The problem when your team has given up double-digit runs in ten different games in a season that is only seventy games old — and five times in a month that still has ten days to go — is keeping track of which of those losses is the worst. It’s tough, I suppose, to top (or bottom) the 23-5 farce at the hands of the Nationals from April 30, the one that featured three Anthony Rendon [1] home runs, Kevin Plawecki [2]’s pitching debut and Noah Syndergaard [3]’s probable 2017 farewell. The lightning-quick burial of Tommy Milone [4] by the Angels in a 12-5 romp on May 21 also springs to mind. Oh, and what about the Mother’s Day Massacre in Milwaukee, wherein a 7-1 midgame Mets lead dissolved into a 11-9 loss to the Brewers? Personally, I retain a sore spot for that flaming pile of baseball.
The Mets can pack plenty of pain into a defeat that doesn’t tilt the scoreboard quite so dramatically. There was 7-5 to the Braves on April 27, when Yoenis Cespedes [5] strained a hamstring and Syndergaard turned down his employer’s gracious offer of an MRI. There was the afternoon of May 7, when Adam Wilk [6] came and went at Matt Harvey [7]’s inadvertent behest, leaving behind a 7-0 whitewashing by which to vaguely remember him. Way back when the Mets were a .500 ballclub, on May 10, you had the Mets carrying a 3-2 edge over the Giants into the ninth at home only to call it a day by losing, 6-5 — and then they lost the pitcher who lost the lead, Jeurys Familia [8], for the bulk of the year.
There was also a string of late and close losses to the Marlins in Miami that combined to tear out our then thick, luscious hair in the middle of April. And the wrong end of a three-game sweep in Arizona that ended with an eleventh-inning home run struck by a Diamondback (it doesn’t matter who anymore). And two consecutive nights playing down to and below the Padres. And the night Mr. Met’s finger pointed out how bad the Mets were. And the next afternoon when Mr. Met was proven correct yet again.
And so on.
You can see the problem. You’ve lived the problem. Your team, like mine, is 31-39, and you, like me, are moved to recall the exchange between manager and coach from Bull Durham [9] (revised to reflect our bush league entry’s current statistical circumstances):
“What’s our record, Larry?”
“Thirty-one and thirty-nine.”
“Thirty-one…and thirty-nine. How’d we ever win thirty-one?”
“It’s a miracle.”
“It’s a miracle.”
As Met miracles go, this realization is as sad as it gets, which is to say as sad as Tuesday night’s 12-0 loss in Los Angeles [10], which, in the moment, I was convinced was the absolute worst Mets loss of 2017. Perhaps it was the onset of the summer solstice that helped convince me. With the start being late and the night being short, it was literally darkest before the dawn. The literal dawn, that is. Met-aphorically, there seems little danger the darkness will be lifting anytime soon.
Upon further review, I realize the competition is too complex to bestow such a weighty title as Worst Mets Loss of the Year so cavalierly. Maybe the relentless clobbering of Robert Gsellman [11] & Co. at Dodger Stadium represents just another night at the ballpark. Maybe it embodied the new if depressing normal. After all, exactly a week before we lost, 14-3, and it barely registers within the realm of anything I’ve cited above. Yet as I was watching Dodger hit after Dodger hit; Dodger walk after Dodger walk; Dodger run after Dodger run; Dodger home run after Dodger home run; and Met after Met ceaselessly suck, I honestly couldn’t think of any 2017 Mets loss that was worse. Thus, I stand by my assertion.
Ninety-two games, however, remain scheduled. The committee to determine which Mets loss is worst this season shall remain open for nominations as necessary.
***
Much better news on the Mets front emerged Tuesday if you include news about Mets fans, and, as Mets fans, why wouldn’t we? Our dear friend Kevin Chapman went into the Hospital for Special Surgery and, contrary to popular belief where anything Metsian about that facility is concerned, he came out in one piece. With his shoulder socket expertly repaired (and his morale thoroughly supported by his loving wife Sharon), we look forward to his complete recovery and to seeing him — should the Mets miraculously cooperate — raise two good arms in victory real soon.