It’s a measure of how spoiled we’ve been: Jacob deGrom [1] looks mortal (and for a second start in a row, no less) and we’re all scratching our heads as if God has repealed physics and things are falling up and sticking to ceilings.
DeGrom was better than he was in his confoundingly disastrous Oakland start, and he seemed to find his way in the middle innings, regaining control of the back-foot slider that had been annoyingly AWOL and looking more himself before a blood blister ended his night a little early. (Let’s not worry about that last part until it’s obvious we have to.) But he was still mortal, surrendering consecutive homers to Austin Riley [2] and Matt Olson [3] on pitches left in the middle of the plate, which isn’t a wise strategy against any team and a particularly poor one against an aggressive, powerful lineup like Atlanta’s. (DeGrom surrendered a third homer to Dansby Swanson [4], but that one was more cap tip than head shake, as it came on a change-up low in the strike zone that Swanson simply went down and got.)
That’s the analysis, but it’s missing the obvious context: Jake was facing the Braves with six games left to go and a division title in the balance, so “seemed to find his way in the middle innings” isn’t the headline. The headline is more like WOE! DOOM! @$#@*$@!!!!
The Mets lost, because deGrom wasn’t immortal and because Tylor Megill [5] made things worse and because their hitters were stymied by Max Fried [6] and a parade of Atlanta relievers. They made a little noise in the ninth, which either made you feel not better enough or added insult to injury, depending on your temperament. They lost and we’re now tied all over again. (It’s been noted before, but once again for posterity: The Mets really, really miss Starling Marte [7].)
The other storyline of the night was wunderkind Francisco Alvarez [8] being summoned from driving home after Syracuse’s season to take over righty DH duties, with Darin Ruf [9] put on the IL with a neck strain one suspects would prove elusive if investigated by a physician not employed by a baseball team. (Don’t miss Greg’s wonderful curtain-raiser [10] tying Alvarez to another player you’ve heard of.)
I’m always excited to see a Brooklyn Cyclone make the big leagues, but this debut arrived festooned with extra bunting: I was watching Alvarez and fellow Cyclone Brett Baty [11] ply their trade on Coney Island just last year, and they’re still very sharp in my memory. Alvarez in particular struck me when I was watching the Cyclones last summer: He plays with a joyous aggression and swagger that naturally draws your eye to him. (Plus he’s got really fast hands and sends balls a long way.)
Alvarez got frankly undressed in his final at-bat, undone by Kenley Jansen [12] cutters as many, many big leaguers of various tenures have been undone before him. But he looked like he belonged in his other three plate appearances, hitting balls hard though without positive outcomes and in general not seeming overawed by his new surroundings. And there was the sight of his parents in the stands: his Dad beaming but rigid with tension and obviously dying a little inside with every pitch, while his Mom was a portrait of the same emotions expressed in the opposite way, yelling encouragement out of the stands while holding an oversized ballpark can of Miller Lite. The sight of them made me applaud and laugh out loud, feeling lucky to witness a little down payment on all that lies ahead for their son.
The Mets lost a game we really, really didn’t want them to lose, and that was the stuff of muttering. (And a result that stung enough that I wanted to put a night’s sleep between me and it before this recap.) But stay off the well-worn Met fan ledge, folks: Tonight Max Scherzer [13] takes the mound. That would be the same Max Scherzer who would crawl across a mile of broken glass if it were between him and a win, and who knows perfectly well that he was paid an ocean liner full of money to take command of games exactly like tonight’s.
That’s no guarantee of anything — baseball doesn’t work that way — but if I could pick the scenario I want after losing that first game, it would be exactly the one that we’re getting. Trust in Max, keep hope alive, and maybe fortify yourself with an extra Miller Lite.