LOS ANGELES – The orange plastic sign, a symbol of the season, remained intact and turned upside down on the dugout bench.
One by one, after Sunday’s 10-5 loss in Game 6 of the National League Championship Series, the defeated New York Mets retreated to the bowels of Dodger Stadium. On the diamond, the celebration broke out under a fountain of fireworks. Some Mets stayed to watch, to experience in full color the pain of a lost opportunity. Others, like superstar shortstop Francisco Lindor, avoided the scene entirely and hurried into the clubhouse. Behind them all, the team’s huge plastic OMG sign lingered, like a tangerine shadow on a sable night.
Earlier in the season, “OMG” became a catchphrase for the Mets after second baseman José Iglesias released a song with the same name. The song went viral, as did the Mets. The phrase soon found its way to caps, T-shirts and, of course, a giant plastic sign that the team carried into the dugout for each game, taking pictures with it after each home run.
But in the end, after the final exhale, it just stayed there. Flipped over his head, 90 degrees counterclockwise, ignored in the midst of madness and sadness.
Finally, a manager from the Mets club came to retrieve the object. With a packet of catching equipment under his left arm, he picked up the sign with his right and carried it down the tunnel, out of sight, perhaps forever.
It was here, in the imaginary city, under swaying palm fronds and a cotton candy sky, that the 2024 Mets ran out of magic.
In reality, they simply ran out of pitchers.
One of the most exciting baseball clubs in recent memory, a group that thrived on chaos, improbability, lack of sleep and good vibes, fell victim to baseball’s realpolitik: Outs must come from somewhere.
These Mets will be remembered as a thrill ride, but the story of their eventual demise was surprisingly simple, almost…boring. Starter Sean Manaea, who became an ace after a midseason mechanical change, allowed five Dodgers to score and recorded just six outs. A beleaguered, overloaded and understaffed bullpen struggled admirably but leaked runs. New York’s offense weakened and threatened to come back on numerous occasions, but could not provide the counterattack it needed.
And so, the Dodgers will go to the World Series, to play the New York Yankees in a bi-coastal showdown for the ages. Meanwhile, the Mets head home to spend the winter wondering what could have been while also appreciating what was.
Because while it ended in disappointment, this team accomplished something significant.
Left for dead in late May, the Mets won more games than any other team for the rest of the season. Buoyed by a slew of gimmicks and better starting pitching, they quickly climbed the standings and entered the playoff picture. Along the way, they discovered a feeling and shared it with their fans. They evoked moments (Pete Alonso’s last-gasp home run in the third wild-card game, Francisco Lindor’s grand slam in the fourth game of the NLDS) that will last a lifetime. Both for those who gave testimony and for those who performed the conjuring.
“Those moments,” Alonso, who will become a free agent this winter, told Yahoo Sports after Game 6. “Not just individually but collectively, that’s the shit you live for. That’s the shit you play for.”
Some of that collective will gather in Queens, next year and beyond, but the essence of the 2024 Mets cannot be replicated.
Sure, some tricks will survive the winter, but many will wilt in the frost. The doll cannot live forever. Pumpkins rot over time. It is more difficult to show off an OMG sign if Iglesias plays elsewhere.
Year-to-year turnover is inevitable for any team, but the Mets could look drastically different come February. This is not a particularly young squad. Sixty percent of the pitching rotation (Manaea, José Quintana and Luis Severino) will hit the open market, as will Alonso, Iglesias, Harrison Bader, JD Martínez, Jesse Winker and Ryne Stanek. More than $175 million in payroll will come off the books. Much of that was committed to players who did not finish this season on the roster.
President of baseball operations David Stearns has an exciting winter ahead. Maybe Alonso returns, maybe team owner Steve Cohen opens his checkbook for Juan Soto, maybe Stearns opts to scale back his focus from last offseason and concentrate on depth over impact. Either way, despite the impending darkness of change, this franchise is in a healthy place. Lindor is a fundamental superstar. Mark Vientos’ escape seems real. The agricultural system is solid. And it’s all run by a committed leadership group that (1) cares deeply and (2) seems to know what they’re doing, which, for Mets fans, hasn’t always been the case.
But no matter how the winter goes, the Mets will almost certainly enter spring training with multiple new faces and, eventually, new tricks.
That reality — that what was will not remain, that the roller coaster is over — seemed to hit some Mets particularly hard after their Game 6 loss.
When reporters entered the clubhouse, catcher Francisco Álvarez was hunched over on the floor, with his back against the wall and tears in his eyes. Outfielder Brandon Nimmo comforted him by offering words of encouragement. Lindor, still in his baseball pants, sat on the floor next to Iglesias’ locker and stared into space. Vientos conducted his press conference in an uncharacteristically soft tone. The usual clatter of the end of a season echoed throughout the room in a symphony of high fives and hugs.
After a while, a group of Mets pitchers gathered in the corner. Some held beers. Others drank 40-proof soda from double-stacked soda glasses. Chatter filled the circle, praising the beauty of the journey through the rubble. In a brief moment of silence, one pitcher sat back and wondered aloud, “Man, how long has spring training been going on?”
That was the wonder of this Mets season. This team lived many lives, from a discarded train accident to the beloved Cinderella. When it was finally over, all the memories came back in an instant, bringing teary eyes and long silences. Many of the Mets will spend the night drowning their sorrows together as a long goodbye. They will tell stories to relive the magic.
And on Monday everyone will go their separate ways.
When asked what he’s most likely to remember from the Mets’ whirlwind season, Stanek told Yahoo Sports: “I don’t even remember half of the shit that happened. Because so many things have happened to us that are not even counted.
“It doesn’t seem real.”
