Tuesday night’s game against the Reds wasn’t the worst loss of the season, because by now it doesn’t particularly hurt to see the Mets hurl balls places where they don’t belong, or stare at enemy home runs, or struggle pathetically in the quicksand of their own misfortune. We’re all used to that by now; there are no superlatives left.
But if getting beat by 10 runs [1] and ending up with Kevin Plawecki on the mound again isn’t a low point, the definition of low point needs recalibration.
Chris Flexen was wretched. Chasen Bradford couldn’t get anybody out. And Wilmer Flores had a game to forget, making two ugly errors late and then ending an admittedly farcical ninth-inning rally by hitting into a double play.
Oh, and by getting their brains beaten in the Mets lost a chance to rewrite their team record books: they were trying to beat the Reds for the 15th straight game, which would have tied the club mark set against the pre-killer-B Pirates of the mid-1980s. By the time I realized that was a possibility, the line score was telling a different story.
Oh well.
So how do the Mets solve a problem like Wilmer? He’s proved he’s more than a platoon player, though as with Michael Conforto that was more a case of outlasting Terry Collins’ prejudices than anything else. He’s only 26 and if given a full season with regular playing time and good health will probably produce 25 to 30 homers and hit .275 for you.
That’s valuable, but Flores doesn’t supply major-league-caliber defense at any position open to him. He has slow feet, a scattershot arm and zero instincts.
I suppose this is the fun of baseball, at least when played without a designated hitter, which is to say properly: the Mets have to replace a lot of offense, but also need to support their starters with better defense. Wilmer doesn’t do both right now and at this point in his career it’s fair to ask if he ever will. So do the Mets tell him he’s the 2018 third baseman, work with him there and hope he can settle down and outhit his glove? Do they try the same thing at second? Or do they surrender and trade him to an American League team, knowing he may become a monster bat and get rubbed in their faces during every national telecast for the next decade?
Beyond such puzzles, if you were looking for excitement your best bet was to watch Zack Cozart and Asdrubal Cabrera play as if pleading to be airlifted out of their misery and installed at shortstop in Arizona before the stroke of midnight on September.
Dominic Smith collected two more hits. That’s something.
And hey, Plawecki got Joey Votto to ground out.