Even when the Mets make rational decisions, they still blow up in their faces

The All-Star break was just here, and already seems like too much baseball has happened since then. The A’s are ahead of the Mariners and threatening the Yankees? Rougned Odor’s on-base percentage is a cool 100 points higher than last year? There’s an article on MLB.com titled “It’s time to admit Daniel Palka is an elite power hitter”? Guess I need to sigh deeply and Google this Danny Polko while admitting I’m bad at my job.

Apparently, it’s time for me to spend more time trying to learn about baseball, even though THAT’S WHAT I ALREADY DO FOR SEVERAL HOURS EVERY DAY.

It’s frustrating. On the other hand, my quest is your gain. Every week, I take a spin around the sport and look for the stupid and beautiful. Come find the stupid and beautiful baseball with me. We’ll start by studying a baseball thing in a section I like to call ...

We used to start with “Baseball Is Good,” but that turned out to be dumb and limiting. Plus, I’m restless. Anyway, let’s talk about the Mets losing 25-4 before we get to anything else.

The Mets have scored two runs or fewer in 39 games this year. The Nationals scored three runs or more in six of the eight innings in which they batted in this game. Michael Taylor was 3-for-4 in this game, with two runs scored and two walks, and he finished with a Win Probability Added of -0.033. Anthony Rendon was 3-for-6 with a walk and four RBI, and his WPA was -0.023. This isn’t suggesting that WPA is a silly, useless stat. It’s suggesting that the Nationals hit the ball so damned hard, they broke a perfectly fine, functional stat.

But while it’s always funny to study position players getting blown up, especially if they’re unlikable, I’m not that interested in Jose Reyes pitching. I’m getting tired of position players pitching. I’m the guy who had a first-press edition of Reckoning on vinyl who turns off MTV when “Losing My Religion” comes on. It’s going to take a lot for me to be as interested about position players pitching again.

Instead, give me players who obliterate their former teams out of spite. Give me Daniel Murphy disemboweling the Mets, like he did in this game with four RBI, three hits, and two homers.

It was kind of an off night for him against the Mets, if we’re being honest.

Murphy was a good-not-great player for parts of seven seasons with the Mets. He was turning 31, and he played a position (second base) that was traditionally filled with players who aged poorly. After a bonkers NLCS, he fared poorly in the World Series, and the Mets made a seemingly smart baseball decision to let him go. Big money to a second baseman on the other side of an aging curve? These are the fan favorites smart teams walk away from.

Then Murphy turned into Rod Carew, and he’s hit .390/.448/.714 in 172 plate appearances against the Mets, and it never stops being funny. They did the right thing! There was sound logic behind their decision instead of weird, Wilpon-flecked wish-knowledge! And yet Murphy murders them every time.

Consider ...

It’s a mess, but, well, so are the Mets. Their miserable season this year has nothing to do with a complete collapse of their pitching staff, so this game was a fluke, and it’s probably a fluke that Murphy murders them dead. Stop picking on them.

On the other hand, if they want us to stop picking on them, they should stop being so funny.

You might think that I’m including this tweet as a way to show the emotion of a minor leaguer finally getting the call to the majors, and that’s part of it. It’s a sweet moment, and you rarely get to see it in the middle of a game.

Mostly, though, I’m including this to write this paragraph:

A man named Stubby Clapp was wearing pajamas, and he went out to the mound of dirt and hugged another person wearing pajamas. The person was happy, and as he left the mound of dirt, other people in pajamas swatted him on the butt.

This is what this clip will look like to archeologists and historians in 600 years. There will be no context, but somehow they’ll know that Stubby Clapp was Stubby Clapp, and they’ll have to reconstruct what was happening based on limited evidence. My guess is they’ll think it’s a community-theater play.

Which it kind of is, I guess.

If you’re on Apple News, Google AMP, or MySpace Pro, you’ll need to watch the video here. It’s funny because it’s different, and different is entirely true to the character that Carlos Gomez has constructed. Different is good. Baseball needs more different. Baseball needs more funny.

My guess is that Carlos Rodón wasn’t amused. He puts his hands on his hips, and then he brings his glove to his mouth and says something. We can only guess.

Ah, Carlos, back at it again with another whimsical jape! Always the farceur. Bravo, sir! Bravo.

No, Rodón was at least partially annoyed at first. And to be fair, in the heat of competition, anything out of the ordinary like this in response to one of your direct screw-ups is unwelcome. It’s human nature.

The good news is that the moment passed, and humor was found by all.

“It was pretty funny,” Rodon said. “Gomez is a good character and ballplayer. Just liven it up a little.”

There will be no baseballs thrown at butts for this infraction, which is almost a shame. But because there was no punishment, I would like to see this more often. Like, a lot more often. I’d also like to see a player load himself up with packets of stage blood that would explode on contact, so the hit-by-pitch makes it look like an alien is trying to chew through his ribs from the inside.

Let this be a reminder that I was not blessed with physical talent for a reason, and even though it seems unfair, it’s probably for the best.

Stay calm, Grant.

Stay calm.

Stay calm.

Steady as she goes.

Stay calm.

dammit, i lost my cool, didn’t i

I loved both of these pictures so very much. Don’t make me choose.

That’s Juan Soto speeding to third, and the photographer has ... turned up his exposure with more ... uh, you know, aperture, and ... okay, fine, the only camera I’ve ever used is on my phone. All I know is that the picture looks cool, and the alternating reds and whites of the crowd give off a faint flag vibe, which pairs nicely with the stars-and-stripes theme of the Nationals logo. Just a gorgeous picture of one of baseball’s brightest young stars.

As a softball coach, I have to point out that the silhouette is confusing because it looks like a pitcher about to fire her glove at 60 mph, but maybe my brain is broken.

But can it compete with this incredible shot, which captures a great catch from Ramon Laureano in his major league debut? Dunno, the context of Laureano being a fine prospect making his debut might swing the vote, but on the other hand, the abstract quality of the Soto picture appeals to me. I can’t choose.

The important thing is that I didn’t just settle for a silly picture that could be turned into a stupid meme for cheap, disposable laughs

Hrmm, well, let’s just ...

The best part about cargo shorts is all the extra stuff you can put in them.

Putting all five full-sized pictures in here would melt data plans, but I think it works perfectly well as a pentaptych. Panel one is desire, panel two is achievement, panel three is consequence, panel four is confirmation, and panel five is the all-too-human desire for recognition. This story is all of us, except the people who don’t succeed at anything.

If you’re wondering why Maeda is willing to crash into walls while shagging batting practice, take a look at his contract. Dude could take the field in a shirt that reads “TOMMY LASORDA SMELLS JUST LIKE HE LOOKS,” and the Dodgers would just have to take it. He’s not paid enough to care, just like he’s not paid enough to avoid crashing into walls during batting practice,

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to send a homemade shirt to Kenta Maeda ...

At this point, I’m tempted to turn this into “What Jose Ramirez did” or “What Juan Soto did,” because those players are turning in legendary seasons. The idea was that Shohei Ohtani was going to have a legendary season just because he was both pitching and hitting, and that we should track it zealously every week.

Then Ohtani came down with a case of bum wing. It happens, but now we’re stuck detailing the exploits of dude hitting as well as, say, Daniel Descalso or Gregory Polanco while playing for a team that’s out of postseason contention. Which isn’t that exciting.

And then our hero does stuff like this:

He’s still an enormous 23-year-old who runs like a track star and can hit baseballs like this. It is still worth keeping track of him, for he is still a gift.

Just ... you know, if you want to pitch in a blowout, Shohei, that’s cool, too.

McGwire
21 AB this week
345 AB for the season

1 HR this week
45 HR for the season

.143/.240/.286 this week
.287/.463/.713 for the seas

Sosa
27 AB this week
431 AB for the season

4 HR this week
42 HR for the season

.259/.333/.704 this week
.306/.371/.638 for the season

Finally, a slump for McGwire! HOW DOES MORTALITY FEEL, JERK? But, really, going back through the archives of this column, I’m not seeing a lot of weekly slumps. That’s perhaps an underrated component to the McGwire/Sosa chase — the consistency. To hit 60 dingers or more requires a steady pace that I’m not sure that we’ve ever truly appreciated.

This is true for both players. But in this week, Sosa became a true contender.

Kids, take it from ol’ Grant: ‘98 was just about the most fun that you could ever have in a baseball season. And when Sosa surged to 42, it was absolutely electric. He was catching McGwire. There was a race. There was a race.

I own 2,054 Rick Leach cards, give or take. If you want more baseball card takes, they’re waiting for you, but I guarantee you that my mom dropped of thousands of Rick Leach cards the day I moved into my house. The entire box might be Rick Leach cards. It would be like the start of a Dan Brown novel, but danged if it isn’t possible.

I would have appreciated these cards if, at some point, a kid who was thoroughly into his or her copy of Runny Babbit leaned over and whispered, “Lick Reach.”

It would have made me giggle, and not just because it sounds like a stat ESPN would cover during the 2018 Porn Combine. It just sings, dammit.

Lick Reach, private investigator.

Or ...

My mom wants me to go out with someone a little more respectable, and a little ... less Lick Reach.

Or ...

Heyyyyy, it’s the Licker! What’s up, Lick Man?

There are a lot of possibilities when it comes to a Lick Reach. My only regret is that he isn’t playing today. Because, yes, baseball needs more 61-year-olds playing at full strength, who are named Lick Reach, more or less.

In conclusion, Lick Reach. Thank you.