As we patiently yet restlessly bide our baseball-less time for one more day, let us pause once more on this 11th day of July, 2019 and soak in another one of our shiniest, yet grittiest diamonds in the rough in Jeff McNeil. Perhaps it is appropriate that the provocative dirty riffs of Gary Clark Jr’s “Bright Lights” just queued up over this morning’s dark roast.
For behind the squirrely crooked half-smile on Jeff’s wide-eyed face lies an underbelly of competitive angst we only hope spreads like wildfire in the clubhouse. As Jeff’s now been up for just longer than today’s cup of joe, his steady ingratiation to Mets Hysteria provokes us to feel like he’s been here for years. (Pause for sip, ♫ “Woke up in New York City lying on the floor… ”, as I crack my own crooked smile for the Squirrel.) And like this edition’s Part One on Mr. Alonso, Jeff McNeil is ours. Knock on wood.
The Numbers
While we’ve already discussed what Pete Alonso brings to the table in terms of power, poise, and naiveté in his few fast months during this 2019 season, Jeff McNeil brings a completely different package to the table. Jeff’s approach at the plate conjures an alternative set of comparisons to those of yesteryear. Think Tony Gwynn. Think Rod Carew. As Freddie Freeman begrudgingly said of McNeil this All-Star Game week, “I don’t like when he walks into the box, he just hits and hits and hits.” So far in 2019, Jeff’s slashing .349/.409/.509, leading all of baseball in batting.
In his 76 games and 318 plate appearances this year, he’s amassed the necessary sample size to qualify under the “technical” title: legit. Throw in his call up in ’18 and his 139 total games still gives him a BA of .340, a slugging of .889, and a WAR of 5.4. Not bad for this noob in this city… (♫ “Bright lights, big city going to my head… I don’t care”). The guy simply looks to put, using his own words, “bat on ball.” And that he does. Knock on wood.
Beyond The Numbers
While Jeff’s introduction on the national landscape went relatively unnoticed in Cleveland this week, save for an operator error profiling Jacob deGrom’s face on the scoreboard when Jeff came to bat, we in Mets Nation already know. Once again proving Mets fans know baseball as much as they know passion, we’ve watched every one of this guy’s ABs as they’ve increasingly become their own form of Must See TV. He brings us back to our childhood game. And for some, he’s a living example of what our parents and grandparents would speak of in terms of hitting. Jeff’s up there swinging. He’s not looking for walks. He’s not looking to beef up his OBP in this increasingly sabermetric time. He’s up there to hit. You see it in his approach. It’s hidden somewhere between an art and a science. But mostly, it’s just natural. Knock on wood.
Beyond The Hitting
It’s endearing to hear Jeff talk of his Dirtbag baseball upbringings at Long Beach St. In a day and age when the game so often falls under a shroud of money, pressure, and statistics, Jeff tugs at the heartstrings of a game we all remember, if even from our little league days. He speaks, correct that, he shows us hustle, grit, dirt, going for the extra base, pushing a slap bunt, laying out for a fly, fouling off 2-strike pitches seemingly just for fun, all with a blend of purpose and joy. He’s far more athletic than his build may show.
His hand-eye coordination is second to none. He’s a scratch golfer. He’s got a hose. He’s the kid you remember from gym class that could humbly do it all with relative ease. He reminds us of either or both of an ‘80s 1-2 punch in Dykstra and/or Backman that set the table for heavy hitters like Keith, Kid, and Straw. He plays the right way, a grizzled yet poetic form of small ball we ever so long for. And while All Star voters lagged to learn of Jeff, it’s only a matter of time. (Sing it Gary, ♫ “You gonna know my name by the end of the night, yeah.”) Like we prophesize with pride for Pete, Jeff is ours. He’s a homegrown contact hitter who plays the way we pine for. He’s our dirtbag baller of yesteryear. Knock on wood.
