The Five Stages of Explaining the Mets Bullpen to Someone Who Didn't Ask
You want to know what happened? Fine. You asked. Do not look at me like that later because I warned you right now, at the start of this conversation, that you asked.
Somebody at the bar last Tuesday made eye contact with me during the seventh inning. That is all they did. Eye contact. And somehow forty-five minutes later they knew things about relievers they never wanted to know, and I had gone through all five stages, in order, like a man who has done this before. Which I have. Many times. Too many times.
This is the five stages of explaining the Mets bullpen to someone who did not ask. Consider this a public service. Consider it a warning. Consider it both.
Stage One: The Calm Setup
This is where I sound like a reasonable man. I say things like "well, they got through six innings fine" and "the starter was actually sharp tonight." I am using my indoor voice. I am being fair. I am the picture of a rational Mets fan, which is already a character who should not exist, and yet here I am, playing him badly.
The person across from me relaxes. They think this is going to be a normal sports conversation. They are wrong. They could not be more wrong. They are about to learn something about hope and disappointment that no school ever taught them.
Stage Two: The First Sign
This is when I say the words "and then they went to the bullpen." My voice does not change. My face does not change. But something behind my eyes changes, and if the person across from me were paying attention, they would pay their tab right now and leave.
They do not pay their tab. They never do. They say something like "oh, and then?" as if they want to hear more. They do. They do not.
Stage Three: The Recounting
I will not print the full recounting here because I have a word count and also because I already did it Tuesday and I need at least a week. What I will tell you is that it involves: a walk, another walk, a passed ball that I still do not understand geometrically, a balk that the pitcher did not know he threw, and a sequence of events so improbable that a man with a statistics degree told me afterward that he does not think it was possible. It was possible. I watched it.
This stage lasts between twelve and thirty-five minutes depending on how much the other person keeps saying "wait, really?" They keep saying it. They always keep saying it.
Stage Four: The Old Fashioned
This is where I stop talking, look at my glass, and drink. Not a sip. A drink. The kind of drink that is a full sentence.
I have been doing this with Lou's Damn Right I'm Old Fashioned lately, and I am telling you, eight milligrams of THC and a genuine old fashioned that tastes like it was made by someone who actually respects the drink is the only rational response to what the Mets bullpen has done to me over the course of my adult life. I do not say this lightly. I say it as a man who has been paying attention since before some of these relievers were born.
It calms me down enough to re-enter the conversation without making it worse. Usually. Mostly. Sometimes.
If you want to sit at a bar and have this conversation yourself, I suggest you bring one. It is in the fridge right now if you want to try the experiment. You will need it by stage three at the latest.
Stage Five: The Closing Argument
This is the part where I say "and that is why" followed by a conclusion that has almost nothing to do with baseball anymore. That is why you cannot trust a lefty specialist with a 4.8 ERA. That is why the concept of a "proven closer" is a myth sold to us by people who want our money. That is why I ordered a second drink before the eighth inning even started, because I knew, I always know, and the knowing does not make it better, it makes it worse, because hope is the thing that gets you every time and I have had hope in this bullpen going on thirty-something years and the hope is the injury, not the outcome.
The person across from me at this point is staring at their phone. Good. They should. I tried to warn them at the start.
The Part Nobody Prints
Here is the thing about the Mets, and I say this as a man who argued about them in print just recently in the Yankees vs. Mets conversation I had with Herb that ended exactly the way you would expect, which is with Herb being wrong and smiling about it. You do not root for the Mets because you think they are going to win. You root for the Mets because they are yours. The losing is not a flaw in the product. The losing is the product. And every summer you think maybe this year, and every summer the bullpen does the thing, and every summer you end up at a bar explaining it to someone who made eye contact at the wrong moment.
I have been doing this for a long time. I am not stopping now. Neither are they.
For the record, Herb thinks this is funny. Herb roots for the Yankees, which means he has never once in his life understood what I am talking about, and I genuinely do not know how we are still friends. He would probably suggest you try Herb's Very Manly Peach Bellini right now. With bubbles. On a Tuesday. While the bullpen is still warm.
I say you drink what works. Classic, straight up, eight milligrams, no drama. Lou's Damn Right I'm Old Fashioned. Damn right.
The watch stopped in 2009. I am not bringing it up again.
Herb and Lou's is for adults 21 and older. Hemp-derived THC. Please check your state's laws before ordering. These statements have not been evaluated by the FDA. This product is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any disease.
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