Really, we're past the midway point of the season. Going into the all-star break, the Mets were coming off an embarrassing loss at home to the Cubs, and were 46-40, a full five games past half a season.
That record of 46-40 probably should have been better, with the Mets losing four of six to the Cubs and five of six to the Yankees over the final month leading to the All-Star break. So despite the team's near-unanimous preseason projection of last place, it was hard not to feel optimistic. The team hadn't even played its best baseball lately, and it was still in wild-card contention. The surprise team of the season. "Manager of the year for Terry Collins!" they cried on ESPN.
Not so fast. The second half has begun, and the glaring fault on this Mets team, its bullpen, is making it clear the other boys from New York aren't going anywhere. What was 46-40 is now 46-44, with all four losses coming to the two teams ahead of them in the NL East, and three of the four losses coming due to bullpen inadequacy.
A sweep in Atlanta was tough to stomach, but the Mets have been streaky lately. Tuesday's game in Washington said it all though. An anemic offensive night had New York trailing 1-0 going into the eighth. Jonathon Niese had been excellent, going seven innings with one run and eight strikeouts.
Next came the bullpen, which allowed a run in the eighth to extend the deficit to 2-0. Then something amazing happened. New York scored three runs in the top of the ninth, giving itself a lead. But Mets closer Bobby Parnell, the poster-child of unrealized potential who has for some reason been given extra responsibility even though he's never been reliable, made sure he filled his quota. Three hits, one run. Since Parnell probably doesn't understand baseball, he probably felt like he had done okay. After all, those are the same numbers Niese put up in his innings.
No matter! said the Mets now lively offense, which tacked on another run in the top of the 10th. But as bad as Parnell is, his time was up. It was time to turn it over to the rest of the gang. And it was time for me to look away.
But I couldn't. Instead, it felt smarter to suffer through Tim Byrdak surrendering two hits, a walk and a run, before loading the bases with an intentional walk and handing the reins to Pedro Beato, who made sure his fourth pitch didn't quite make it to Josh Thole. Wild pitch. Ryan Zimmerman crosses the plate. Game over.
New York made it more than halfway. But the writing is on the wall now. Even that last-place projection from everyone and their mother doesn't seem far-fetched. All I can think about is that annoying phrase that sabermetricians harp on and on about, and is usually accurate.
This wasn't sustainable. Regression to the mean.
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