OMG, the Mets Really Did It

There was more than enough in that sequence to make Mets fans believe they’d used up all their pixie dust, that the roof was about to collapse. But they just kept going, first with a Mark Vientos sac fly to take the lead and then on one of the most aesthetically pleasing home runs in recent memory.

And then, I mean, yeah, the roof did collapse! These are the New York Mets! Coasting to the finish line up 6-3 is for teams that don’t understand entertainment. The bottom of the eighth inning was pure hell for anyone hitched to the Mets’ wagon, the type of sports-watching experience that unironically makes people consider if it’s even worth it anymore. Watching the Braves claw back to take a 7-6 lead was like when the villain in a horror movie actually learns how to use a weapon. It appeared to be over, and in a way that made sense dramaturgically. These are the Mets, those are the Braves, this always goes a certain way.

But remember that guy from earlier who’s on the short list for best players in the world? He would not let the ghosts that haunt this franchise have their way. He refused to accept that the Mets could simply win the second game against a Braves lineup that surely would have rested its main guys. Francisco Lindor said fuck all that and hit a 413-foot home run, now unquestionably the defining image of his tenure in Queens.

If the planet feels slightly wonky now, if everything skews a bit off its axis for a few hours, it’s because of this. A shift in the universe has occurred. At least for a day, the certainty that the Mets are trash in any game that actually matters is certain no more. In a sport like baseball, where one night has a way of snowballing into two nights, then three, then a whole week or two of solid play, there’s no telling where this rollercoaster might end up. Just know that the engine driving it, the often-beaten, never-fully-killed New York Mets, are no longer interested in what happened in the past.