The New York Mets Are The Perfect Example Of How Fast Hope Fades


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There is a dissonance underlying every World Series. Every year we watch as two very good, sometimes great teams vie to determine Major League Baseball’s champion. Even when a 2006 Cardinals team slips on through, baseball’s final showdown remains the pinnacle of the sport. This is as good as it gets; it may never be this good again.

That is the uncomfortable lesson at the heart of October. Enjoy this now, because who knows how long this will last. Potential juggernauts can be disemboweled in front of our eyes. Dynasties get broken up brick by brick. In one moment, Matt Harvey is standing on the mound of Kauffman Stadium, ready to throw his first pitch in Game 1 of the 2015 World Series.

Two years later, he has a 6.70 ERA.

In baseball, greatness is fleeting. It hinges on sinewy elbow ligaments, cautious owners, and perfidious narratives. It often takes years of build-up to make one postseason, let alone the World Series. A title is dependent on long-term vision and small sample size variance, probably in bewilderingly equal amounts. Continuity can be a maddening pursuit.

That 2015 World Series was like a work of fan fiction. Two long-dormant franchises suddenly rose up, peaked as their window of opportunity opened, and tossed off their loserly ways.

The Royals had done this the year before. In 2014, they inched to within a Madison Bumgarner Hulk-smash from winning a championship. (They also needed an Oakland A’s collapse in the wildcard game to avoid becoming a postseason one-hit wonder.) A return trip was entirely realistic, for everyone except PECOTA.

The Mets, however, were the lightning bolt that struck the National League. They were still spinning their wheels through the end of July until a few trades swung their fortune. Yoenis Cespedes turned their floundering offense into the league’s best following his arrival from Detroit. Their bullpen was no longer a mess, even after Jenrry Mejia was suspended for failing a second drug test.


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Least likely of all, Daniel Murphy became Ted Williams reincarnate. The probability of that was hard to fathom. So was its sustainability, and no one could quite believe how well he was hitting. That included the Mets, who let him sign with the Washington Nationals the next month for half as much as Mike Leake. (That Murphy has continued to hit at Williams-lite levels will never not be confounding).

The enduring memory of that postseason will always be Game 3 of the NLDS against the Los Angeles Dodgers. Middle infielder-turned-wrestling heel Chase Utley had broken Ruben Tejada’s leg with an irksome (possibly dirty) slide into second base in Game 2. Mets fans wanted blood; Mets players were pissed. Citi Field felt like it was hosting a lumberjack match, with 44,000 people waiting for Utley to fall out of the ring. They settled for an epic bat flip.

But the Mets’ foundation wasn’t built on dingers but nitro-infused pitching from four young aces: Harvey, Noah Syndergaard, Jacob deGrom, and Steven Matz. Sandy Alderson, their general manager, bet the organization’s future on arms and accumulated four superb ones. While three of them had Tommy John surgery, the hope was they wouldn’t get hurt again. But the risk for these pitchers is always lurking about. Every 98 mph pitch may be catnip for GMs, but each throw could be the beginning of the end.

All in all, New York didn’t expect to be that good, that quick. They were probably a year early in their development curve. But when it breaks right, you capitalize on the moment.

By Game 1 in Kansas City, there was talk of dynasty-building, reminiscent of the 1990s Braves’ rubber-armed rotation. There was also the general chatter that fills the dead time between playoff series. It was hopeful for the Mets but not outlandish. Their rotation was that good, and young enough to expect it would get better. They had just quelled the Cubs and the same lineup that would club its way to a ring the following season.


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Rarely do teams collect four could-be aces, all under 27, all throwing gas in the high-90s, and have it work out. The Mets appeared to ticking all those boxes.

It was, in some ways, the same doe-eyed hopefulness that envelops the New York Yankees now. They are a team of the present and future. Ahead of schedule, with a lineup full of young stars with violent swings and a checkbook that can pay for whatever management wants.

The 2017 Yankees may well be the 1995 Seattle Mariners or 2007 Colorado Rockies. They possess potential Hall of Famers by the bundle. It’s a success that comes out of nowhere, and suddenly the five-year plan cedes all standing to the result of the next seven-game series.

It can all come so quickly. You never know how fast it can wash away.

Not every team can sustain freaky, even-year magic (San Francisco Giants) or bankroll division winners until the youth movement makes its high-priced mercenaries a luxury (the Dodgers). The Cleveland Indians won 22 straight games this season, then lost three straight this month at the most inopportune time imaginable. A superlative season had capsized in less than a week.

For the Mets, the good times were snuffed out two years ago almost as soon as the World Series started. The first pitch of Game 1 was thrown in Kansas City at 7:09 p.m. A half-inning later, Harvey’s first pitch was walloped by Alcides Escobar for an inside-the-park home run. The next season, Harvey had surgery for thoracic outlet syndrome. After the 2016 season, Harvey is no longer the Dark Knight, and the Mets haven’t reached the same heights since.

Matz’s left arm is still gifted, but he has become injury-prone and unreliable. Syndergaard missed most of 2017 after bulking up too much in the offseason. His velocity remains as formidable as his belief that he actually is a superhero sent to save the world with fastballs and 95-mph sliders. Only deGrom remains a reliable ace in the truest sense.


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In other words, the team that made it to the 2015 World Series — again, just two years ago from this very moment — is now in shatters. David Wright’s career is in jeopardy due to a string of debilitating back and neck injuries. Manager Terry Collins, the folksy baseball lifer and longest-tenured skipper in club history, lost his job. They won 70 games this year while playing through controversy centering on anything from sex toys to middle-finger-flipping mascots.

The Mets, once again, are only good for the memes.

Time spares no one, and in baseball you can never be sure how fast it will fly by. It took five games for the Royals to win the World Series. It was a crowning moment for a methodical organizational renaissance. This winter, the core of that roster may walk away, unbound by free agency and self-interest, theirs and the team’s. At least they’ll all have rings, and Royals fans will have their ephemeral moment of glory.

The end comes, though, and it’s always sooner than you think.

Mike Vorkunov, a former Mets beat writer, is a frequent contributor to The New York Times, the curator of the SportsREDEF newsletter, and co-creator of The -30- newsletter and podcast.

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