The Mets live [1]. You didn’t necessarily see that coming, did ya?
Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t [2]. Hope for the best, expect the Mets is my credo. I expected the Mets to do their best on Sunday in Milwaukee. Whether that and concurrent events in Atlanta and Arizona would be enough to survive and then some for one more day was what I didn’t know.
It was. We won, beating the beastly Brewers, 5-0. David Peterson [3] pitched the game of his and most people’s lives, going seven scoreless, striking out nine and allowing only an infield hit and three walks that proved harmless. Francisco Lindor [4] played like a healthy version of himself. He was real and he was spectacular, homering, stealing twice, driving in two runs and moving like a frontline shortstop in the field. Neither his back nor that of Francisco Alvarez [5] (2 RBIs) appeared to be an issue in the short term. And J.D. Martinez [6] rose from the dead as well, notching two base hits and avoiding the ignominy of tying or passing Rey Ordoñez for longest ohfer in franchise history. Ordoñez was in there for his glove. Martinez has “hitter” inscribed in his job description, so him actually hitting is indeed a welcome sight.
The Mets flying to Atlanta to complete their series from last week with, oh, everything on the line is also something we should embrace. There’s no time to fear the Braves, their starting pitchers or the demonesque qualities of where they play. We’re 88-72. They’re 88-72. The Diamondbacks are 89-73. Tiebreakers being what they are, whoever wins Game One of Monday afternoon’s doubleheader is in the postseason. If that same team wins Game Two, Arizona is also in. A twinbill split sends the Snakes slithering off into the desert. A twinbill sweep buries the swept. All that really matters is the Mets post one W in this matinee. Two would be ideal for the fun of knocking out the Braves, but I’m trying to stay focused on the Mets punching their own ticket. I’m trying to forget issues like who might be rested enough to pitch any game beyond Monday and what kind of toll a surfeit of flying might entail on a team possibly pinging about the continent on no rest.
The Mets have to win a baseball game to keep playing baseball. Baseball like it oughta be, I’m tempted to say. We’ll see. We sure as hell will, won’t we?