Ajar Is As Far As Where We Are

I packed an asterisk and a caveat as I set out for my 27th consecutive Closing Day. Unlike water bottles whose caps aren’t fully sealed, security waved them right through.

A rain delay nudged Closing Day into Closing Night. Closing Night closed only so much. The door to Citi Field and the Mets’ ultimate 2022 fortunes was left ajar. Really, that’s the ideal scenario after 81 home games and 162 games overall. Management won’t instruct maintenance to shut our ballpark tight for at least a few more games, hopefully not for several weeks. But the regular season is the regular season, an immersive journey we all anticipate as soon as the last one ends. This one, per usual, grew into our everyday obsession. We lived in it. Then, as ever, it prepared to end.

That end is always worth acknowledging. Dating back to 1995 and winding through every year that fans are welcome on the premises, I actively acknowledge it by attending the final home game on the schedule, original or revised. In 2022, the schedule was revised by The Lockout. Closing Day was initially intended to be Closing Night, and it was supposed to have happened last Wednesday against Miami, before Atlanta (when we were all so much younger and more innocent). These final three games against Washington were March and April refugees, tacked onto the last squares of the grid to make sure every last inning got played. Hence, Game 162 experienced a couple of changes of lives. It was no longer an early-season affair and it was no longer life and death. Games 157, 158 and 159 more or less saw to that.

Did I care that Game 162 was almost a formality? Do I ever let my care fall prey to priorities? Would I show up on 27 consecutive non-pandemic Closing Days if I did? My streak commenced to crawling when I crossed my fingers that the 1995 Mets would finish on a relative high of 69-75 (they’d been 35-57); resigned myself to the 1996 Mets whimpering into winter at 71-91; and cried actual tears of joy that the 1997 Mets were reaching 88-74. None of those Closing Days left any doors ajar.

A game that started as Wednesday night’s did, with a record of 100-61 while providing a conduit to a genuine postseason series, was certainly no less inviting than its 26 predecessors, regardless that the lunge for 101-61 would gain us not another inch of ground in a race for seeding nor a glitzier array of officially licensed merch. The two-seed and the five days of rest and revival accompanying it were out of our grasp. The t-shirts designed to stoke our impulse purchases would never say 2022 DIVISION CHAMPIONS. Overarching squad goals weren’t what this Closing Night would be about. Just the end of the long grind and a bit of a glimpse at the hard sprint ahead.

And a threat of rain. Rain threatened this game like this game had lunch money jingling a little too loudly in its hip pocket on its way to biology class. Rain proved to be nothing more than a bully. Show a little spine, and the rain would get lost, leaving only a delay in its wake. More delay than rain is what fell over Flushing. I swear, it rained for like three minutes at Citi Field a little ahead of what was supposed to be 4:10 first pitch, but the mere threat of rain made those empowered to order a tarp removed quake in their galoshes.

So we waited and we stared at the tarp. The Mets didn’t give us anything else to stare at. The large video screens showed a Mets logo. Not highlights from the 100 wins of 2022. Not highlights from championship seasons past. Not even Freddie Freeman at-bats for those tracking the dropped-from-the-sky duel for the National League batting title in which Jeff McNeil had charged from behind like a maniac while Freeman didn’t do anything wrong, he just couldn’t withstand McNeil’s pace (gee, sound like any two teams you know?).

The Mets didn’t utilize their superb video technology to show any of that. But that logo of theirs was plenty sharp.

I managed to entertain myself for a while during the delay. I grabbed a few distant photos of the recently extended set of retired numbers. When I saw 24 with my very own eyes, I actually smiled; I’ll never not smile that the Mets honored Willie Mays. When I spied a short Shake Shack line, I chose to indulge. Thirteen games at Citi Field this season, not one Shackburger devoured. I cradled bun and beef, protecting it from the three minutes of rain, until I reached a community eating table on the Excelsior level (access to covered seating was another Closing Day indulgence of mine) and savored the very first bite. Then the second. Then the others. Usually at the ballpark, I wolf down food without realizing it. I don’t have any more ballpark meals planned for a while. I really wanted this one to last. I treated a Fan Appreciation Day $5 hot dog with similar reverence.

The portion of the crowd that seated itself during the delay finally got to greet its heroes: the grounds crew. They wore orange and blue and they were taking the field. That was good enough for us to adopt them as our favorite team and applaud them vigorously. It was decided by somebody somewhere that the bone-dry tarp could be lifted. The Citi Field A/V squad sprung into action, too. “Thunderstruck” as the tarp was tackled; “Roll With It” as the tarp was rolled; “Push It” as the tarp was pushed. CitiVision should have shown grounds crew highlights from previous delays. They’re good.

A little prior to six o’clock, there was a ceremonial first pitch. A bit closer to six o’clock, there was a second ceremonial first pitch. And with six o’clock fast approaching, there was a third ceremonial first pitch. Since they were all ceremonial, we’ll let their eerily similar numerical designations slide.

The fourth first pitch was delivered by Mychal Givens, who’d been gone so long, Buck Showalter apparently forgot that Givens is a reliever rather than a starter. Or, more likely, the skipper figured an inning as an opener was good practice for whatever Mychal might contribute in the days ahead now that he’s recovered from his secret IL ailment. The theme of Closing Day turned Closing Night seemed to be “why not?” The Mets fielded a lineup with approximately three regulars, a lineup emblematic of a team going nowhere most years or a team going somewhere and not wanting to risk too many of its essential components en route this year. You could have imagined this being the Met lineup the day after a division-clincher. Maybe you did and tried to imagine something else.

Givens gave Buck the inning he needed to see. Trevor Williams, the projected starter as of 1 o’clock (Showalter’s personnel decisions may as well be troop movements disseminated purely on a need-to-know basis), would take over in the second, but before he’d ceremoniously throw his first pitch, he’d be treated to a lead a starter or even a bulk guy dreams of, courtesy of Mark Canha’s three-run homer inside the left field fair pole; of course it’s the fair pole, it’s a FAIR ball! After Williams had pitched one inning, Francisco Lindor’s three-run double doubled Trevor’s lead. In the bottom of the third, pseudo-regular James McCann, subbing at first base, belted a three-run home run of his own, sending marine biologists who were convinced that if McCann fell out of a boat he wouldn’t hit water back to their labs to adjust their heretofore flawless predictive models.

Just like that, the New York Mets led the Washington Nationals, 9-0. Starter Erick Fedde gave up all nine runs, all earned, the last three to a barely platooning catcher who entered the day batting .182. Fedde was left in to face Terrance Gore, the pinch-runner moonlighting as Game 162’s center fielder. Gore ripped a single to left for his first base hit since literally 2019. That was the bridge too far for Nats manager Davey Martinez. He removed Fedde from the mound. I wished he’d left him there, not so much so the Mets could run up the score some more Wednesday, but so maybe Bob Melvin would draft him to pitch for the Padres Friday night.

If you collected baseball cards in 1974, you know some San Diego players were rebranded members of WASHINGTON “NAT’L LEA.” just in case the Padres followed through on their threat of moving east, a threat that proved as genuine as that which the rain posed to Citi Field Wednesday. In light of that tenuous San Diego-Washington connection, I’m suggesting there would be precedent for Erik Fedde to pitch Game One of the Wild Card series instead of letting Yu Darvish take aim at the Mets.

C’mon, Rob Manfred. Use your “best interests of baseball” authority for something more than tacitly endorsing sponsorships centered on guys making bets on their phones while reigning on their thrones.

A 9-0 lead, even when it became 9-2 somewhere along the way, facilitated flights of fancy. It also carved out an interlude to announce that Freddie Freeman (.325) did not collect enough base hits in Los Angeles to overtake the idle Jeff McNeil (.326). Buck sat Squirrel for his own good. Squirrel stood up long enough for a well-deserved curtain call. We don’t get batting champions every day. When we do, they’ve been known to scoot away before we can get a good look at them.

Williams went six. McNeil entered for defense. Lindor exited to applause after giving 161 games of himself. Francisco Alvarez and Mark Vientos functioned as real major leaguers in the field rather than mono-skilled curiosities. Those fans not seated in Field Level were invited to sit in Field Level. I was quite comfortable in Excelsior (grander name), but many among the not many in attendance took the Mets up on their reasonable offer. Pre-Steve Cohen, even looking at a Field Level seat without a Field Level ticket— regardless of how many empty Field Level seats looked back at you — was grounds for Citi Field dismissal. Maybe policies are loosening up. Maybe somebody noticed it was Fan Appreciation Day and thought it might be nice to appreciate the fans who withstood the two-hour rainless delay.

With Trevor May and Joely Rodriguez brushing aside the last of the modern-day “WASHINGTON NAT’L LEA.”, the Mets posted a 9-2 victory, concluding their schedule at 101-61. Only the 1986 Mets won more regular-season games in franchise history. This is stated as a point of fact, by no means intended to persuade you of the merits of a 101-61 team that finished tied for first in its division if you glance at the standings very quickly and don’t take a magnifying glass to the agate type that denotes the other team that finished tied for first is technically considered division champion. Heavens, no. The 2022 Mets were the worst 101-61 team in the National League East during the 162-game regular season. Keep telling yourself that to make certain you never feel any better about the entirety of the past six months.

Of course that regular season and those six months are now over. I saw its ending for myself. Asterisks and caveats aside, it percolated with good vibes. Personally, I reveled in having just witnessed my 300th regular-season home game at Citi Field, one that raised “my” 2022 record to 10-3, accounting for the best winning percentage (.769) the Mets and I have joined forces on in any year I’ve attended more than two games. The only thing this Closing Night was missing was a true sense of finality. This time of year, I deeply value finality.

But I prefer impending playoffs far more.

The window has closed on the 2022 regular season. But the door has opened on the 2022 postseason. Enter that intriguing portal by listening to the latest episode of National League Town.