Mets 25-Game Checkup -- I Want to Be a Part of It

Game 25 - Mets

Mets 3, Phillies 2 (10)
Record: 18-7

Facing the ace of one of the World Series contender teams of baseball. With a chance to sweep the series. For the seventh win in a row.

Andrew and I lazed on the beach yesterday and mulled that we might prepare ourselves for a letdown game with all of that going on. This is what we do, we Mets fans. You know it. You see it. And if you're a fan of the Metropolitans, you do it.

You brace for the worst. The choke. The gack. The inevitable gaffe that lets the game/streak/season get away.

Funny thing, though. It's not currently in the repertoire of this team. We bear the scars of 39 years or however long you've been rooting. They don't.

Pete Alonso does not. Francisco Lindor does not. And yesterday, with 2 outs in the bottom of the 10th, with Alonso having tied it up with a double, Starling Marte definitely showed no signs of being visited by the Ghost of Met Seasons Past. He knocked the ball into shallow center and His Royal Polarity rumbled home and dove into the dish with full glee on display.

7 in a row. Off to the nation's capital next. Keep on truckin'.

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My old counterpart round these parts Rob inaugurated the practice of taking the temperature of the teams at intervals of 25 games. MLC 2.0 is happy to resuscitate this worthy practice. 

As I recall, the Mets' checkups of say 2003 or 2004 used to feature rectal thermometers, based on the state of play back then. To wit, my first ever 25-game checkup in '03 bears the subtitle "Awful Early But It's Awful Early."

This one won't be like that.

God, this team is fun. Texted with my Met-lovin' cousins yesterday. "Different" is the word used most. GKR keep talking about the crowds at Citi being markedly different in their exuberance. In all the best ways.

The Good

God bless Pete Alonso. Re-signing him seemed like a feelgood move at the time, a chemistry thing. Hahahahahaha. Nobody in baseball has hit quite like Pete for the first month, to include a timeliness factor with many of his smashes. Yesterday, for example. He's not getting cheap doubles down the line in garbage time. He's coming through as the heart of this club. Pay him, Steve-o.

Lindor shook off early-days rust of both bat and glove with a vengeance over the past couple of weeks. The tandem he and the Polar Bear form is strong. This is the Very Good.

Starting pitching has been as pleasant a surprise as any aspect of the 2025 Mets through 25 games. My word, have they been consistent. Nobody's going long into games -- as is prescribed. They are simply allowing 1 or 2 runs through 5 (or 0, especially in Kodai Senga's case) and keeping the pen from needing to bail them out and deplete resources. Hail to the rotation, even as they are missing two key arms.

Carlos Mendoza is masterfully managing this club. His patience seems to pay off in the long play time and again. If many of MLB's managers are playing checkers and the best are playing chess, Mendy is playing Stratego. Or maybe Risk, taking over the division with eyes on the league and all of baseball.

The Bad

Nah, not going here. I know, I've bitched about the April scuffles of Mets like Vientos, Baty, Winker, Taylor, Nimmo, and Marte. I even whined mightily about Marte ("rusty gate") yesterday afternoon right before won the game for the Mets. Each of the aforementioned guys has come through in some form or fashion over the last fortnight. 

Oh... Edwin Diaz left yesterday's game with a hip injury, and he's looked fallible. But he's also displayed some of what led to his long-term bankbuster deal. And the team says his hip is okay. So there's that.

Baseball is a long, six-month slog, and there's plenty of time for me to whine and grine about the Mets. It's what I do best. But for now, I'll stand down, Margaret. Whatever's Bad is in the trunk while the Good is cruising down the road.

The Ugly

18-7. So pretty. The end of the salad days may be nigh, but you'd never know it from me.

I'm even . . .

maybe? . . . 

starting . . . just a little . . . 

to believe . . . 

and be optimistic?

Eh. 39 years of losing in all the worst ways leaves a mark. Not quite to rose-colored glasses yet. But damn, dudes and dudettes. Let's see what 50 games in looks like!

LFGM