The Mets made it out of San Diego in one piece and first place. The 26 Mets who began the series with two aggravating losses were the 26 Mets who ended it with two energizing wins. Could these be the Mets we come to know and love for more than just a four-day Southern California getaway?
On days that copacetic is the rule rather than the goal, I grow attached to whoever’s filling those Met uniforms (a $50.00 fine to anybody who invokes Jerry Seinfeld and rooting for the laundry as if we all haven’t said it or heard it a thousand times). When Brandon Drury [1] turns a nifty 5-5-3 double play after diving, stopping a grounder, tagging third base with his glove and then throwing across the diamond, Brandon Drury is my third baseman. When Billy McKinney [2] distributes his base hits as if from a variety pack — at least one among doubles, triples and homers before bothering with singles — Billy McKinney is my right fielder. Jose Peraza [3], who gave Jacob deGrom all the offense Jake needed to notch a win on Saturday night [4], has been entrenched as my second baseman since he was passed the torch by I wanna say Doug Flynn. In the relative scheme of temp Mets, Jose Peraza is a veritable permanent fixture.
The bounty of emergency Mets you’d barely contemplated are making impressions and the handful of healthy Mets you counted on remembering are coming through, too. On Sunday, as the Mets completed their split with the Padres, Dom Smith [5] homered. That you expected before April. James McCann [6] homered, too. Not a shocking development from the vantage point of winter. You began to wonder during the arid weeks of a wet spring when the likes of Smith and McCann would get hot or even warm, but here they are. It’s an endorsement for patience. It’s also a caution against the impulse a person feels to call WFAN and suggest maybe Conforto shouldn’t get his job back if the Mets keep going good with McKinney in there or similar personnel strategy.
Let us enjoy who’s getting the job done for us while they’re getting the job done for us. Let us enjoy Marcus Stroman [7] on sunny Sundays when Marcus is frustrating the San Diego nine as he’s done to other outfits across the circuit thus far this season. A little trouble here, a little trouble there, adequate extrication from trouble, maybe one fielding play that could have made smoother (not too many tappers back to the mound wind up de facto infield triples), definitely one pitcher’s batting play that couldn’t have been more exciting at Petco Park unless Bartolo Colon was involved (Marcus with an RBI two-bagger like he’s Billy McKinney all of a sudden).
Why not be into these particular Mets? Gleaned from peeks into the dugout and postgame remarks, they’re sure into being these particular Mets, no matter the stresses and indignities and outside forces attempt to inflict upon their vibe. Stroman receives a verbal elbow to the ribs [8] from another team’s retrograde announcer because Stro needs to keep his hair in place under his cap? We won’t stand for it! And Stroman just keeps pitching. Kevin Pillar [9] is subject to nonsense [10] from fans of another team because Pill has to wear a protective shield over his surgically repaired face? We won’t stand for it! And Pillar just keeps hitting. We can’t help ourselves from making smart remarks every time another Travis Blankenhorn [11] is added to our roster? We’ll try to control ourselves. And Blank is one of 26 we lend our support without necessarily asking for it back when he’s done with it. The accessories are just details. The unfamiliarity melts away. We inevitably rally behind Our Guys, especially when Our Guys top those Tough Tatises with 6-2 ease [12].
Winning makes everybody lovable, but our Mets seem pretty likable even outside the box score. They don’t just play well in those uniforms. They feel right in them for now.