Let's take a moment to wish Sterling Marte well. He was a big contributor to the 2022 team and if he hadn't broken his finger things would've turned out differently.
There’s something oddly stubborn about the modern Mets’ allergy to small ball. Watching these spring games, you’d think bunting was outlawed in the last collective bargaining agreement.
I’m not even talking about turning Citi Field into 1985 overnight. I’m talking about situational craft. The occasional bunt to beat the shift (well, when there was one), the push bunt against a third baseman playing back, the half-swing “dunk” hit that just clears the infield and dies in no man’s land. The little nuisance plays that make pitchers mutter into their gloves.
The last Met who really weaponized that approach consistently was Jeff McNeil during his 2022 batting title season. He’d spoil a tough pitch, flick one the other way, or just stick the bat out and float something over the infield grass. It wasn’t glamorous. It was irritating. And it worked.
You still see those “accidental” bloopers pop up across the league — especially on pitches outside the zone. A guy reaches, makes imperfect contact, and the ball drops between short and left like it was placed there with GPS. The irony? That kind of imperfect contact is sometimes more dangerous than the perfect uppercut.
In an era of elite velocity and wipeout breaking stuff, hitters are told to optimize launch angle and damage. Fair enough. But when everyone is swinging from the heels, a controlled half-swing becomes a tactical surprise. When the bullpen is stacked with 98-mph arms and unhittable sliders, why not occasionally shorten up and play chess instead of checkers?
Small ball isn’t nostalgia. It’s leverage. It forces defenders to move. It pressures pitchers to field their position. It manufactures runs on nights when three-run homers are in short supply.
No one’s asking for a lineup full of slap hitters. But a contender should have more than one gear. Right now, too often, it feels like the Mets are waiting for the three-run blast in March as if October pitching won’t expose that habit.
The dunk hit isn’t pretty. The bunt doesn’t sell jerseys. But in a tight game in September? I’ll take the ugly single that scores a run over the majestic fly ball that dies on the warning track every time.
I like it, but the chances of Mendoza’s implementing that are equal to the chances of the Mets calling a fan out of the stands to help fill-in somewhere on the field. Mendoza doesn’t have the stones to go against modern wisdom of not sacrificing an out under most circumstances.
I have felt for many years that playing for just one run every inning would get you more runs than trying to create a big inning all the time and having zero much of the time.
Also, McNeil was aided by good bat control and an open SS hole as the shift wasn’t yet banned. Once banned, it was much harder for him to get it through the infield than it was to just have a huge hole to poke it through.
Let's take a moment to wish Sterling Marte well. He was a big contributor to the 2022 team and if he hadn't broken his finger things would've turned out differently.
I loved him so much Joel
There’s something oddly stubborn about the modern Mets’ allergy to small ball. Watching these spring games, you’d think bunting was outlawed in the last collective bargaining agreement.
I’m not even talking about turning Citi Field into 1985 overnight. I’m talking about situational craft. The occasional bunt to beat the shift (well, when there was one), the push bunt against a third baseman playing back, the half-swing “dunk” hit that just clears the infield and dies in no man’s land. The little nuisance plays that make pitchers mutter into their gloves.
The last Met who really weaponized that approach consistently was Jeff McNeil during his 2022 batting title season. He’d spoil a tough pitch, flick one the other way, or just stick the bat out and float something over the infield grass. It wasn’t glamorous. It was irritating. And it worked.
You still see those “accidental” bloopers pop up across the league — especially on pitches outside the zone. A guy reaches, makes imperfect contact, and the ball drops between short and left like it was placed there with GPS. The irony? That kind of imperfect contact is sometimes more dangerous than the perfect uppercut.
In an era of elite velocity and wipeout breaking stuff, hitters are told to optimize launch angle and damage. Fair enough. But when everyone is swinging from the heels, a controlled half-swing becomes a tactical surprise. When the bullpen is stacked with 98-mph arms and unhittable sliders, why not occasionally shorten up and play chess instead of checkers?
Small ball isn’t nostalgia. It’s leverage. It forces defenders to move. It pressures pitchers to field their position. It manufactures runs on nights when three-run homers are in short supply.
No one’s asking for a lineup full of slap hitters. But a contender should have more than one gear. Right now, too often, it feels like the Mets are waiting for the three-run blast in March as if October pitching won’t expose that habit.
The dunk hit isn’t pretty. The bunt doesn’t sell jerseys. But in a tight game in September? I’ll take the ugly single that scores a run over the majestic fly ball that dies on the warning track every time.
I like it, but the chances of Mendoza’s implementing that are equal to the chances of the Mets calling a fan out of the stands to help fill-in somewhere on the field. Mendoza doesn’t have the stones to go against modern wisdom of not sacrificing an out under most circumstances.
I have felt for many years that playing for just one run every inning would get you more runs than trying to create a big inning all the time and having zero much of the time.
Also, McNeil was aided by good bat control and an open SS hole as the shift wasn’t yet banned. Once banned, it was much harder for him to get it through the infield than it was to just have a huge hole to poke it through.
Interesting comment. McNeil fan here.