Rat, Raccoon, Possum, Who Gives a Damn? That's Family Business
Mets put the fire out behind closed doors and left it there. We like that...
First is was hitting approach coach Donnie Stevenson. On Friday night, a critter of some sort. Neither are likely real, but hey, whatever it takes for this team to start racking up wins consistently…
Whatever happened down that tunnel in the middle of the seventh, it was obviously big enough for the team to collectively brush it under the rug. To be honest, that’s refreshing to an extent.
In years past, we’ve seen all types of stories emerge from the Mets’ clubhouse — from the harmless to the dickish to absolutely mind-blowing — causing unnecessary ripple effects or waves in their wake.
It doesn’t feel like this one’s escaping those sacred locker room clutches. That’s great news, actually.
What happened post-game on Friday was akin to a players-only meeting. The group came together, figured out how to solve a problem, and got the job done. It’s no one else’s business what happened except for the guys in that room.
And we should be OK with that. As long as the good times continue to roll, of course. If the wheels fall off of this thing, you can bet your binky this press corps will be all over this turn of events.
The veterans in that clubhouse knew the situation could have easily spiraled out of control — between the New York media and fans, we’re an intense bunch — and put the team first, concocting one of the more entertaining spin jobs we’ve seen in some time.
And who better to deliver that message than a wide-smiling Francisco Lindor, fresh off a slump-busting 2-for-5 night with the game-tying two-run homer? No one, that’s who.
Mets manager Luis Rojas wasn’t touching the rodent/marsupial story, and that’s OK, too. He remained focused on a great win (which it was) and the road ahead. Even-keeled, as always.
As opposed to the players who spun this terrifically wild tale (team-building exercise?), Rojas made it clear as day that this was an internal incident and would remain that way, in his own little way.
It’s a delicate situation, a major league clubhouse. As we’ve intimated here this week, there’s a lot that the fans or media never hear about. And that’s exactly how it should be. That’s family business.
Most of us who meet the criteria have argued or rumbled with a sibling at one point or another. Things come to a head and the air needs to be cleared. It happens.
Now imagine you have 26 siblings spending countless hours around each other. No matter if everyone’s on the same page with the same goal, or even if they’re all genuinely friendly with each other, shit happens.
In the optimal conditions — which these Mets find themselves in after scuffling to a 14-13 record over the first five-plus weeks of the season — tensions can boil over at the drop of a hat.
That’s likely (assuredly) what happened on Friday. No biggie. That’s just part of the process in some cases.
No matter how the situation came to that point or what actually happened down that tunnel, it’s a family matter. As fans, we’re like the distant cousins in that equation. We only hear about the big stuff. And that’s perfectly fine.
Though, it is a little concerning that this was the best story they could come up with. New York rats. I just giggled again typing that. At least get creative.
“Francisco, what happened in the tunnel?”
“It was crazy, Steve. Former Mets manager Terry Collins tried to charge the dugout from the clubhouse in full uniform, demanding that the young players be protected from lefties. McNeil and I were the first ones down, then Conforto saw us struggling with Terry, so Mike and the rest of the team came down to help. We got him. Tough cookie, TC.”
See? Easy and believable.
All jokes aside, just win baby. LFGM.
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