From the beginning, I’ve loved watching Jeff McNeil [1] play baseball — somehow never more so than when things don’t go his way.
McNeil responds to any misfortune in an AB — an umpire’s poor judgment, his own excessive haste, a perfectly executed enemy pitch, a great play by a defender, a quirk of fate — with barely concealed fury. Lenny Dykstra [2], another member of the How Can a Just God Allow Such Atrocities? fraternity, specialized in a post-out “disbelieving, Rumpelstiltskin stamp of rage,” to quote the great Roger Angell; McNeil’s signature is the little whirl after crossing first base and being told he’s not being permitted to stay there, followed by a cold, disbelieving stare, the mouth opening and the guy in the truck hurriedly turning down any on-field mics. (McNeil may single-handedly keep the era of MLB hot-micing everybody and his brother at bay for the duration of his career.)
It’s a bit Dykstra [3], it’s a bit Al Leiter [4], and it’s more than a bit hilarious. As with Leiter, you can never be angry with McNeil for failing on the baseball diamond because he’s invariably so much angrier about it than you are; there’s nowhere to escalate, so you just skip ahead to forgiving him. The line in our house is “Why is Jeff McNeil enraged this time?” and there’s never a short list of reasons.
McNeil could have achieved his legend just by being a Daniel Murphy [5] “I hit third” type, but he’s more than that: He’s become an accomplished and versatile fielder almost without anybody noticing, going from “eh, he’ll outhit his mistakes” at second to sure-handed and sound not only there but also in either outfield corner. Unsurprisingly, he’s brought a certain cussedness to those proceedings too: I don’t know the root of the farcical rat/raccoon dispute with Francisco Lindor [6], but I’d bet it sprang from McNeil taking pride in his own defensive abilities and not appreciating some newcomer from a jumped-up beer league appointing himself as his infield instructor.
2023, though, hasn’t been fun for McNeil. (Or for his fellow Mets, or for us.) The defense has stayed sound, but the power’s been missing and it feels like so many balls that used to drop over the infield or punch through it have wound up in gloves. McNeil’s rage has even cooled to a simmer — not even he can’t maintain a full boil during a season-long bad dream.
Of late, though, McNeil’s looked like he’s woken up and discovered he’s still McNeil. There was the almost homer/almost enemy out double Thursday night, and then Friday night McNeil spanked a two-out single early to drive in Lindor with the Mets’ second run and then iced the game with a three-run homer late, hitting the ball a few critical feet farther than the night before and so keeping Jordan Walker [7] out of the equation.
That was enough to support Joey Lucchesi [8], who looked superb in his return from the minors and injuries, torturing Paul Goldschmidt [9] with the churve. (We’re only halfway through this series, but so far Goldschmidt is not enjoying himself.) Francisco Alvarez [10] got kudos from Lucchesi for his preparation, which has never waned; he also broke out of his recent funk with an RBI single of his own. Brandon Nimmo [11] cracked a leadoff homer, Tim Locastro [12] and Lindor and Rafael Ortega [13] had two hits each … it was a night where we could be happy for plenty of Mets.
Even Pete Alonso [14], who fueled a little contretemps when he unthinkingly tossed the first major-league hit from rifle-armed St. Louis shortstop Masyn Winn [15] into the stands, provoking a fusillade of fury from Miles Mikolas [16] (who really needs to calm down) as well as an extended, performative display of dudgeon from the supposed Best Fans in Baseball. All turned out fine: Winn got the ball back following one of those in-stands negotiations, Alonso’s postgame mea culpa was so thoroughly and comically hangdog that it would have convinced Whitey Herzog [17] back in the days of the white-hot Mets-Cards rivalry, and no one cares what Miles Mikolas thinks.
So Cardinals fans got a peek at a promising future during a lost year, the Mets got a victory [18] that can somehow be described as another victory (hey, five out of six) and even Jeff McNeil found no cause for outrage. I’ll call that a good evening.