Present at Tuesday night’s game against the Orioles: my wife, my kid, and my father-in-law.
Not present at Tuesday night’s game against the Orioles: me, AKA your recapper.
Honestly I got by far the better part of the deal.
Well, sort of.
I had a previous commitment with my buddies in the Brooklyn Bridge Park free kayaking program — this was the night of our annual group outing to the Brooklyn Cyclones, and also my first 2024 trip out to Maimonides Park. But I had my phone, MLB Audio, an earbud and my correspondents on the scene up at Citi Field, available via text message.
I’ve been going to Cyclones games since their inaugural 2001 season, which has somehow added up to just short of a quarter-century. Back then the Cyclones were an unexpected sensation, packing KeySpan Park and showing off a raffish charm and sly wit that their big brothers in the majors never managed. Sandy the Seagull had a Big Lebowski bod, the Beach Bums gyrated to much cooler music than you’d hear at Shea, and you could see opposing teams used to sleepy, near-empty stadiums gawk at their surroundings and wonder what, exactly, was happening in Brooklyn.
Sandy the Seagull has now been Ozempic’ed; the Beach Bums have morphed into the more staid Surf Squad; the field is turf; the park has been renamed more times than I can remember; and the Staten Island Yankees, who arrived as yin to the Cyclones’ yang, are extinct. The Cyclones are a full-season team now, having swapped places in the hierarchy with the St. Lucie Mets, and they play in the South Atlantic League, as the New York-Penn League is also extinct. (Though hey, the Cyclones did win its final championship.)
All of this makes me faintly sad — the Cyclones were more fun before their edges got sanded off. But most of what worked then still works now: It’s baseball on Coney Island, with the Parachute Jump looming over the stadium and neon hoops adorning the light poles; the between-innings skits are still cheerfully bush league; and the quality of play, well, let’s just say it’s a nightly journey. “Anything can happen in the New York-Penn League,” we’d say to each other back in 2001; “anything can happen in the Sally League” is just as true.
It was a cool night down on Coney Island, with the ball carrying — the Cyclones hit a pair of two-run homers in the bottom of the first to take a 4-1 lead. The tidings from Citi Field were not as good, however: Jose Quintana gave up a home run to Baltimore’s Gunnar Henderson on a curve ball the radio guys described as sitting in the middle of the plate.
The Cyclones jumped out to a six-run league, but up in Queens former Cyclone Brandon Nimmo had a close encounter with the ball and the wall, with the outcome eventually ruled as a Colton Cowser triple. After Cowser came in on a sac fly I surrendered my earbud — watching the Cyclones, keeping track of the Mets and talking to my kayak pals was one ball more than I could juggle, and it wasn’t like my bearing witness was doing the Mets much good.
When it was 7-1 I texted my kid that they’d all be so glad they were there for the comeback; a little later I noticed that hey, it was now 7-5. I reached for the earbud but then reconsidered — I’m not above a little superstition. Instead I watched the supermoon rising above Coney Island, looking as big as a Jose Quintana curveball sitting middle-middle. And I peered at Gameday as former Cyclone Pete Alonso came up short in a lengthy AB and the rally fizzled. I’m not sad to say I missed whatever the hell that was in the ninth that put the game out of reach, but hey, “anything can happen in Major League Baseball.”
And the Cyclones? They blew that six-run lead, gave up the go-ahead run on a ball that went through the second baseman’s legs, and wound up losing 10-9, with the final out of the game recorded on an attempt to stretch a single into a double.
Baseball’s like that sometimes — whether you’re in field-level seats or a county away from the action, whether you’re watching a big-league game that’s part of a pennant race or a contest in the low minors that no one will remember a week from now. It’ll drive you crazy if you let it; my only advice, after 48 years of watching, is not to let it. And good luck with that.
In a way I’m less disappointed in the loss than a lot of them. Someone who gives up as many HRs as Quintana vs the team that hits more of them than anyone else never looked good for us.
But the defense didn’t help things. Besides whatever that was in the 9th there were the score from 2nd on an infield hit (not sure what should have been done different but those things don’t seem to happen to top defensive teams) and some catchable balls to the outfield.
Should we be concerned about Jose Quintana? Blackburn has been a find, and the rest of the staff has at least been steady, but Quintana seems to have fallen off a cliff.
Quintana wasn’t a concern before the trade deadline. He is now. Apparently, whatever medicine Quintana got from pitching to Alvarez has stopped working.
The season is down to 36 games. Quintana’s next start is against the Padres. It’s easy to say give him one more start to see if he catches his second wind like Severino looks to be doing, but it’s not as easy to say who’ll take Quintana’s place if he fails again. Butto is the obvious answer but with the shakiness of the bullpen reinforcements, it’s hard to take Butto out of the bullpen. And if Quintana is taken out of the rotation, what happens to him? He can’t be sent down. Bullpen? Cut and replace him?
Quintana’s our pitching version of Nimmo – streaky as hell. He had some weak starts in May, strong in June and July, garbage since the ASB. We’re sort of stuck with him and have to hope he gets locked in again. But yes, we should be concerned.
Quintana actually had 2 good starts after the all-star break in which the Mets beat the Yankees and Twins. It was after the trade deadline that Quintana lost it. So there went trading for a 2nd reinforcement for the starting rotation.
A reality check:
If the Mets manage to secure a Wild Card spot it will signify an improvement in the team’s development – but it will in effect be a participation trophy. This is not a championship team.
Quintana is past his prime and is a net negative in the rotation. Stearns has work to do to assemble a first-class pitching staff.
On the other hand, the Mets have a formidable lineup – and will be more so if McNeil and Alonso return to peak form. The future looks bright and the present promises more exciting games like the Alavarez walk-off.
“This is not a championship team.”
Who is? And would the Mets be playing that team in the 1st round? As much as any season, this looks like a season where it’s about getting in and getting hot, and the Mets have shown they can get hot. They’ve played down and looked as bad as anyone, but they’ve played up, too. Getting in is the hard part. Ugly losses and all, the Mets have been around .500 for a while now. That may not be enough to get in. Right now it isn’t.