead off the ninth and tripled. Mookie Wilson singled him home. Kevin Mitchell grounded out, but moved Mookie to second. Keith Hernandez doubled Wilson in. At 3-2, Knepper exited and Dave Smith, the closer for whom the Mets were Kryptonite, entered. “Super,” the men in orange and blue said. Gary Carter walked. Darryl Strawberry walked. Ray Knight flied deep enough to right to score Hernandez. It was a whole new ballgame, one much better than the first one.

It stayed 3-3 through thirteen, thanks primarily to the five innings of shutout relief provided by Roger McDowell. In the top of the fourteenth, the Mets scratched out the run that put them ahead to stay…until there was one out in the bottom of the fourteenth and Billy Hatcher had his say, Fisking a ball off the left field foul pole to tie the game anew at four. Jesse Orosco, who gave up Hatcher’s dinger, hung in for the rest of the inning and the next one, keeping the game tied long enough for the Mets to explode for three runs in the top of the sixteenth. With Jesse on fumes (he’d thrown two innings the day before to win Game Five at Shea), the Astros mounted one more assault. Two were out, but two were across the plate, two more were on base and Kevin Bass, Houston’s best hitter, was at the plate.

It was enough to freeze all of New York — this game started at three o’clock in the afternoon Eastern Time, rendering rush hour in the Metropolitan Area an oxymoron — and elicit beelines to the mound from Orosco’s catcher, Carter, and the battery’s first baseman, Hernandez. It was generally agreed, allegedly under the threat of violence from Hernandez, that Jesse throw only sliders. So he did. Six in all. The first five elevated the count on Bass to three-and-two and blood pressure readings everywhere off the chart.

The sixth went for strike three. The Mets won the National League pennant and a reprieve from Mike Scott. The desperation and drama involved implied they were highly uncertain they could have one without the other. Scott (18 IP, 2-0, 0.50 ERA) was named NLCS MVP. As Orosco flung his glove to the Astrodome roof and his teammates Metpiled all over him, no one bothered to argue that the award for the series’s key player was handed to somebody from the losing side. Given the motivation inherent in not facing him, it was likely as sound a decision as not throwing Bass a single fastball.

4. OCTOBER 19, 2006 — NLCS Game Seven: Cardinals 3 METS 1
The Mets staged their first “Alumni Classic” in September 2025, an Old Timers Day in everything but name. Old times’ swift movement narrowed the parameters of the reunion to 21st-century players, with many of the alumni taking bows for the two pennants fans under the age of 40 might remember. Indeed, representatives of the 2000 Mets and the 2015 Mets each collected well-deserved flowers on the respective 25th and 10th anniversaries of their team’s flagship accomplishment. Yet chronologically between them and just as much out in force to the delight of attendees were many members of the 2006 Mets, a division winner far more dominant in its regular season than its World Series-participating counterparts were in theirs. They, too, tipped caps to an appreciative crowd, and several of their stars were the focus of a friendly pre-event press session. The inquiries were all very affable, including one question about how special that near-miss of a season was. “It really was fun,” Carlos Beltran said, and had he left it at that, he likely wouldn’t have been probed further. But the most productive player from that 97-win ballclub continued, “At the end of the day, we fell short as a team, we didn’t end up going to the World Series, everyone knows what happened…”

With that, Jose Reyes, in full impishness, couldn’t resist his own deadpan interjection: “What happened?” The room broke into laughter. Nineteen years after the fact, even Beltran was compelled to crack something approximating a smile regarding what remains the most enduring non-celebratory postseason ending in Mets history. Yes, everyone knows what happened, because what happened has proven indelible.

When the tightest of seventh-game ties is broken on a ninth-inning home run, and that swing ranks as no greater than the third-most dramatic interlude of that seventh game — a distant third — you’re probably talking about a night that sets up somebody’s fans for massive disappointment. Yet setups have rarely loomed as more perfect than a pair that materialized at Shea Stadium as the Mets sought a World Series berth that appeared for months a confirmed appointment. In the top of the sixth inning, when Game Seven had already been tied since the top of the second, the Cardinals appeared inches from taking a 3-1 lead versus usually shaky but somehow holding it together starter Oliver Perez. After Jim Edmonds walked with one out, Scott Rolen rocketed a ball over Shea’s left field fence. The only problem for Rolen was the Mets had in the vicinity a rocket interceptor named Endy Chavez, who dashed to the wall, “went to the apex of his leap,” per Gary Cohen, and took away the sure home run for one out — and fired the erstwhile rocket into the infield with just as much force as it had been hit to effect a double play on Edmonds.

Shea Stadium still rippled from its brush with defensive perfection in the bottom of the sixth when the Mets prepared to untie the game off Jeff Suppan. They loaded the bases with one out, bringing up Jose Valentin, who’d handled the relay from Chavez. But Valentin struck out. That was perhaps OK because up next was none other than Endy, and who better to generate a Met lead than the man who minutes earlier prevented a Met deficit? But Endy flied out, and the tie continued until the ninth, when it was Aaron Heilman pitching and Yadier Molina ripping into one with Rolen on first. This was uncatchable and became the 3-1 lead Chavez had taken away three innings before.

Ah, but in the bottom of the ninth, Valentin led off versus rookie closer Adam Wainwright with a single, and Chavez followed with the same. This setup was conceivably just as good as the one from the sixth. Runners on first and second, nobody out and here came the Met attack that powered the club to 97 regular-season wins (14 more than the Cardinals), a breeze through the NL East and a sweep of the Dodgers in the NLDS. But the offense had blinked on and off through the NLCS, and plugging it in was no sure thing. Cliff Floyd, who had never registered a pinch-hit in four years as a Met, struck out off the bench. Jose Reyes lined a dangerous-looking drive into center, but it was grabbed by perennial Gold Glover Edmonds. Paul Lo Duca walked, however (with Anderson Hernandez inserted to pinch-run), meaning the bases were loaded for the best all-around Met of 2006, Carlos Beltran.

Beltran had homered 41 times during the year and three times more during the playoffs. He didn’t need to homer, necessarily. At the very least, he needed to keep this rally going. But against the rookie with the deadly curveball, Beltran did what can be without judgment referred to as nothing. Carlos took a strike, fouled off a pitch and, on oh-and-two, looked at strike three. One could reasonably argue that Beltran hadn’t ascended to the top of his profession without trusting his batting eye, but one could just as reasonably counter that protecting the plate was paramount with two strikes, two outs and no more chances guaranteed. The Cardinals were National League champions. The Mets were done for 2006, one theoretical swing from the World Series. When 2007 and 2008 imploded across consecutive Septembers, the image of possible future Hall of Famer Beltran’s bat remaining on possible future Hall of Famer Beltran’s shoulder hardened as a popular symbol of where a burgeoning era of Met dominance went awry. Called Strike Three harshly cast Beltran’s seven generally stellar seasons as a Met as something less than a net-positive and haunted a generation of Mets fans with the notion that “nice things” were meant to chronically elude them…an idea that didn’t (briefly) dissipate until the successful pennant run of 2015.

Though replays of it lingered after the fact as no more than a nifty consolation prize, Chavez’s catch — “the play maybe of the franchise history,” Cohen assessed — remained beyond reproach, every bit as cherished as the 1969 grabs executed by Tommie Agee and Ron Swoboda, with the only difference being that Endy’s came in a loss, dammit.

3. OCTOBER 27, 1986 — WS Game Seven: METS 8 Red Sox 5
Greatness assumed is greatness unearned. The greatest of greatness, at any rate. On raw numbers, there was no arguing whether the 1986 Mets were great. Regular season wins: 108. Winning percentage: .667. Division-winning margin: 21½ games. Then came the postseason and they kept up the pace, eliminating a highly formidable Houston club in six extremely hard-fought games. All of it by itself was pretty damn good, but the most it earned an enterprise striving for its kind of greatness was one final chance to earn it. In any year, that means winning the World Series. In 1986, that meant going to a seventh game against an obstinate opponent from Boston, falling behind early, refusing — via Sid Fernandez’s two-and-a-third innings of shutdown relief— to let the Red Sox bury them, and then coming alive en route to becoming immortal. Three runs in the sixth inning to tie Game Seven. Three runs in the seventh to take a lead they wouldn’t relinquish. Another pair in the eighth to secure what they were determined to earn.

Every Met who came to the plate in those final three innings the Mets batted did something useful. Lee Mazzilli, a Met from 1976 through 1981, then exiled until August, started the fire with a pinch-single in the sixth. Mookie Wilson, whose emergence in 1980 pointed Mazz toward the center field exit, followed Lee with a single of his own. Keith Hernandez got the Mets off the schneid by chasing both Mets of tenure home. Gary Carter drove in Mex with the run to make the evening even. Ray Knight lined the home run to put the home team ahead and clinch himself the MVP prize. Darryl Strawberry launched the moon shot that would have served as the exclamation point had not Jesse Orosco, of all people, driven in the game’s final run (and the final RBI of a career that would last another 17 seasons). Jesse wasn’t done, however, for it was Orosco, a.k.a. the player to be named later from the Jerry Koosman deal eight winters earlier, who’d become the second man to stand on the mound at Shea Stadium and throw the pitch that would make the Mets world champions. He threw it past Marty Barrett, Carter caught it, and there it was: greatness. Closing in on four decades later, its kind has yet to be replicated in Flushing.

2. OCTOBER 16, 1969 — WS Game Five: METS 5 Orioles 3
Casey Stengel termed his ability-deprived, fundamentals-averse Mets “Amazin’” in 1962, and, in the felicity of phrasing with which the Ol’ Perfesser was gifted, he nailed the franchise’s identity as it grappled with learning to crawl, never mind walk. Six years and 648 losses later, Gil Hodges commenced teaching a barely evolved band of Mets to stop dropping the ball and everybody else to stop dropping a ‘g’. Under Hodges, the Amazin’ Mets grew into something simply amazing. Still underdogs in the eyes of the world; still lovable to those who’d embraced them when they’d made acquaintances at the bottom of the standings; but, as a season and postseason that boggled minds from Teaneck to Timbuktu soared to its conclusion, unquestionably unbeatable.

Three Oriole runs in the third inning (both on homers, one from opposing pitcher Dave McNally) didn’t derail Jerry Koosman. A call in the sixth inning that a pitch didn’t hit Cleon Jones when Jones and Hodges were convinced he was nicked didn’t deter either man. Hodges produced a ball flecked with shoe polish, umpire Lou DiMuro reversed his call, Jones jogged to first, and the on-deck hitter, Donn Clendenon, made the whole scene mythic, and himself MVP, by belting a two-run homer. The bottom of the seventh offered another long ball by one of the several non-sluggers the Mets carried on their roster, Al Weis. Weis had homered six times in his career, not at all since July, and never before (nor ever again) at Shea Stadium. Here he led off and tied the game the Mets needed to clinch the World Series. In the eighth, Jones doubled to lead off; Ron Swoboda doubled him home with one out; and Swoboda scored when a potential 1-3 putout got dropped — the sort of thing that happened to the Mets before 1969.

Going to the ninth, the Mets led, 5-3, and the favored Orioles found themselves down to their final chance. Second baseman Dave Johnson drove Jerry Koosman’s two-one fastball to deep left, in front of the warning track, into the glove of Cleon Jones. Just like that, the Amazin’ Mets were world champions. The franchise Stengel accurately dubbed might never fully shake off the laughable roots of 1962, but no one could ever take away from them the title they captured in 1969. Those Mets remain the most amazing team ever.

1. OCTOBER 25, 1986 — WS Game Six: METS 6 Red Sox 5 (10)
Eddie Van Buren, manager of the Washington Senators of fiction, sung to his players that you gotta have heart. A little luck, however, doesn’t hurt your cause. Oh, and talent, though by the sixth game of the World Series, the presence of that essential element of penultimate success should be apparent. Down three games to two and therefore absolutely, positively requiring a win this gut-check of a Saturday night, we knew the Mets had the talent to get to Game Six, and would find out they were capable of, in nothing else, getting Game Six to a tenth inning. That alone had been a monumental accomplishment, itself encompassing an array of impressive microaccomplishments. Withstanding 24-game-winner Roger Clemens, who’d no-hit them for four innings…tying the game at two in the fifth…Bobby Ojeda fending off further damage through six…overcoming the Red Sox slipping ahead again in the seventh on an unearned run with five Met batters stringing together another tying run in the eighth…Rick Aguilera setting down the Red Sox in the ninth…entering extra innings, because nine, no matter how eventful, were not enough. (There was also a man with a parachute, but he didn’t show up in the box score.)

The tenth, though, appeared to be too much, and that was the inning that was needed to get Game Six in the win column and keep the Mets alive in the World Series. Dave Henderson socked Aguilera’s second pitch of extras just fair but amply over the left field fence. Now the Mets were behind in the game they had to have in order to prevent their season of dominance from devolving to dust. Then the Mets fell a little further behind, thanks to AL batting champ Wade Boggs doubling and the scalding Marty Barrett singling Boggs in. The bottom of the tenth and perhaps an ignominious ending to 1986 beckoned. Wally Backman’s and Keith Hernandez’s attempts at playing hero resulted in fly ball outs. Hence, this was it. One more chance remained for the Mets’ talent to show its heart.

Gary Carter singled. Kevin Mitchell, pinch-hitting, singled, too. Ray Knight produced a third consecutive single, sending Carter home and Mitchell to third. The Red Sox’ closer, ex-Met Calvin Schiraldi, just couldn’t slam shut the door that would have left the Mets out in the cold, so John McNamara called on Schiraldi’s predecessor in the job, Bob Stanley. Stanley’s immediate assignment, hopefully from a Boston standpoint, was retiring Mookie Wilson. Do that and the Red Sox would be world champions for the first time in 68 years. Wilson was blatantly uncooperative, building a count to two-and-two after six pitches. The seventh pitch was ball three and then some. It squirted away from catcher Rich Gedman, far enough to spur third base coach Buddy Harrelson to urge Mitchell to dash home. The wild pitch made it a tie game and, not incidentally, moved Knight up to second. If nothing else, the Mets guaranteed themselves at least one more inning of life.

But the Mets didn’t storm into 1986 seeking only to survive. Mookie fouled off another of Stanley’s pitches. Then another. Then, on the tenth pitch of the at-bat, Wilson made fair contact. It was a ball trickling up the first base line, according to Bob Murphy’s description, a little roller by Vin Scully’s reckoning. It appeared to be a matter of Red Sox first baseman Bill Buckner bending down, picking it up and beating the speedy Wilson to the first base bag. Undetectable in whatever analytics existed then: luck. It entered the picture for the Mets just as Buckner went about doing what he’d been doing in professional baseball since 1968: picking up a batted ball. Except this one eluded his grasp, trickling, rolling and bouncing between his legs and into right field before slowing and stopping on the Shea Stadium grass to plant itself in history. It was the ball that scored Knight to win the Mets Game Six; to keep the Mets alive for Game Seven; to shine Shea’s brightest light on the heart displayed by Carter, Mitchell, Knight and, finally, Wilson; and to let the talent of the 1986 Mets regain its traction and resume pursuit of the championship that had been its goal for a year.

There were incalculable ways they could have arrived where they were going. The path they chose — that is if the path didn’t choose them — was bizarre enough to be unimaginable. Yet it happened. It couldn’t have, but it did. It happened, and it happened for keeps. It’s ours. Can you imagine that? You don’t have to. Game Six of the 1986 World Series is the Mets simultaneously being everything we’ve ever wanted them to be. They’re the team that has to overcome a Met-ric ton of improbability in order to disprove a universe of doubts. They’re the team that is too blatantly good to ever be beat when it counts most. They’re the Mets in every best sense of the word.

He Got Us

Many a Met could echo the official team ditty and implore us to hurry up and come on down to meet them as they’ve attempted to be really socking that ball, hitting those home runs over the wall. But only one in recent years had accrued the moral authority to lay on the line what he believed everybody — East Side, West Side, all sides — needed to be doing pronto:

“Mets fans, we need you guys to fill this place up. This place needs to be rockin’ Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, we need your help. We need everybody to get out here, we need this place full. This is playoff baseball, this is what you guys want. Let’s go! Let’s Go Mets!”

It’s the “Let’s Go Mets!” that really sold it, maybe sold some extra tickets, too. On the Monday night before Brandon Nimmo made his Wednesday sales pitch, the Mets had drawn a few hundred shy of 22,000 to Citi Field despite being in the thick of a hotly contested Wild Card derby approaching its climax. By the weekend series versus Philadelphia, attendance was doubled. The place was full and, in fact, rockin’.

Well-compensated professional ballplayers telling us to dig deep and spend in order to support them vocally can land as a little discordant these days. Uh, you gonna pick up my parking, big shot? Yet when Smilin’ Brandon Nimmo shouted into Steve Gelbs’s microphone in the middle of September 2024 that, yeah, we needed to join him and his teammates as they sought a postseason berth that once seemed out of their imaginable grasp, it was possible to process that beseechment as simply one of our guys asking us for a favor. Dozens of players annually wear the uniform we identify as ours. Few are truly our guys. Brandon Nimmo, indisputably our guy, was as franchise-defining a Met as any Met in the past decade, one of those “look up ‘Met’ on Wikipedia and you’ll see his picture” Mets. Winding down his ninth of ten seasons as a Met, his fourteenth of fifteen within the organization, we not only knew Brandon, he knew us, our folkways, our language. He spoke Mets Fan. It wasn’t his native tongue, but he’d mastered the emotional dialect.

On the last night of that homestand Brandon insisted we needed to fill up, he hit a monumental home run to help win a monumental ballgame, providing a springboard toward a monumental playoff lunge that resulted in quite a lot of what we guys wanted. Yes, he knew us and he got us and he gave us all he had to give.

It only feels as if Brandon Nimmo had been a Met since 1975.

Now he’s a Texas Ranger, because every time you convince yourself Brandon Nimmo might have been on to something when he guessed LFGM stood for “Lovely Friends, Great Memories,” you remember baseball’s business aspects and competitive aspects and all the aspects you don’t really see under the surface when you’re watching from those seats you are asked to fill. You remember that for as long as it takes a No. 1 draft pick out of somewhere in Wyoming in 2011 to make his major league debut for New York in 2016; establish himself as a regular in 2018; cement himself as star-level in 2022; and play a vital role in pushing his team toward the top of the sport in 2024, that same kid who grew up in your presence can be gone in a veritable blink. The decision to trade Brandon Nimmo to Texas for Marcus Semien was no doubt pondered by David Stearns for more than a minute, though when you glance at your phone on a Sunday night in late November for the first time in about an hour, and suddenly Nimmo’s name is prominent in your timeline and past-tense Metwise, you are entitled to your shock.

The word had gone out in the last week that the Mets were letting teams know Brandon Nimmo was available. OK, I thought, you should consider anything and everything after a year like last year, but Brandon? Brandon Nimmo? Re-signed after 2022 (albeit by Stearns’s predecessor) to an eight-year deal that still had five lucrative years to go? The fella who never accepted that first base would be waiting for him patiently after he worked a walk, so he never stopped skedaddling? Brandon Nimmo from the portion of the lineup none other than Steve Cohen dubbed the Fab Four during one of those summertime spurts when everything was going super? One-quarter of the Fab Four is already a free agent. Maybe Pete Alonso will be back. Maybe he won’t. But we could figure on Nimmo joining Francisco Lindor and Juan Soto as they played on into relative Met perpetuity. It wasn’t indefensible suggesting he could be had in the right deal, but I took that as a suggestion. Get other GMs talking with our POBO. Maybe something will come out of it.

Brandon Nimmo leaving is what happened. He had a no-trade clause, a provision presumably invoked if you want to stay with your team, which may not be your preference once the team lets it be known it would rather not have you on hand for the length of your contract. Talk is sometimes more than talk. An hour away from your phone is sometimes long enough to confirm talk turns real.

Thus, the Mets, about to enter the sixth year of Cohen’s five-year plan to attain a world championship, have swapped 32-year-old Nimmo’s capabilities for those of 35-year-old Semien’s. They’re both players who’ve played ball well for quite a while if not as well as they ever have lately. Semien’s calling card is infield defense, a valuable commodity for a team whose primary decisionmaker has emphasized run prevention like the concept was just invented. Marcus (if we can be on a first-name basis so soon) just won a Gold Glove at second base. He has a history of hitting, if not hitting a ton in 2025. Good guy, it is said. Was a big part of a World Series-winning team when he was the age Nimmo (if we must be on a last-name basis henceforth) will be next season.

The gentle downward slope may have already begun for Brandon, who has moved with continually less alacrity in left field since moving over from center and hasn’t looked especially swift along the basepaths. Like every player, he posted the occasional ohfer and now and then couldn’t get to a ball as it was about to touch grass. Still, he continued to make big plays and get big hits and be a big presence. Nimmo’s presence is what I think about as he moves down to deGrom Country. It’s not that he’d been around. It was that he’d been around here. It would figure he was the guy who would talk to the fans, talk to the media, talk about what the Mets were in whatever form they were taking in a given stretch at whatever microjuncture of their history was taking shape. Brandon Nimmo has witnessed the Mets being all kinds of things in his ten seasons in Flushing, which themselves followed five seasons of his working to arrive among us. He was drafted so far back, that Sandy Alderson selected him less than two weeks after Fred Wilpon agreed to sell the team…to David Einhorn. Brandon and David Wright are the only Met players ever to take part in three different Met playoff seasons, and, thanks to David’s lengthy 2016-2018 injury struggle, only Brandon was active for three different playoff clinchings: 2016, 2022, and 2024. Throw in the boisterous 2019 second-half rise from oblivion, and Nimmo has seen some of the most invigorating Met days of this century.

Conversely, Brandon was part of the dismal 2017 Mets, the bumbling 2018 Mets, the bad-dream 2020 Mets, the sleepwalking 2021 Mets, the comatose 2023 Mets, and the 2025 Mets who developed a teamwide allergy to success. Hence, Nimmo’s also seen some of the most dispiriting Met days of this century.

Which is to say Brandon Nimmo has experienced the same things we have, and you could tell he’d internalized it in a manner similar to how we had. That’s where the moral authority to tell us to get our asses to Citi Field and yell our heads off when the Mets took on the Phillies came in. That’s how he became the most reliable thermometer for what was right or wrong with this team in those postgame Q&A scrums. I never thought I was listening to a professional baseball player talk about his job when Brandon Nimmo spoke. I was listening to a Met talking about the Mets. I appreciated that.

I also recognize that while Brandon can’t be held particularly responsible for the alarming dips that seem to inevitably follow the giddy spikes that dot the Mets’ ongoing Satisfaction Probability Chart, this is a team that evaded consistency throughout his extended tenure. Stearns, who strikes me as one of those executives who would probably embrace the challenge of constructing a baseball team even more if it didn’t involve baseball players, can’t worry about how much we’ve loved or identified with Brandon Nimmo. He has to be cold, or at least a little chilly, as he calculates how to craft a genuine, perennial contender, one that doesn’t treat athleticism as an archrival and fundamentals as a foe. If somebody else saw something in Nimmo, and Stearns saw something in somebody he thought would lift the Mets above what they are, well, that’s why conversations spark from theoretical to actual. Semien changes the infield, presumably for the better, in 2026. Nimmo’s absence absolutely changes the outfield now and later. Brandon was the epitome of a solid player, doing everything above average when he was at his best, yet his exit potentially opens opportunities for a younger, fleeter fielder assuming his position in left in the long term, perhaps a more productive power hitter there right away.

It has to. If not, why are we trading a lifetime Met like Brandon Nimmo? There was only one of him.

Hall of More, Please

A more consistently robust, perhaps less finicky team Hall of Fame — the kind of institution that steps to the forefront with some regularity before mysteriously fading from view between releasing its intermittent puffs of orange and blue smoke — would have already included the three members the Mets recently announced as their 2026 inductees. Lee Mazzilli last played for the club in 1989, Bobby Valentine managed it in 2002, and Carlos Beltran most recently took the field for the home folks in Flushing in 2011. There was probably a stray Saturday on a random homestand that could have been dedicated to honoring any one or all three prior to whichever date is circled for next season, but as a fan who will always toast this franchise celebrating every nook and cranny of its history usually winds up concluding, when it comes to the New York Mets Hall of Fame, the important thing is they’re in now.

Per usual, the reveal for this Mets Hall class fell out of the sky without warning, hewing to no established pattern. Still when it showed up in the second week of November, it landed as pleasingly as it did surprisingly. Bobby V was the most accomplished Met manager not already in the Hall. Beltran, who may be kept busy at more than one such ceremony this summer, is cited every Hot Stove season as the most impactful long-term player the Mets ever engaged through free agency, maybe the most all-around talented in-his-prime position player they’ve ever had. (That description might have fit Vladimir Guerrero, but that’s a different story I’d recommend reading.) And Mazzilli? If you were in love with the Mets when they were at their least, Mazz was simply the most.

My heart is most warmed by the selection of Bobby Valentine, who elevated a moribund on-field product shortly after he took over as skipper and kept it aloft via a dizzying juggling act for a half-decade. My head is totally on board with Carlos Beltran, who did it all when healthy and did as much as he could when something short of 100%. My extremities tingle at the notion that Lee Mazzilli is a part of all this, because Lee Mazzilli, in his first term, was close to all we had, with his second term serving as a rare Recidivist victory lap, not just for him, but the greater Met good.

I like that there are connections to be divined inside this triangle. Valentine and Mazzilli were Met teammates (the 1977 Mets, who lost 98 games, can now claim eight Mets Hall of Famers among their forty players used). Mazzilli and Beltran were All-Star Met center fielders three decades apart. Beltran and Valentine were Met managers, though Carlos B’s counting stats never got a chance to match Bobby V’s. Mazzilli won a World Series as a Met. Valentine managed the Mets into the World Series. Beltran…so close, but Game Seven of the NLCS is no also-ran destination. Carlos was the top player on arguably the top team the Mets have fielded since the era Mazzilli came home. Bobby V steered the ship as close to the shores of the promised land as anybody since Davey Johnson brought us into port, and according to proprietary Personality Above Replacement analytics, he never failed to fascinate.

When these three Mets become Mets Hall of Famers, membership within the Mets Hall of Fame — which in September passed its 44th anniversary — will rise to 38. Collecting ballots from my heart, head, and extremities, I’m confident I could increase that total legitimately by half without clicking once on Baseball-Reference. It’s a team Hall of Fame. It’s our team Hall of Fame. We understand what our team is and what has made it our team for going on 65 seasons. A Hall of Fame representing our team oughta be fulsomely populated with individuals who have left indelible marks in our hearts and heads and along our extremities. I truly believe that between 1962 and the present, we’ve had far more than 38 of those. There’s a bar to be set that stays true to studied selectivity, yet recognizes even implied exclusivity can benefit from occasional touches of generosity and malleability.

A little less pickiness to the process isn’t going to devalue any of the plaques currently hung at the top of the Rotunda stairs, and I doubt “Lazy Mary” will be sat out in mass protest if it’s decided “a great Met” encompasses multiple meanings. For this class, the picking worked quite well. Welcome to the certifiably upper echelon, Bobby, Carlos, and Lee.

Opting for the Fun of It

Pete Alonso didn’t hesitate after the final frustrating game of a frustrating season ultimately torpedoed by frustrating losses. He was asked if he planned to exercise the opt-out clause in his contract in order to test the open market, and he said yes. Edwin Diaz wasn’t quite so quick on the withdraw; he’d have to discuss it with his family, he said, but he sure as hell didn’t immediately rule out becoming a free agent. Eventually, Edwin joined Pete in declaring his availability. Three days after the World Series, both men filed.

Back on September 28, following the defeat to the Marlins that ensured the Mets would have nothing to do with the 2025 World Series, neither Met evinced any hard feelings toward the club they’ve helped define since 2019, let alone an overwhelming desire to bolt. Pete affirmed he’s “loved being a Met,” while Edwin insisted, “I love this organization.” Their sincere affection notwithstanding, they are professionals who have business decisions to make. If business brings them back, that will be swell. If business takes them away, that will be a shame. “They’ve been great representatives of the organization,” David Stearns said at November’s General Manager Meetings, the precursor to December’s winter meetings. “We’d love to have them both back.” Implicit in our POBO’s benign endorsement was having them back could happen if the price, encompassing length and dollars, is right from a Met perspective. If front office executives didn’t have to worry about such matters, there wouldn’t be much need for them to meet multiple times per offseason.

It’s not easy to detect overwhelming individual value following a season when no single Met produced quite what was required to transcend a massive accumulation of frustration and shove this team as a whole where it seemed so close to getting. Yet when the Faith and Fear in Flushing Awards Committee (FAFIFAC) convenes to select a Richie Ashburn Most Valuable Met, we always find somebody — even in the stone downer seasons that were far less competitive than 2025 and encompassed no player with numbers up to the standard of some we saw posted in 2025. In 2023, for example, when the Mets lost 26 more games than they had the year before and were never a factor in the postseason race, we were sorely tempted to name Nobody as our MVM. We resisted the temptation because, honestly, FAFIFAC doesn’t find opting into Nobody much fun.

We will not deny that…

• Nobody in 2025 lifted the Mets onto his shoulders;

• Nobody in 2025 elevated the Mets into the playoffs they were mathematically on target to make from April deep into September;

• and Nobody in 2025 proved particularly valuable when it came to preventing the gradual decline and emphatic fall that plopped the Mets one tiebreaker shy of the third and final National League Wild Card.

But despite our pervasive frustration, we’re not going there. Offseason reflection and perhaps rationalization perennially yields an MVM, maybe more than one. Even in the lousiest of Met years, of which we’ve experienced a few. Even in the frustratingest of Met years, of which few were more frustrating than this one — for even within the spelling of frustration there can be found fun.

And within what fun there was to experiencing the 2025 Mets, you inevitably found Pete Alonso and Edwin Diaz. We opt to honor them as Faith and Fear in Flushing’s co-choice for the Richie Ashburn Most Valuable Met award. Alonso and Diaz do have business to attend to, as does the ballclub that they’ve called theirs for seven seasons, but we don’t mind copping to a touch of sentimentality in making this selection.

Pete? We’ve grown accustomed to his bat.
Edwin? We’ve grown accustomed to his saves.

They’ve been here longer than almost any of their teammates. They’ve filled critical roles from the moment they settled in. They’ve starred and starred again. We know who they are. We know who they’ve been. They’ve filled us with anticipation more than dread, 80/20, at least. They’ve come through when needed more often than not.

There is some lifetime achievement factored into this decision, as well as some of what wasn’t as present in 2025 as it had been in 2024: vibes. Flawed as they could reveal themselves at a given moment, you welcomed Pete and Edwin into the spotlight when they strutted into it. Those good vibes we felt at the sight of them weren’t only about personality and familiarity. They were performance-derived.

Pete Alonso crashed into 2025 with a certified Player of the Month entrance. Twenty-eight runs batted in before May. A .343 batting average. Eleven doubles to go with seven homers, indicative of not just a slugger but a hitter in a groove. When he re-signed in early February, he sat 26 home runs shy of the franchise record. April ensured beyond any doubt that he’d make it there by summer. On August 10, in the weeks following his fifth All-Star selection, Pete passed Darryl Strawberry, belting the 253rd longball of his major league and Met careers, epochs that had been one and the same since their very beginning. The power show that earned him his first Silver Slugger continued clear to the 161st game of the season, when Pete was as Pete could be, not only delivering the first two runs of a necessary 5-0 victory in Miami (on his league-leading 41st double, then his 38th homer, bringing his RBI total to 126), but summing up his pregame prep afterward for Steve Gelbs:

“I’m wearin’ Juan Soto’s socks, I put on Francisco Lindor’s eyeblack, and then I used Brandon Nimmo’s lotion. So, all my teammates, I’m just thankful for the good vibes.”

Gelbs asked Alonso when he decided to borrow his peers’ gear. Pete responded with his why:

“Anything for a win.”

By late in the season, anything for a win implied Edwin Diaz would be coming in. To save a game. To save a chance to win a game. To save what was left of the season. His two scoreless innings in Game 162 spoke to either Carlos Mendoza’s desperation or sound judgment. In the fifth inning, on the heels of stints from Sean Manaea, Huascar Brazoban, Brooks Raley, Ryne Stanek, and Tyler Rogers, Mendy called on Edwin. The Mets were down, 4-0. The Mets’ closer couldn’t get the Mets closer, but he was the best and perhaps only bet to keep the damn thing from getting away. Sure enough, Diaz faced six batters and retired them in order. It didn’t help prevent the 4-0 loss that ended 2025, but it was all Edwin could give, and he gave it when needed most.

That was usually in the ninth inning. None of the righty’s ninth innings stands out more in recent memory than the one that arose when Diaz was wearing only one good shoe. The two-time 2025 Reliever of the Month — he’d made the All-Star team in July and be named the NL’s Reliever of the Year in November — unleashed the entire Edwin experience in an early-September outing in Cincinnati that, by itself, could be reaired as a Mets Classic.

It’s 5-4, Mets.
He gives up a leadoff single to Ke’Bryan Hayes
He walks Matt McLain on a full count.
He walks TJ Friedl on four pitches.
The bases are loaded.
He strikes out Noelvi Marte on a full count.
He goes to one-and-two on Elly De La Cruz.
He changes his shoes on the mound..
He finishes striking out De La Cruz.
He elicits a grounder from Gavin Lux.
He scampers to first base while Luisangel Acuña tracks down the ball a sizable distance from his position at second base.
He receives Acuña’s toss from the outfield grass ahead of Lux reaching the bag.
It’s still 5-4, Mets.
The game is over.

Letting a ninth-inning lead slip away is out of no closer’s purview. Loading the bases usually foreshadows such a shift in momentum. But Diaz is as capable of striking out batters in a tense situation as he is of letting runners score. Previously, he hadn’t shown an automatic instinct to cover first, but he worked on that in 2025. As for the shoes…well, a spike broke off, and he did something about it. Edwin changed his shoes and perhaps perceptions that a ninth inning on the precipice of going monumentally wrong automatically plunges from a cliff.

The escape in Cincy yielded Diaz his 26th save of the season. That he didn’t have a whole lot more than his final sum of 28 at season’s end reflects more that went wrong with the Mets as a whole than many Edwin’s innings going awry. His teammates seemed to studiously avoid presenting him with save opportunities in August and September, yet when the trumpets sounded for Diaz, he was as close to his 2022, pre-injury incarnation as could be reasonably hoped. Edwin threw more innings than he did in his signature season and compiled an ERA+ (248) nearly as staggering as he did three years before (297).

Imperfections resonate in the course of a season, especially one as frustrating as 2025. Diaz isn’t great at holding runners on. Alonso occasionally makes his pitchers lunge uncomfortably for throws to first. But, boy, imagine the Mets since 2019 without their contributions. Hell, just their presence is Amazin’. Pete has played in every Mets game since June 18, 2023, a franchise-record 416 in a row. In a year when Mendoza tapped 43 different Mets to pitch in relief (including three position players), Diaz remained ostensibly available day after day, on the active roster for every single game, joined by only Stanek in the durability department.

Nobody is irreplaceable, but good luck slotting in somebody else in their respective niches. We as a people could be forgiven for forgetting there was life before Sugar and the Polar Bear. If you’re crafting an all-time Mets team or two, Edwin has earned prime consideration to be designated Metropolitan history’s top righthanded reliever, outpointing Jeurys Familia by now (without being quite the mixed bag Armando Benitez was). Keith Hernandez is a longtime Mets fan’s instinctive choice for first base into eternity, but Pete has slugged his way into at least undeniable second-team status. Before there was OMG, Pete was the acronym activator who changed how we hashtag (#LFGM). And, due respect to even the legendary lefties like Tug and Jesse and Johnny from Bensonhurst, before there was Timmy Trumpet, there was nothing like it.

Quietly, the Mets have maintained a recognizable core to their cast, a feat that seems remarkable in light of how common turnover has become at the big league level. We know Alonso and Diaz like we know Nimmo, McNeil, Lindor, Marte, Peterson, and Megill; younger or more recently arrived Mets like Alvarez, Vientos, Baty, Senga, Manaea, and Soto all feel like part of our extended family, too. Family can warm you all over. They can also drive you crazy. These members of our Mets family together have produced successes as well as frustrations. You live with that as a fan. Maybe you have no choice. Honestly, it’s refreshing in this day and age to know who’s on the team year after year.

When I became a fan, I knew who was going to comprise the heart of the Mets most every year. There were successes and frustrations then. We welcomed some new guys along the way, we got to know them, and we rooted for the reconfigured version of our Mets family. We believed in them. The belief wasn’t always cashed in, but we had our guys. This core, fronted as much by Pete and Edwin as any of their long-term teammates, has given us enough to believe in. It doesn’t mean you don’t reckon with the breaking up of portions of the band, especially when sticking with the same players is deemed a detriment to moving forward, but I think it does mean you ought to proceed with extreme caution before deciding to swap out some of your most proven and impactful instrumentalists.

I have no idea who would play first base and hit more than 30 home runs annually if Pete Alonso isn’t a Met. I have no idea who would reliably secure ninth-inning leads if Edwin Diaz isn’t a Met. These have been the guys we’ve wanted to see, the guys we’ve conditioned ourselves to crave in that mythic big spot, the guys who planted in us confidence that we knew what we’d be getting and we’d be glad we got it. Sometimes we didn’t get the desired outcome, and that sucked. But usually we got what we anticipated, and that rocked.

Maybe it still will. Yet if one or both among Pete Alonso and Edwin Diaz should sail, this seems as good a moment as any to say out loud that not only have they been wonderful Mets, but having them here has been incredibly fun.

FAITH AND FEAR’S PREVIOUS RICHIE ASHBURN MOST VALUABLE METS
2005: Pedro Martinez (original recording)
2005: Pedro Martinez (deluxe reissue)
2006: Carlos Beltran
2007: David Wright
2008: Johan Santana
2009: Pedro Feliciano
2010: R.A. Dickey
2011: Jose Reyes
2012: R.A. Dickey
2013: Daniel Murphy, Dillon Gee and LaTroy Hawkins
2014: Jacob deGrom
2015: Yoenis Cespedes
2016: Asdrubal Cabrera
2017: Jacob deGrom
2018: Jacob deGrom
2019: Pete Alonso
2020: Michael Conforto and Dom Smith (the RichAshes)
2021: Aaron Loup and the One-Third Troupe
2022: Starling Marte
2023: Francisco Lindor and Kodai Senga
2024: Francisco Lindor

Still to come: The Nikon Camera Player of the Year for 2025.

A Month of Diners and Dodgers

The Mets didn’t play ball in October, and I learned to be OK with that, despite dedicating my waking hours from late March through late September to their ultimately insufficient quest to play ball in October. Maturity being what it is, I grew distant enough from the grating, granular shortfalls of the 2025 season to allow that losing out on a playoff spot by a tiebreaker is sometimes just how the ball bounces (or gets lodged at the base of an outfield wall). Hence, I could go about my October not hung up on who was not playing ball, and enjoy a helluva lot who was, and, when there were no games in progress, just think and talk about other things.

During a lull in the postseason, somewhere between the end of the ALCS and the beginning of the World Series, I got together at a nearby diner, as Long Islanders do, with the two friends I’ve known longer than anybody, not counting those with whom I share bloodlines. It would be simpler to say they’re my two oldest friends, but I’m a little older than each of them, and it would be just like me to point that out to them, not as a badge of personal longevity, but because of my fondness for exactitude. Had I mentioned that, it likely would have earned me a pair of stares before the conversation quickly pivoted somewhere else, probably toward that episode of Welcome Back, Kotter where Vinnie Barbarino murmurs, “gimme drugs, gimme drugs,” over and over to howls from the studio audience. However one sorted the technicalities of longest and oldest, it was an overdue meetup, as they all are at this stage in life, and like all our too-rare get-togethers, I couldn’t tell you what we talked about, exactly. Except John Travolta pretending to be a stoner (for Freddie “Boom Boom” Washington’s sake) on Kotter.

“When a woman asks a man — back from golf, the bar, a game — what he and his buddies talked about for the last four hours, the mumbled reply of ‘Nothing’ isn’t designed to drive her insane,” S.L. Price reasoned in his 2012 Vanity Fair retrospective on the enduring influence of Barry Levinson’s 1982 classic period piece Diner. “It was, indeed, four hours of ‘nothing’ which, for guys is…everything. It’s in what’s not said — the tone, the pauses.”

There was one pause I noticed when I groped to capture the contents of the afternoon for my wife, but mostly came up devoid of details, other than I ordered a Reuben with potato salad, and it came with fries, but the fries looked good, so I didn’t say anything to the waiter. I had paused my instinctual inclination to veer off into baseball and the Mets. One of the two guys at the table with me is a lifelong Mets fan, currently geographically displaced. His Amazin’ simpatico was my sports salvation through junior high and high school. The other isn’t into sports, but has been sympathetic to our cause these past many decades. Neither of them brought up the Mets, and I wasn’t tempted to, either. Other than a stray reference to some uniquely Canadian pennant fever I’d glimpsed after the Blue Jays clinching the American League flag the other night (fans ran into the street, but dispersed when the traffic light changed, which was apparently from a 2015 ALDS celebration but got reposted), and my recollection that the last time we were together was at Citi Field seven years ago, baseball didn’t as much as flicker within our rolling dialogue. My overriding obsession took a back seat to, well, nothing.

Just like in Diner, I suppose, except in real life, which, incidentally, is where I first saw the fictional Diner, with a group of friends that included at least one of these guys from lunch in October, maybe both; forgive the inexactitude forty-three years later. In a lovely cosmic coincidence, I’d had Diner sitting on the DVR from the last time TCM aired it. One night shortly after that late lunch with my friends, an evening when the 2025 World Series wasn’t showing, I rewatched Diner for the first time in ages.

“It still holds up” is an understatement. I wasn’t old enough upon Diner’s initial release to fully appreciate it, and I appreciated it plenty when I was nineteen. Most movies I’ve loved forever are like this, me not noticing that line wasn’t just a good line, it had something to do with something else from earlier in the movie, and it will come back around later to reveal something else. Or it’s an even better line than I realized the last time I rewatched this. Diner is as rewatchable as a rewatchable gets.

One thing, however, bugged me during this Diner rewatch. The throughline of this film set in Baltimore between Christmas Night and New Year’s Eve 1959 is the Colts. One of the guys at the diner, Eddie (Steve Guttenberg), is nuttier about the Colts than the rest of his pals. Eddie is so nutty about the Colts that he is going to make football knowledge a prerequisite of his upcoming nuptials — he’s finalized a comprehensive quiz for his fiancée to ensure she is indeed the right girl for him…or give himself an out in case he’s overcome by cold feet. The color scheme for the wedding, including the bridesmaids’ dresses, is blue and white. Most importantly, the gang will be getting together Sunday to go to the NFL championship game at Memorial Stadium. Everybody else agrees meeting at noon will suffice. Eddie insists on a quarter to twelve, because, you know, it’s the championship game.

Exactly! Of course that’s how Eddie would think, because that’s exactly how I would think if the team I was craziest about in the world was about to play for the championship. You can’t take any chances, right? Except that scene from Diner came after many scenes in Diner when Eddie was doing other things besides concentrating on his beloved Baltimore Colts preparing to play for the National Football League championship. Barry Levinson may know his milieu like few directors have known theirs, but I’m sorry, there’s no way that if the Mets were in the World Series, I’d be calmly hanging out at the diner talking about sandwiches or Sinatra or anything but the Mets being in the World Series. If no one else wished to go over lineups with me, I’d be off in a room by myself pondering potential matchups. That would have been the case in October of 1982, just as it would have been the case in October of 2025. In fact, when our little group left the movie theater in the summer of ’82 — to head to a diner, naturally — the most quick-witted among us nodded in my direction and suggested, “Hey, let’s go to the Mets game!”

At the time, the Mets making a World Series was the stuff of cinematic fantasy, but yeah, “the game” is where my head would have been had the Mets of that era been the powerhouse that the Baltimore Colts had been in Diner’s. That’s where you indeed would have found my head in October of 1986, and October of 2000, and October of 2015. Priorities are priorities when a championship sits in your team’s grasp. Everything is different when your team is in it.

Just as it’s different when your team isn’t in it. You can go to the movies. You can go to the diner. You can think and talk about other things as well as nothing. You can also watch the ballgames your team isn’t in. Those can be classics, too.

***
“I think if we play tomorrow, we beat them,” Blue Jays pitcher Kevin Gausman assessed to reporters following Game Seven of the World Series, per Mitch Bannon of The Athletic. “But we’re not playing them tomorrow.”

No, Kevin, you were not. No Game Eight versus the Dodgers. No Game Nine. No games at all following Game Seven, the final satisfying course of a veritable Fall Classic feast, itself the last stage of an almost endless postseason bacchanalia of excitement and emotion blissfully free of ghost runners, even for those of us on the outside looking in. We should be filled up, yet we are never truly full when it comes to baseball. As the first utterly empty week of our lives in nearly three-quarters of a year has wound down, I’m not surprised I find myself continuing my emotional alliance with the likes of Gausman and, more widely, Blue Jays fans, regardless that I don’t know any. At my most directly invested, I’ve been Linus sitting on the curb beside Charlie Brown as Charlie Brown cries into the void, “Why couldn’t Kiner-Falefa have taken a secondary lead just two feet further?” I don’t know, Ontario version of Charlie Brown, but I feel ya and I hope, despite the outcome, that what transpired for Toronto across October of 2025 stays with you more as fun than torture.

I could have mentally aligned with the come-from-behind winners, but none of my internal affinity developed in the Dodgers’ direction. Respect and grudging admiration? Sure, why not? Of course the Dodgers are the world champions again. They’re the Dodgers. It’s been their world for a while. They might as well keep the title to confirm ownership. Preordainment didn’t demand they win it all, but the element of surprise has only so many tricks up its sleeve. The Dodgers embody abundance. There’s just so much of them. You get past the megastars, there are superstars. You get past the superstars, there are stars. You get past the stars, there are studs and stalwarts and substitutes who inevitably find a way to come through. You rarely get past all that, though if you do, you might bump into a living legend who is now consigned to the status of museum piece, except when he enters in the top of the twelfth to extricate his team from a bases-loaded jam. The instinct when the Dodgers come to work will always be to bet the over, even if it only seems like they always win.

Thirteen consecutive postseason appearances.
Gotta be more.

Five pennants in nine years.
Seems light.

Three of the past six world championships.
That’s it?

The most vital counting stat is the Los Angeles Dodgers of 2024 and 2025 are the most recent team to have won consecutive World Series, ensuring reflexive references to the team that repeated as world champion in 2000 will be reduced dramatically during future postseasons.

October is crammed with contemporary components that can shake out in any direction. Or they can just pour straight from of the sack in predictable fashion. Twelve teams go into the mix at September’s end. Eight have to play off to become four, with those four playing the four who sit and wait. From there, we have four, then two, then, at last, one. Anything can happen. It is designed so anything can happen, or so that fans can believe anything will happen. Two years ago, though it seems far more ancient now, the postseason process yielded the five-seed Texas Rangers defeating the six-seed Arizona Diamondbacks in baseball’s final round, concrete evidence that randomness can occasionally rule October.

This year, like last year, these Dodgers happened. When these Dodgers happen, apparently nothing can stand in their way.

Los Angeles, as if to present itself a challenge, accepted as roundabout a route as a 93-win team could receive. A Wild Card Series, in which they flicked the Reds — briefly occupying the presumed Met slot — aside in two games. Ceding all-important home field advantage for the rest of their run, L.A. strung along the Phillies until eliminating them in four during the National League Division Series (with Philadelphia assisting by essentially eliminating themselves at the conclusion of the final game), then whooshed by the senior circuit’s nominal top team, the Milwaukee Brewers, in a sweep. Each of those NLCS contests left behind a close score, but in the mind’s eye, it was a big blue stampede.

The series that decided the pennant was when I gave up on hating the Dodgers. I still don’t particularly care for them, mind you, but I had my Utley-stemmed animosity reduced to a shrug emoji. I liked the way the Dodgers pitched their way past the Brewers, which was with starters staying in as if that’s what their job description entailed. It was refreshing to experience, regardless of who was doing it.

The effort that pushed the Dodgers over the top, a predictable destination for a franchise whose logo could be a cornucopia, was that of Shohei Ohtani as pitcher and hitter in Game Four, the Friday night he struck out ten and homered thrice. When he accomplished all that, it was immediately and universally proclaimed the greatest game any individual had ever put forth. Truthfully, you couldn’t compare Ohtani’s crowning glory to anybody else’s, because what he did was incredibly incomparable. The only downside to it is any game when he doesn’t strike out ten while homering thrice — like that eighteen-inning night he got on base nine times (four times via intentional walk) but didn’t bother to pitch — is bound to come off as a mild disappointment. The Dodgers, when they peak, have all the starting pitchers, most of the hitters, momentum as a default setting, and drip relevant history. In Ohtani, they’ve combined the lot of it.

The shock-surprise quotient, in which one is shocked but not surprised, barely applies to Shohei. That he does everything he does is neither shocking nor surprising, never mind that nobody else does what he does. The Dodgers returning to the World Series was about as unsurprising as a postseason step could be. Yet when you delved into the details…nope, it was pretty much what you might have figured.

Would have one figured on the Blue Jays alighting to meet them? At the outset of the postseason, not necessarily. Who the hell knows what goes on over in the other league? Yet after the Jays did humanity a solid and dispatched the Yankees, they deserved closer consideration. As they clashed with Seattle, their possibilities were undeniable. For a spell, however, it was the Mariners’ year, much as it was the Brewers’ year when the year was no further along than August. Baseball years can be hot potatoes as they progress. The M’s had the Big Dumper and J-Rod and intoxicating charisma you hang a temporary hat on. The M’s had that cheek that had never been kissed by a date in the World Series. The M’s withstood a fifteen-inning breathholding contest versus Detroit just to advance to the ALCS, back when fifteen innings seemed like a lot. The wind was at the back of the Mariners clear to the nights it reversed course inside Rogers Centre, and suddenly, it was the streets of downtown Toronto, rather than the streets of Seattle, filled with revelers.

So we who dutifully tune into every World Series, even the Metless iterations, acquainted ourselves with the gamers, grinders, and second-generation Guerrero of the Jays, and we attempted to tease new storylines from their presence. The intensity of their extended moment in the postseason spotlight was so great that it took until Game Six, specifically the closeups of the outfield wall in Toronto when that ball got stuck at its base and morphed into a ground rule double, for me to recall where I knew that smoky blue with the powder blue trimming fence from. That was the fence Francisco Lindor homered beyond in September of 2024, that matinee when he broke up Bowden Francis’s no-hit bid in the top of the ninth of a game we absolutely had to have. From repeated viewings of Mets Classics, I’d recognize its distinct color scheme anywhere, yet I was so immersed in the Jays for the Jays’ sake, that the Mets of recent vintage had barely infiltrated my thoughts.

Flushing expats currently nesting north of the border needed to be processed on their newly Canadian terms. Chris Bassitt was now a gritty middle reliever rather than the starter who anchored our rotation for the bulk of 2022 until his shortcomings against Atlanta and San Diego weighed us down and helped sink us. Max Scherzer was back to being a citizen of October, not the ferocious fussbudget who engineered an escape from Queens in 2023. Andrés Giménez had long gotten used to hitting with runners in scoring position and with people in the stands, the latter of which he didn’t have the opportunity to do when he debuted with us amid the mandatory emptiness of 2020. I knew they’d been Mets once (just as I vaguely remembered backup catcher Tyler Heineman spending two months as a Paper Met in a the offseason spanning ’23 and ’24), but I didn’t see Metsiness in this World Series…save for a couple of AARRGGHH!!-inducing baserunning mishaps.

The Mets were a distant memory by the time this Series got going. Fine. I didn’t need to hear about them, not even in national-broadcast asides regarding our stars. Walks were worked out on full counts, and nobody invoked Juan Soto. Home runs went for long rides, and they weren’t deemed like something off the bat of Pete Alonso. By Game Three — the overnighter at Dodger Stadium that could have as easily played out in a clockless casino — the chat was limited to the actual participants. The Mets didn’t matter any less than the Mariners and the Brewers. Nothing mattered but the Dodgers and the Blue Jays. Give me a World Series that’s a World Series like this World Series, and eventually nothing else exists, just the two combatants and the prize for which they are vying down to the last heartbreaking swing. My first seven-game World Series was Pirates-Orioles in 1971. I was eight years old. I understood it transcended my standard parochial concerns. I rooted for the Pirates for a week like I’d usually rooted for the Mets. It helps to pick a side. The Orioles, like the Dodgers of now, were a little too familiar. I didn’t know the line about familiarity breeding contempt when I was eight, but I intrinsically got it.

The Dodgers were always going to represent the team we knew in this World Series. The Jays took on the role of the fresh face. Not as fresh as the Mariners would have been to the biggest stage, but fresh enough. Their World Series experience from 1992 and 1993 wasn’t salient to their modern-day endeavors except that the image of Joe Carter touching ’em all (he’d never hit a bigger home run in his life) remained accessible in our collective subconscious. Understanding Toronto had captured a pair of Big Ones in living memory — and noticing that Toronto is a large city and the Blue Jays have a large payroll — reduced the temptation to cast the AL champs as the scruffy upstarts in all this…even if against the Dodgers, almost anybody would be.

At the core of the World Series, we had the team that took out the Phillies versus the team that eliminated the Yankees. We were already blessed, regardless of outcome.

If you engaged with it, especially if you stayed awake for the marathon portions of it, this World Series evaded easy narratives. Once a handle was had on it, the handle grew slippery. When the Jays took a three-two lead, I read an article positing that if not of Yoshinobu Yamamoto throwing a complete game in Game Two and Ohtani producing so much offense in Game Three, the Series might be over. Uh-huh. And had the Jays kept missing their team bus, the Dodgers would have swept. There was no need to rush to conclusions. At various points, this World Series clearly belonged to the Dodgers, the Blue Jays, the Dodgers, the Blue Jays, and back and forth several times per night. I’d like to think the World Series belonged to everybody.

The Commissioner’s Trophy wound up in the Dodgers’ hands, once they prevented Games Six and Seven from landing in the Blue Jays’ mitts, with the Jays doing just enough to not wrap it within. The end result left me in mind of the 1975 World Series, when I rooted hard for the Red Sox, who fell to the Reds, and I couldn’t argue that the Reds hadn’t earned it, but I swore both teams not only could have won it, but should have won it. The 1982 World Series between the Brewers and Cardinals returned to my consciousness, too, probably because it followed the same trajectory of one team winning Games One, Four, and Five, and the other team (the one I was rooting against) winning Games Two, Three, Six, and Seven. Nobody in the 2025 World Series ever trailed by two games. No stubborn the home/road team has won every game pattern emerged. It always felt up for grabs. It felt, in some intangible manner, like a real World Series, the way snowstorms when you were a kid remain the snowstorms you still remember deeply. I don’t need two feet piling up outside in the months ahead. I’ll always take seven games to decide the world championship. In the wake of what we just experienced, all those World Series that went four, five (except for 1969, of course), or six games suddenly seem inauthentic. After seven games, particularly seven games like 2025’s, my inclination would be to give everybody a parade, sanction everybody to hoist nothing less than a WE WERE PART OF SOMETHING SPECIAL banner. One winner coronated, perhaps, but no losers detected. Hosannas all around.

My pro-Jays lean wasn’t as anti-Dodgers as I would have suspected. Maybe for the first time I truly understood why impressionable youngsters through the ages have gravitated to the overbearingly dynastic. The team you attach yourself to is relentlessly impressive, and rolling in their retinue becomes as rewarding as it is easy. Unwillingly witnessing what the Yankees were doing under Joe Torre in 1998 made me think this must be what it was like when Joe McCarthy was pushing buttons in 1938, or when Casey Stengel’s doublespeak c. 1958 was merely a sideshow rather than his main event. The Dodgers of Dave Roberts are in that territory. I can totally understand if soulless children, presuming baseball is on that demographic’s radar, gravitate to this franchise. The Dodgers have the biggest names. The Dodgers win a lot. If you came along within the past two years, the Dodgers win all the time. If you watched only this World Series, they never lost a razor-close game.

Like the 1960 Pirates, the 2025 Dodgers were outscored overall across seven games. Like the 1960 Pirates (Hal Smith and Bill Mazeroski), the 2025 Dodgers made hay out of a pair of home runs (Max Muncy and Miguel Rojas) hit in the eighth and ninth innings of the seventh game…then topped all that with an eleventh-inning home run (Will Smith) to capture the lead they never surrendered. The 1960 Pirates were a historic underdog, to Stengel’s last Yankees team. The 2025 Dodgers were the personification of an overcat, but didn’t scat when they were compelled to make comebacks. It helps to have resources. It’s even better when you can put them to good use.

The Dodgers always seem to know what they’re doing and how to do it. Then they do it. No wonder Steve Cohen five years ago mentioned wanting the Mets to grow up to be just like them within what were then the next five years. Hasn’t happened yet. Next year, perhaps. Always next year. Always perhaps. You can’t ask for more in November.

A Night in the Huckle Rabbit Hole

Offseason’s greetings everyone!

Hope you enjoyed the World Series, and aren’t too anxious yet about who will be next to employ Pete Alonso, Edwin Diaz or both. There’ll be time for that, promise.

Jason holding a custom card of Wilbur HuckleFor now, something to fill an hour very pleasantly: Welcome, Josh Levin, to the Wilbur Huckle Appreciation Society!

Twelve years ago — the night Dom Smith got drafted, as it happened — I wrote a little post about early Mets farmhand Wilbur Huckle, a pair of strange campaign buttons I’d run across, and the unlikely story of a cult hero who never quite got the call.

Levin found a Huckle button in a Kensington, Md., antique store, and had a lot of the same questions I did. But unlike me, he answered them — and those answers add up to a fascinating tour through American pop culture, political theater, and of course Mets history. Before you come out of the Huckle rabbit hole, you’ll have heard from Ron Swoboda, Rod Gaspar and from Huckle himself — who may never have been an official big-league ballplayer but sounds like he’s lived a pretty wonderful life.

This is the inaugural episode of Levin’s new podcast series Replay Booth, and if the premiere is any indication, we’re all in for a treat. To which I’ll add my own little afterword: A while back, using an old Topps photo unearthed and shared by Keith Olbermann, I made a custom ’65 Huckle. (Which of course recognizes his Metropolitan Party candidacy in the back bio.)

It’s not a card that ever existed, just one that should have.

 

Expansion Clubs of a Feather

Symptomatic of the proliferation of Interleague scheduling, the Mets opened their home season against the Toronto Blue Jays this past April, winning three straight. It was fun in the moment, even if the moment didn’t portend anything special for the 2025 Mets in the long run. It also didn’t indicate there were any obstacles the Blue Jays couldn’t overcome as necessary in New York. Slightly more than six months later, the Jays returned to the city needing to win at least one game to close out somebody else’s postseason, and that they did.

As a result, Elimination Day is in full effect…as if the bright sunshine casting a glow about the New York Metropolitan Area this lovely morning didn’t reveal that a festive annual occasion was underway. The Jays ousted the Yankees, 5-2, in the fourth and final game of their ALDS Wednesday night, and with that joyous piece of business taken care of, the playoffs can continue glorious and free without threat of a municipal nuisance parade. The current autumn included, New York has now avoided MNPs for 24 of the past 25 falls, so on this one very specific count, you’d have to say it’s been a pretty decent quarter-century.

Whatever we contributed to the Blue Jays’ cause by preparing them in April to return to town better equipped in October we were happy to provide. For that matter, we can be proud that we helped the Jays take flight on March 11, 1977, visiting Dunedin for Toronto’s very first Spring Training game. The Mets were thoughtful opponents that Friday afternoon, bowing to their new Florida Suncoast neighbors, 3-1. As you can imagine, the exhibition counted a lot more in the minds of the upstart expansioneers than it did for the blasé veteran assemblage that had bused over from St. Pete. For that one day, the head start on life the Mets enjoyed over the Blue Jays didn’t count at all.

Toronto GM Peter Bavasi: “How can a club two-and-a-half hours old beat an established club sixteen years old?”

Rookie Blue Jays first baseman Doug Ault: “We came out here today to win. We have a lot of young players here who are really hungry.”

Mets starting pitcher Jerry Koosman: “I’ve only heard of three guys on their team.”

The largely unknown Jays migrated to their regular season pretty much as expected, going 54-107 and finishing last. But they were on the major league map, even if they remained stuck in the AL East basement for a half-dozen seasons. They didn’t begin to peek out from down below until 1983, a year before Koosman’s old club — which had descended down the stairs itself in ’77 — emerged from a lengthy hibernation. By the mid-1980s, the forlorn Jays and Mets of yore had evolved into baseball powerhouses, and nobody asked to see their birth certificates. The Mets won a World Series in 1986. The Blue Jays won two, in 1992 and 1993. In between, we loaned them Mookie Wilson and Lee Mazzilli. After both franchises had sunk from contention, the Jays reciprocated by sending us John Olerud.

How it started.

We’ve shared more than a little cross-pollination across the decades. Perhaps my favorite repository of Immaculate Grid arcana resides within the composition of the 1981 Toronto Blue Jays pitching staff. The Jays used fourteen pitchers in that strike-shortened season, and nearly half of them had been Mets:

Juan Berenguer
Mark Bomback
Nino Espinosa
Roy Lee Jackson
Dale Murray
Jackson Todd

Toronto’s decision to scoop up arms the Mets had given up on during this era might explain why the Jays took a while to become competitive, but the link between the franchises went back even further. Coaching Blue Jays pitchers during their very first Spring was none other than Original Met Bob L. Miller, the same Bob L. Miller who went 1-12 for us in 1962. “This has brought back old memories,” the Bob Miller who wasn’t the other Bob Miller told Joe Donnelly of Newsday. “Just walking around and seeing guys introduce themselves to each other reminds you what it was like.” Miller correctly predicted his 1977 Jays, despite their youth and relative anonymity, would exceed the victory total posted by the initial 40-120 Met edition, which boasted its share of recognizable names from seasons gone by, if not a lot left in their collective tank. “There are so many more ballclubs now,” Bob assessed. “The talent has to have thinned out.”

How it’s going.

Forty-eight years later, there are four more ballclubs, and eight more teams make the playoffs than was the case in 1977. The Jays were one of them in 2025. They are the only one thus far to have guaranteed themselves a spot in the League Championship Series round. One of their positional mainstays is a former Met, Andrés Giménez, and two former Met pitchers, Max Scherzer and Chris Bassitt, helped them pluck a division title. A few other recent Mets wore Toronto garb in the course of the season, none of whom it’s likely Jerry Koosman has heard of, even if he’s paying close attention these days. The Jays have enough famous stars at the top of their game, and their next game will be the first of those that will determine whether they will appear in the upcoming World Series.

That’s a World Series that won’t take place in New York, which would have sounded like a bummer to us in early April, but today seems just fine.

Metsless October

The first week without Mets was predictably bumpy. The first week usually is, because life’s essential rhythm has been massively disrupted. There goes early evening’s certainty. There goes first pitch at 7:10. This year, there went the playoffs. Playoff time is already disruptive vis-à-vis established rhythms, because games start whenever TV says they start, and they’re not aired where you’re used to finding them, but you’ll accept the little differences in exchange for the gratification they bring. It’s the playoffs. It’s all about the little differences. October is the Royale with Cheese of baseball.

But these 2025 playoffs commenced sans Mets. Some Octobers that’s not even an adjustment. This didn’t start as one of those Octobers, not after the Mets hovered in a playoff spot for months on end, yet landed adjacent to the playoffs as afterthoughts rather than squarely in them as participants. All things being equal, you’d rather grind down to the 162nd game with a chance to go further than peter out well ahead of the end of the season — yet when you know for a while you’re not going anywhere, you can skip the part where you can’t believe you don’t have playoff baseball of your own on which to obsess, and just focus on not having any baseball of your own on which to obsess.

I’d see the brackets MLB and its broadcast partners posted on social media, and the Reds logo glared out at me from its little 6-seed corner. That’s where a Mets logo had been tacked to the virtual posterboard most of September. Why didn’t we use stickier tape to keep it attached? Honestly, being officially informed the Reds would be playing the Dodgers was a little insulting. You’re going to hold your party without us? Don’t you remember us being the life of your party last year?

Seasons change. Feelings change. Last year’s party was so much of a blast, I barely needed to be coaxed out the door when it was time for us to go. It did occur to me that it’s never good form to leave before making the most out of a postseason appearance, and maybe I should have more deeply regretted our expulsion following the NLCS, but who expected us to appear in the first place? We’d be back the next time they held one of these shindigs, we could tell ourselves by December of 2024, and we’d appear from first place.

Well, none of that happened. First place got away, and that last Wild Card got away, and I found myself peeking in on the Reds and Dodgers, the Dodgers immediately going about the kicking of the Reds’ asses, which made me feel both a little worse (“tell me we’d any less worthy an 83-win representative”) and a little better (“yeah, we probably weren’t going to beat L.A., anyway”). Soon enough, the playoff round the Mets weren’t quite unmediocre enough to qualify for was over, and the team that qualified ahead of them was out, too.

The League Division Series round — the one that still needs a better name — was on, and it still bugged me we weren’t involved. At least during Cincinnati’s short stay, ESPN’s announcers were obliged to mention the Reds were there because the Mets weren’t. One set later, we had faded further into the background. The Dodgers were still the Dodgers, and the Phillies were still the team that zipped past us by August. Anticipating Philadelphia’s first postseason game, I thought maybe seeing them still playing wouldn’t disgust me, for all the reasons I usually conceive for thinking I don’t innately hate the Phillies as much as I innately hate some other teams. Then I actually saw the Phillies, and I wondered what the hell I was thinking, because I really innately hate the sight of the Phlllies. I disdain the Dodgers, too, but they’re 3,000 miles away. The Phillies sit too close for rationalization.

Honestly, I don’t care for either of them (or very much for any National League team that gets to keep playing when we don’t), but on Saturday, when the Dodgers rallied from behind to stun Citizens Bank Park into delicious silence, I clapped not a little. Whatever happens the rest of the way, my anti-rooting interests in this quadrant of the postseason, the one the Mets would be in had they won one more stupid game, are clear.

Saturday evening was probably when the disappearance of the Mets resonated the deepest. I was preparing a turkey and avocado panini as I do virtually every Saturday evening, which from April through September usually means the Mets are on while I’m getting down to panini-ing. A lot of 4:10 starts at home, so the game is winding down by the time I’m messing around in the kitchen. Or maybe the Mets are on the road and just getting down to their own business. If they’re out west, I’m looking forward to whatever it is they’re about to do. This past Saturday evening, no Mets. The panini was satisfying, but it was missing something. I was missing something.

Sunday morning was different. I was out running a few errands and noticed somebody in a Mets shirt. I was wearing a Mets shirt, too. That other Mets fan was on a bike while I was driving my car, so he probably couldn’t see what I had on, and it didn’t seem worth the trouble of exchanging Let’s Go Metses, given that he needed to concentrate on his side of the road like I had to on mine. But I was thinking it was nice that although our shared team had gone down in fairly embarrassing fashion one week earlier, here we were, unashamed and unabashed in our clothing selection. There’ve been Octobers when I asked myself why the bleep I’m out repping this team of mine. Often it feels like courting grief, especially when another local team is still active. Three years ago, sometime after we were eliminated by San Diego, I had my Mets hoodie on and someone with whom I crossed paths offered me his LGM simpatico. I think my reaction was a polite version of “yeah, but they suck.”

That was 2022, which granted us postseason baseball, which was a blessing that morphed into a curse. When it was over, it wasn’t like 2024. I was one big walking recrimination that autumn, incapable of imagining I was going to dive soulfirst into another Mets season when Spring rolled around. Guess what happened: Spring rolled around and I rolled with it. Sometimes it defies belief you’re going to ramp up anew, but there you are, ramped and believing, having compartmentalized whatever made you miserable last fall.

Nice guys finish seventh on a tiebreaker.

Pressure may be a privilege, but on the morning after the first games of the LDS round, out on those errands, I realized that if the Mets were in playoff mode, I totally would have tooted my horn at that bicyclist, and we’d have given each other the thumbs up rather than some other finger. Yet before I could begin to miss the Mets and miss the Mets being in the playoffs, I thought about that churning I get in my stomach when the Mets are immersed in postseason play, and I realized, to my surprise, that I didn’t miss that part of an orange-and-blue October at all. I’d gladly give my postseason acids over to a Mets team that deserved them. This one didn’t.

I continue on as a Mets fan, as we all do, even if they are irrevocably idle. I like being reminded I am a Mets fan. I put on that shirt voluntarily Sunday rather than stuffing it back in the drawer from whence it emerged. When I thought I was done unpacking my groceries a bit past noon, the trunk wasn’t slammed shut a second when I said, “I think I left one soda in there.” My wife responded, “Did you just say you left Juan Soto in there?”

“What would Juan Soto being doing in our trunk?”

That exchange made me smile on contact. Being reminded the Mets still exist makes me smile in October when the only evidence we have of them are euphemistic personnel announcements and quick explainers from national voices who wish to clarify why exactly it’s the Reds who are getting stomped by the Dodgers. No game yesterday and no game today? Not ideal, but no antacids required. Sunday afternoon, I had the Giants losing to the Saints, with glimpses of the Jets losing to the Cowboys, and I was sports-sated if not particularly jubilant. Sunday night, I settled in with the Mariners and Tigers in the one ALDS I can bear to watch (I know the other one is going swimmingly, but my tuning into it strikes me as a no-win situation) and, for whatever reason, I looked something up on the 2025 Mets’ Baseball-Reference page. There they were again, in all their statistical glory or lack thereof, all of those 2025 Mets whose cause had been my cause for six months, right up to one week earlier. Not only the name-brand Mets who’ve bubbled up in my head during the past week, like One Soda, but the ones who had ceased occurring to me on a daily or hourly basis the way they do when I know there’s gonna be a 7:10 first pitch, or some final pitches as the panini hour beckons.

I skimmed their names, remembered how they performed, and I didn’t smile, not until I realized I was quite content to no longer be watching them or considering them in any kind of depth. I still love the institution, the entity, the overall progress I believe the franchise has made from where they were prior to current ownership, the genuine sense that things will sooner or later end in a less disappointing manner. But the 2025 Mets I had lately spent so much time dwelling on were now the 2025 Mets I was delighted to have moved on from. I didn’t hate any of the players whose names I skimmed, merely how they played as a unit. I will hope that can be corrected in 2026. The playoffs of the moment can be the playoffs in the Mets’ absence. Next year can be next year when the Mets are present, and I plan to be right there with them. This October, I can live just fine Metslessly.

Not that I have a choice on the Metslessness. It’s the coping that’s optional.

Sometimes You See the Dismissal

To paraphrase Henry Blake attempting to console Hawkeye Pierce in “Sometimes You Hear the Bullet,” the early episode of M*A*S*H in which Hawkeye grapples with the combat death of an old friend, there are certain rules about a baseball season that doesn’t meet its high expectations.

Rule number one is coaches get tossed aside.

Rule number two is you probably have no real idea whether those coaches deserve to get tossed aside.

But aside they are tossed, nonetheless. Having concluded that a third year of Carlos Mendoza managing remains more promising than his second year of managing could be determined culpable for not meeting high expectations, David Stearns and whoever David Stearns takes counsel from decided something had to be done. Or somebody had to be done in.

As postseason prepared to resume in eight MLB outposts, euphemism season was underway on Friday in Flushing, from whence it was communicated that four coaches “will not return in 2026”; one “has resigned”; one “has announced his retirement”; two “have been given permission to speak to other teams”; and three “have been invited back for the 2026 season”.

Euphemism season gets underway.

My first reaction to so much staff deletion was, “The 2025 Mets, who repeatedly appeared to play as if they had not been coached on how to respond to myriad game situations, had eleven coaches?”

My second was, “I’m sorry for however many of those guys who were just doing what they’ve always done, and it worked in the past, but now it didn’t, and they likely didn’t get any less capable in the season that did not meet high expectations, but trying to make work anew what didn’t work just now probably wasn’t gonna work next year, so, y’know…good luck, fellas.”

A season like that which the entire Mets organization just executed until it had no life left in it calls into question whether anyone in or out of uniform who was tasked with helping the Mets win baseball games knew what they’re doing, and if they did, why didn’t they do it? Being a fan rather than a person for a moment, fine, get rid of pretty much everybody. Reasonable exceptions immediately start being made within such thinking, of course, but being reasonable is hardly a fan’s primary impulse when a fan is still mildly shocked (which is not to say at all surprised) that he is not looking forward to watching Game One of the NLDS with a tangible rooting interest.

The best argument for Mendoza — and maybe Stearns — to return is turnover fatigue. I know I’m tired of looking for new and brilliant leadership every two years. Also, they were the guys who guided us up the mountaintop a year ago. Did they suddenly get less capable? Could be. How do we know it wasn’t Mendy and Stearnsie who weren’t holding back the genius of Jeremy Hefner, Eric Chavez, Jeremy Barnes, and Mike Sarbaugh, the four coaches who were tagged with the “will not return” label? Maybe Glenn Sherlock needed to be talked out of retirement, and John Gibbons’s resignation should not have been accepted, and instead of providing permission to Desi Druschel and Jose Rosado to speak to other teams, they should be the ones to build the next brain trust around.

As is, three Met coaches — Antoan Richardson, Danny Barnes, and Rafael Fernandez — have been asked to maintain their positions. Thanks to the Mets’ lopsided base-stealing to caught-stealing ratio, particularly that of lethally efficient Juan Soto, we can safely infer Richardson is a baserunning instructor savant. If he wishes to fashion himself a Tom Emanski sideline and record a video in which he shares his secrets for getting from first to second, I don’t doubt Soto would endorse it at a discount. I have no idea what the other two guys do, but I’m willing to believe they’re filling their respective euphemistic roles (strategy coach and coaching assistant) professionally.

Most of Met pitching went down the tubes in 2025, so there went pitching coach Hefner, hailed perennially as really good at what he did until the results weren’t there. Chavez and J. Barnes had been deemed keepers before the collective lack of hitting when the Mets really needed some overwhelmed their accumulated goodwill and credentials. Sarbaugh waved many runners home successfully, stopped some others too soon. Sherlock’s catching wisdom got through to Francisco Alvarez and Luis Torrens often, if not always, assuming the catchers took their cues from their coach. Gibby was up on his feet and calling the video replay coordinator after every close play. The Mets won a lot of those challenges.

This is all very round and round. I watched games that got lost and went to bed implicitly unimpressed with the coaching, but not really pinning the losses on faulty instruction. Games that got won? Well, the Mets were supposed to win those games and more games besides. When the Ws flashed from the Citi Field light towers, I knew who got the big hit or strikeout. I didn’t dwell on what might have been suggested by who to get the most out of that critical swing or pitch. Coaches in baseball exist as our idealized umpires do. When you don’t think about them, they’re probably doing a decent job.

Next year, balls and strikes will be confirmed via computerization. Coaches, however, will continue to be nothing but people until further notice. I’ll usually feel bad for people who no longer have their jobs if I don’t have any solid reason to be happy they’ve been dismissed. I’d be happiest of all if Met coaching was still going on this month, whoever was doing it.