I clicked on the Mets. Two outs. Runner on third. Mets down, 1-0. Duda against some lefty.
“Game over. He can’t hit lefties,” I informed my wife.
Clang. Home run off the foul screen in right. Perfect timing for my baseball wisdom.
I texted our son. Doo-dah. Doo-dah.
David was on the phone with his wife, who was visiting family. At the same time, he was watching the Mets.
“Losers to the end,” he said. Duda can’t hit lefties.
Clang. Do we know the game, or what?
Soon there will be no Mets, no season. As mediocre as the Mets have been, they have given us Lagares and de Grom, Mejia and Familia, and Daniel Murphy, who worked himself into an all-star. Collins is really a good manager.
My guess is that baseball fans in a lot of cities feel the same way, bereft. Yankee fans and others now that Jeter-mania is over. Baseball has been with us every day since April.
I’m adopting the Pirates to make a run in the post-season, and I’m adopting the Tigers in the other league. I like the old cities, the old clubs, and root for them in October.
But it’s not like having your own team, every day, even when you are 100 percent positive that Duda cannot hit lefties. Clang. The (imagined) sound will echo all winter.