The Immaculate Interception

It’s one thing to proceed through an offseason confident that the Mets aren’t “out” on any free agent in whom they have legitimate interest. It’s a different thing from the days of “we signed a hitter, so we probably have to scrounge for a pitcher,” and it’s a welcome departure from those days. It’s another thing altogether to wake up one morning and learn the Mets have gotten a free agent who you and the whole world concluded last week had agreed to terms with another team, pending a physical.

Ah, but in the Steve Cohen Metropolitan Universe, you can’t rule out that there might be means in what pends — and perhaps a conclusion to append via Cohen’s means.

I started thinking about Carlos Correa within the same thought bubble as the Mets late in the evening of December 13 when Ken Rosenthal reported the Mets were “showing interest” in the All-Star shortstop as their potential third baseman of the future. Correa, word had it, was being lured with whatever enormous sum Cohen would offer him to shift from his established position to play alongside his buddy Francisco Lindor, a setup akin to what was envisioned when we thought Javy Baez might stick around and play second next to Lindor. There’d be plenty of money, there’d be a chance to win, there’d be enough sense in the world to this emerging equation that you could almost begin to believe this could really happen.

Until slightly later in the evening when Jeff Passan threw cold water on Rosenthal’s steamy rumor by scooping the field on Correa’s destination of choice: San Francisco. It wasn’t midnight December 14 when we learned the Giants consented to commit $350 million over 13 years to the erstwhile Astro and Twin, and Correa consented to accept it. The money has no meaning to regular people. It’s all beyond our fathoming. The years we can try to understand as fans. That’s a lot of years. That’s a player who signed in 2010 completing his contract in 2022. Seen a whole lot of that in your life as a Mets fan?

The details were San Francisco’s business and the Giants fans’ worry once news spread that Correa would play for them. The thought bubble in these parts popped. On to ruminating over smaller if still meaningful moves like signing catcher Omar Narvaez and bringing back Adam Ottavino to fortify the late innings and clicking on the links for Kodai Senga’s and Justin Verlander’s introductory press conferences. Those filled pretty compelling thought bubbles, too.

Then one morning, about a week after you put Carlos Correa out of your mind, you wake up and hear the Mets are signing Carlos Correa. One fewer year, ‘x’ million dollars lopped off the total, but still plenty of seasons and plenty on the payroll. You heard something about a West Coast presser being put off yesterday because of an issue related to that formality of physical but you didn’t think anything of it. You had Verlander. You had Senga. You had a revamped starting rotation and another catcher and enough reliable relievers to imagine leads wouldn’t get blown on the road to Diaz. You were reasonably content in winter.

Next thing you know, you’re ecstatic. Mostly ecstatic. Twelve years? From 2023 through 2034? How old will Correa be in 2034? How old will I be in 2034? A highly regarded shortstop moving to third base…wasn’t that the Jim Fregosi playbook? Others have done it more successfully more recently, yet certain events maintain a stubborn permanence in a fan’s consciousness. Fregosi was 51 years ago, and nobody gave up Nolan Ryan to get Carlos Correa. Nevertheless. Oh, and hold up: what happened with the physical or its aftermath in San Fran exactly?

Things that don’t worry me: the state of baseball if one owner happens to outspend the competition; the state of my favorite baseball team with its owner spending at a prodigious rate; what will become of the players who were considered likely to play what will now become Correa’s position. In order, there’s likely more money in baseball than we are capable of comprehending; Cohen seems able to juggle his obligations just fine, “luxury tax” included, thank you very much; and I liked what little I saw of Brett Baty after growing fond of Eduardo Escobar’s winning personality and occasional bursts of production, but we just got Carlos Correa. I’d see Carlos Correa in the postseason every year with Houston (even the notorious one) and would be informed continually that Carlos Correa was the bee’s knees. We now have his knees and the rest of him.

We have Correa and Lindor and McNeil and Alonso, and that’s just the infield. I’ve recently gone on at some length on behalf of both Nimmo and Marte, and they’re still here. A lotta pitching, as mentioned. The team that won in triple-digits last year, even allowing for individual ups and downs — and the inevitable pressing an everyday superstar does when he puts on a new uniform at a high price and consciously or otherwise wants to prove he’s worth every penny — certainly projects as no worse in 2023 than it was in 2022. It’s probably better. What that will mean when the Mets begin to play baseball games in the season ahead is to be determined. That’s always an accurate forecast. What that will mean from 2024 to infinity and beyond is completely unknown. Also a safe answer.

We didn’t have Carlos Correa when we shut our eyes last night. When we opened them in the light of day, we were informed we are about to have him. That happens when Steve Cohen owns the New York Mets. That’s as good a reason as any to get out of bed on December 21.

National League Town convened to discuss what happens when the owner of the New York Mets swoops in and intercepts a free agent who’s suddenly there for the taking and paying. You can listen to that lively discussion here or just about any podcast platform.