Good call Friday night wearing the reimagined (apparently during a bout of gloom) black jerseys in which the Mets wordmark, the player name and the numbers on the front and back sink forlornly into the fabric as if they followed Carole King’s example [1] of staying in bed all morning just to pass the time. The rain was an apt touch as well.
The Mets started their game late, fell behind fairly early and feinted toward catching up late, only to fall to their ostensible archrivals from Atlanta. Competitively, the Braves play in a different league, but the last time we vied for anything of substance, we vied with them. So humor us.
Jose Quintana [2] had one bad inning, the third, but one bad inning is all it takes when it consists of giving up three home runs in a span of four batters, with a walk thrown in between dingers two and three. That’ll bury a team that can’t do anything against Charlie Morton. Morton went seven, sullied only by a solo blast off the stylish bat of Francisco Lindor [3] in the seventh. At that point, it was 4-1. A rally-like series of plate appearances, highlighted by a ball struck by J.D. Martinez [4] that for half-a-second appeared to be going out but sailed foul instead, made the final 4-2. Spiritually, it was mostly a shutout.
Quintana did correct himself in the fourth and fifth, and there was representative bullpen work from unusual suspects — Recidivist reliever Yohan Ramirez [5], doing his best Michael Tonkin impression, and recast starter Adrian Houser [6]. There was Pete Alonso [7] maintaining his newfound ability to make contact and reach base as a result. There was Brett Baty [8] diving and tumbling over a rolled-up tarp to catch a foul pop, shaken in the process and pinch-hit for shortly after, but reportedly unharmed by the encounter with some padding by the third base railing.
Mostly there was dampness, defeat [9] and those dreadful black jerseys, suitable for mourning. The Mets, in conjunction with Nike, Fanatics and Grim Rob Manfred, removed the white outline that made the alternate tops comparatively cheerful in both their original incarnation and their reboot a few years ago. This version resembles those knockoffs at your local Bob’s Stores you’d buy in the late ’90s because they said Mets and it was close enough. Soon the Mets will be wearing the unlicensed Bugs Bunny in sunglasses t-shirts that spring up for sale on Opening Day in the parking lot, except they’ll be licensed and expensive.
Today, current avatar of hope Christian Scott [10] will make his Citi Field debut. On the first occasion he was a major leaguer in his home park, he suited up in black. On the mound, he will wear dark gray and “NYC” across his chest. If he hangs in there, maybe someday he’ll get to dress like a Met.