Some Hurt More Than Others

I know you don’t want to hear it right now, but that was a great game.

It zipped along taut and tense, it featured a great pitchers’ duel and a brush with history, it turned on a player’s split-second decision, and it ended with a crushing reversal of fortune. If you were in the park — and I was — you got your money’s worth, even if the outcome wasn’t what you desired. It ought to say that on the back of the ticket: DESIRED OUTCOME NOT GUARANTEED.

Luis Severino does not get tossed on the pyre with the other feckless nibblers in the Mets’ rotation. He was aggressive and confident as he stalked history, taking a no-hitter to the 8th with enough gas in the tank to get there. That was drama enough, but the Mets were also clinging to a 1-0 lead, with the one courtesy of a leadoff Brandon Nimmo homer off the Cubs’ Jameson Taillon, who was almost as good as Severino and even more efficient. Losing the no-hitter wouldn’t just thwart Severino’s quest for a place in the history books; it would also threaten to turn the game around.

And that’s what happened, over two excruciating innings. Leading off the eighth, Severino walked Michael Busch on seven pitches, a couple of which didn’t go his way. He lost the no-hitter when Dansby Swanson served a single over the infield, moving Busch to second. Swanson was erased on what became a fielder’s choice, with batter Matt Mervis and Severino getting tangled up at first. First and third, one out, and the game in the balance.

I was horrified at the idea of facing Yan Gomes, who’s ruined things before for the Mets, and was actually relieved when Craig Counsell sent up Nick Madrigal instead. Severino’s third pitch to Madrigal broke his bat and came off said disassembling lumber at 49 MPH. It went to Joey Wendle, brought in as Mark Vientos‘s defensive replacement at third. To reiterate, 49 MPH exit velo, broken bat. Wendle had Busch dead to rights at home but decided to try and go around the horn for a double play. It didn’t work and the Cubs had tied it.

Even up in the 300 level, a fair distance from the field, there was muttering and sidelong looks and hands thrown skyward. A couple of hours later, here at my desk on recap duty, I just completed another round of muttering and sidelong looks and hands thrown skyward. Wendle is on the roster to play defense; if he’s going to make mental errors doing that … nope, I’ve got nothing. Luis Guillorme may have stopped hitting and apparently did something to wear out his welcome here, but he would have gone home 1,000 times out of 1,000.

Anyway. Wendle made a bad decision and the Cubs had tied it. Nimmo nearly restored order with a long fly to left off Mark Leiter Jr., but came up short. In the ninth, Edwin Diaz reported for duty and was once again not himself, which has to be at least cause for concern. Diaz’s fastball has been down a crucial couple of ticks and his slider has been spotty. Facing Christopher Morel with a runner on, Diaz got screwed on an 0-1 call that was a strike but was called a ball. That turned the at-bat; Morel worked the count to 3-1, got a fastball that sat in the middle of the plate (can’t pin that one on the ump) and hit it to Mars, turning a shocked Citi Field into Wrigley East as thousands of heretofore quiet Cubs fans began making racket like baseball-fan cicadas.

And you know what? As they should have. If you go from “oh God, we’re going to get no-hit” to “we took Edwin Diaz deep and we’re going to win,” you should make as much noise as you possibly can. You should jump around, wear a popcorn bucket on your head and scream WOOO till your vision goes blurry. Because baseball is cruel and games like that don’t come around very often.

Which leads me to an odd postscript: The Cubs have done this before to the Mets. In September 1975 Tom Seaver dueled with Rick Reuschel at a nearly empty Wrigley Field: Both pitchers worked into the ninth without allowing a run, Seaver without allowing a hit. With two outs, Seaver surrendered a single to right on an 0-2 pitch to Joe Wallis; the Mets lost in the 12th on a Skip Lockwood bases-loaded walk.

The Joe Wallis game. I knew about it, but only by that bit of shorthand — one of Seaver’s maddening near-misses in search of the first-ever Mets no-hitter. I didn’t know the rest of the story until I looked it up just now.

I bet that one hurt too.