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 [1] does not get tossed on the pyre with the other feckless nibblers [2] 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 [3] homer off the Cubs’ Jameson Taillon [4], 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 [5] on seven pitches, a couple of which didn’t go his way. He lost the no-hitter when Dansby Swanson [6] served a single over the infield, moving Busch to second. Swanson was erased on what became a fielder’s choice, with batter Matt Mervis [7] 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 [8], who’s ruined things before for the Mets, and was actually relieved when Craig Counsell [9] sent up Nick Madrigal [10] instead. Severino’s third pitch to Madrigal broke his bat and came off said disassembling lumber at 49 MPH. It went to Joey Wendle [11], brought in as Mark Vientos [12]‘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 [13] 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. [14], but came up short. In the ninth, Edwin Diaz [15] 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 [16] 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 [17] 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 [18] dueled with Rick Reuschel [19] 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 [20]; the Mets lost in the 12th on a Skip Lockwood [21] 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 [22].
I bet that one hurt too.