As I arrived in Philadelphia for my sophomore year at UPenn, the Mets arrived in The City of Brotherly Love for a four-game set against the Phillies. So with Jacob deGrom on the hill for the series opener and David Wright making his long-awaited return to the field, the decision to go to Monday’s game was easier than pulling Eric O’Flaherty against a righty. I was rewarded with the greatest live experience of my life as a Mets fan.
I emerged from the subway station a half-inning late with the group of Mets fans (and fans of other teams masquerading as Mets fans for a night— although one turned on them quickly) I had bought tickets with, and we hustled to get to our seats before Wright’s first at-bat. We watched from the concourse as Ryan Howard put the Phillies up by three— seemingly before deGrom had even finished his warmup pitches. We completed the hike to section 301 just as deGrom was getting out of the inning, with his pitch count soaring his morale noticeably draining. From our seats in the third deck in left field, we had a spectacular view of the 11 home runs that were hit over the course of the game, so we quickly abandoned our original plan to abandon our seats in search of premium seats guarded by inattentive ushers.
Leading off the top of the 2nd was none other than The Captain. We found ourselves in a section with a good amount of Mets fans, and we all stood up to give David a nice hand as he was announced over the loudspeaker. We were hoping for a hit, or at least for an indication that David Wright had not returned only as a shell of his former self. The childish optimists deep inside us would have all loved to see a home run, but recognized that this was a mere pipe dream.
Until it wasn’t. Because David didn’t just hit a homer, he hit a titanic blast into the upper deck, an absolute no-doubter, one that made it loud and clear that this battlestation was fully armed and operational. It seemed like a dream, or a joke. But David had pulled it off, and at that point, most Mets fans in attendance would have been satisfied with their experience regardless of the game’s outcome. The Mets were down 3-1 after Wright crossed the plate, but even on the road, and especially in our section, one looking at the crowd would have thought David had just hit a walk-off blast. The Mets fans were rooting for the Captain and the Team, the Phillies fans were just rooting for the storyline.
Of course, the Mets didn’t exactly seize momentum from that point. Cameron Rupp‘s homer in the second turned the tide back in the home team’s favor and sucked the air out of our section. The Mets got a run back in the next frame on a solo shot from Juan Lagares (my decision to wear my Lagares jersey over my deGrom shirsey certainly paid off), but by the third inning, it was awfully clear that Jacob deGrom, on this night, was not Jacob deGrom. Dominic Brown’s three run shot, punctuated by that unbearable gonging “Liberty Bell” noise the PA system blared as he circled the bases, had all the makings of a dagger, a clear sign that the Phillies were not going to let this game get away.
But by the end of the next inning, nearly everybody in the ballpark surely must have known the Mets would emerge victorious, even with the Phils still up 7-5. Wright began the frame with a single, and Wilmer Flores lined one just over the wall in the left-field corner. From our vantage point, it was a no-doubter; all of the home runs were, because from the third deck, the altitude and speed at which the baseballs were traveling was exhilaratingly visible from the moment the balls left the bat. Nothing is better than knowing a ball is going to go out of the ballpark, and then getting to watch joyously as it does go out of the ballpark and the runs go on the board.
The next hitter, Travis d’Arnaud, followed suit with a solo shot to cut the gap to 2, and it became a matter of how long the Phillies could hold on before the Mets overtook them. It wasn’t long. An inning later, Flores’ second shot of the night came with two men on, and it was a moonshot, one that sent the plethora of Mets fans in attendance into a frenzy. With the exception of Wright, no other Met could have provided the unwelcome Mets fans with the level of joy than Flores, New York’s latest folk-hero. “MVP” chants and “Wil-mer Flor-es” chants came raining down, as the Mets jumped out to a 1-run lead and never looked back.
Michael Cuddyer followed two batters later with the Mets’ sixth blast of the game, and at that point it truly took on the vibe of a home game. The Phillies fans had been struck dumb, while the rowdy Mets fans, drunk with confidence, had their way with Citizens Bank Park. Daniel Murphy tacked on a two-run blast in the next inning, and d’Arnaud added a two-run double. As Sean Gilmartin held down the fort in relief of deGrom, the Met fans in the bleachers began doing a “roll call,” and the players obliged their cries for acknowledgement. A bang-bang play at first in which the runner (Ryan Howard) was rounding a base he would not reach in time was the punchline in what had become an absolute laugher, and of course it was none other than the crowd-favorite Flores making the throw from the seat of his pants after an incredible diving knock-down to make the play possible. By the end of the sixth, some of the Phillies fans were laughing along with us, and more than a couple young fans started wondering aloud whether a conversion to the Orange and Blue was the right move for them.
The Mets added another run in the 7th, but didn’t score in the 8th, and as the game’s result became a forgone conclusion (for the second time in the contest), the Mets fans began to tire and grow bored. Yoenis Cespedes ensured that the game would end on a high note, hitting an absolute rocket for the Mets’ franchise-record-breaking eighth home run of the ballgame. Flores nearly brought the house down with a long fly ball, but it landed just foul to avoid becoming his third dinger of the game.
The Phillies didn’t score once against the often-criticized, short-handed, and, on this night, heavily-burdened Mets bullpen. The Mets pulled away by pouring on the runs, and the sense of superiority us Mets fans (deservedly) felt was tangible at CBP— a far cry from the days of Roy Halladay and Luis Castillo. The Mets were the better team on Monday night, and once they got rolling, they looked like a truly unbeatable bunch, one that— although their matchups will be exponentially tougher— should strike fear into any opponent if (or dare I say, when?) October rolls around.
I have no argument to make today. I have no point to prove or player to exalt or theory to debunk or statistic to shove down anybody’s throat. But last night’s Mets game, despite being played away from the increasingly friendly confines of Citi Field, was the perfect experience, and it’s time to look forward to what will be a hell of a stretch run for a team that has finally restored itself to relevance and respectability, and put itself in a position to make 2015 a truly special season. Here’s to many more jubilant experiences between now and the Mets’ final game— however late we end up being fortunate enough to see that game played.
