Every year I say “I’m going to pay attention to baseball” and every year the Mets stink so I quit watching by mid-June. This year has been an exciting exception. It was a summer of trading text messages with my dad over game results and talking over box scores with Mets-loving pals. They have exceeded even the most outlandish expectations and are currently on the brink of losing the World Series. It would be really cool if they come back and win but it doesn’t really matter.
The ride from the All-Star break to now has been totally worth it. I forgot how much fun it was to have good things to say about the Mets after the 4th of July. Almost all of the stories around these Mets have been feel-good (which is also unprecedented). A giant 20-something Viking sharing the mound next to a 42-year-old professional “athlete”? The Wilmer Flores traded/not traded fiasco? The arrival of Yoenis Cespedes (for the rest of us)? Saint Daniel Murphy going on a Postseason home run tear to end all home run tears? Even the Harvey Innings Limit kerfuffle wasn’t enough to kill the good vibes.
I’d say that I’m excited for next year but the root of what made 2015 so great was the complete lack of expectations.
And just like that, I’m right back into my comfortable Mets-pessimist groove.
