So the Mets won two out of three — and could have swept if not for a Gott-forsaken relief appearance [1] — to knock the Marlins off their postseason course, at least temporarily. They’ll now tangle with the Phillies, whose playoff aspirations will be somewhat harder to foil, then host the Marlins, then square off with the Phillies again and then that will be it. Remember the first couple of weeks of the season where you could instantly recall the outcome of every game? This is its mirror image: a few squares left on the calendar, a handful of blanks to be filled in.
There’s some satisfaction in beating the Marlins [2], of course — my feelings about them have long been clear [3]. But I can’t summon up as much Schadenfreude as I wish I could. Part of that is that playing spoiler is a little too thin a gruel to sustain me, smacking of “if I can’t have this toy nobody can have it.” But never fear, I’m not climbing on that particular soapbox. It’s more that I’ve crossed over to acceptance, and with that has come feeling unhappy that soon enough there will be baseball without any Mets, and soon after that there will be no baseball at all.
And here, near the end, I find myself wanting more, even if it’s not exactly the conclusion to the season we envisioned back in March.
But why not want a little more?
It’s fun watching Mark Vientos [4] absolutely crush two baseballs, on 0-2 counts no less, and wonder what might be if some hitting coach can turn that scorching hard-hit rate into reliable production.
It’s fun seeing how freaking hard Ronny Mauricio [5] makes contact, and to see him materialize in the right spot on the infield, and think about how far he’s come and where he might be headed.
It’s fun seeing Jeff McNeil [6], that one-man wrecking crew of Marlins hopes, make a jaw-dropping acrobatic play in right to nail Jazz Chisholm Jr. [7] at second base, then finish off the same inning by cutting down Jorge Soler [8] at the plate. McNeil, briefly not displeased with the outcome of a play involving him, all but came off the field blowing smoke off his pistol fingers, and who could blame him?
It’s fun watching Brett Baty [9], who’s had a trying year to say the very least, connect off Johnny Cueto [10] and remind you that there’s a reason for all the hype. And that 2024 will be a new year and a new start.
It’s fun rooting for Kodai Senga [11] to figure it out on a night when his best stuff wasn’t there and he had to go to pitching improv. A lot went wrong in 2023; signing Senga was something that went very right.
It’s fun watching Drew Smith [12] and Trevor Gott [13] somehow not screw things up. OK, so maybe “fun” isn’t the word I was looking for there. I’m still glad it happened even if I’m not sure how.
When baseball is played crisply and with a little zing it’s so much fun, particularly if you win. And even if you don’t win and even if the baseball’s goopy and soggy — there’s been plenty of that variety chronicled during this season — well, it still has its pleasures. My assignment for myself, as the season’s needle swings with a sigh over to E, is to remember that and cherish what’s left.