David Stearns Took the Blame... But Carlos Mendoza Still Paid the Price

There are days albeit few and far between when being a Mets fan feels like winning the lottery.

Then there are days like today.

The kind of day where you know the guillotine is coming, you just don't know whose neck is underneath it until the blade falls.

This time it was Carlos Mendoza.

As David Stearns walked to the podium Friday afternoon to explain why the Mets had fired their manager, he looked like a man who knew exactly what everyone in the room was thinking. He didn't come in breathing fire. He didn't throw players under the bus. He didn't point fingers at ownership. In fact, for nearly twenty minutes, Stearns did something executives rarely do.

He accepted the blame.

"Ultimately, everything that occurs in baseball operations, including our major league record, is my responsibility," Stearns said early in the press conference.

He repeated that sentiment over and over.

"This is never on one person. Certainly not all on Carlos."

"I take responsibility for our record on the field."

If you only listened to those comments, you'd think the general manager was about to resign.

Instead, Carlos Mendoza lost his job.

That's baseball.

Or maybe that's just the Mets.

I'll admit something.

I genuinely like Carlos Mendoza.

Not just because everyone in baseball says he's a terrific human being, but because I think he was handed one of the most impossible jobs imaginable. He inherited enormous expectations, navigated last year's collapse, then watched David Stearns completely reconstruct his roster and coaching staff over the winter.

And when everything fell apart?

The manager became the easiest thing to change.

Even Stearns couldn't hide how difficult the decision was.

"Mendy gave everything he had to our organization for the last two and a half years."

"He's an exceptionally talented leader."

"He's a really good baseball man."

"Above all else, he's an outstanding person."

"I enjoyed working with him, and I'm going to miss him."

Those weren't empty corporate compliments.

At one point Stearns became visibly emotional discussing the decision, admitting that he and Mendoza had spoken "almost every day for the last two and a half years."

You could see this wasn't a firing he wanted to make.

It was one he felt he had to make.

The question everyone wanted answered was simple.

Why now?

After all, Stearns had defended Mendoza publicly all season.

His answer?

"There wasn't one thing."

He said the organization believed Mendoza could help turn the season around.

"We haven't."

"And in some cases, it's gotten worse."

"When that happens... you've got to make a change."

"It was time."

That's about as honest as front-office executives usually get.

Here's where I struggle.

Was Mendoza perfect?

Of course not.

There were questionable bullpen decisions.

Questionable lineup cards.

Questionable moments.

Every manager has them.

But when I watched this season unfold, I didn't see a manager losing games nearly as often as I saw players failing to execute.

Stearns himself seemed to agree.

Asked whether Mendoza had lost the clubhouse, his answer came quickly.

"No."

Asked whether there was an accountability issue.

"No."

"We have an execution problem."

Not a preparation problem.

Not a clubhouse problem.

Not an accountability problem.

An execution problem.

That's a pretty important distinction.

Because if the players weren't executing...

...how much of that belongs on the manager?

Stearns continued insisting he still believes in the roster.

"I believe in the talent that's in our room."

"But belief on its own does not lead to results."

That may have been the most revealing sentence of the afternoon.

Because this roster was built by David Stearns.

He chose these players.

He reshaped the clubhouse.

He revamped nearly the entire coaching staff.

He doubled down when critics questioned the offseason.

Now, halfway through a disappointing season, he admitted they simply haven't been good enough.

When asked whether the wrong players had been acquired or whether the current group had underachieved, Stearns essentially said it didn't matter.

Either way...

"The end result is we have not been good enough."

One answer particularly caught my attention.

Stearns was asked whether he had considered stepping aside himself.

His response was immediate.

"I have not."

He explained he still believes the organization is building a strong foundation, even if the major league record doesn't reflect it.

That's probably true.

The Mets' farm system is healthier.

Infrastructure has improved.

Player development has made strides.

But Mets fans don't buy tickets to watch organizational infrastructure.

They buy tickets to watch wins.

Stearns acknowledged exactly that.

"The major league level is what matters."

"Wins and losses at the major league level... that's what this is all about."

He's right.

The one thing I respected most?

Stearns never tried to pin this on Mendoza.

Even after firing him, he kept praising him.

When reminded that Mendoza had been an NLCS manager, a Manager of the Year finalist, and widely respected throughout baseball, Stearns answered simply:

"I'd still extol Mendy's virtues."

"We have not played good enough."

That's remarkably fair.

Unfortunately, fairness doesn't save jobs.

Interim manager Andy Green now inherits the mess.

Stearns isn't pretending Green is a miracle worker.

"I understand there's no magic bullet."

"I don't think there's a flip of a switch."

Instead, he hopes a "new voice," "new perspective," and "different style" can spark a team that has looked lifeless far too often.

But make no mistake—this isn't a tryout for the permanent job.

When asked directly if Green was auditioning to become the Mets' next manager, Stearns gave a one-word answer.

"No."

He made it clear that Green will serve strictly as the interim manager through the remainder of the 2026 season before returning to his front office role. Once the season ends, the Mets will conduct what Stearns described as a full managerial search to identify the franchise's next skipper.

Maybe Green provides the temporary jolt the Mets are hoping for.

Maybe he doesn't.

Even Stearns acknowledged this wasn't about finding one magical fix.

"This is incremental."

"This is day to day."

"This is doing the work every single day to get us back on track."

Maybe it will.

Maybe it won't.

But even Stearns admitted this wasn't about one dramatic change.

"This is incremental."

"This is day to day."

"This is doing the work every single day to get us back on track."

As someone who has lived and died with this franchise for decades, I walked away from this press conference with two conflicting thoughts.

First, I respected David Stearns for standing there and repeatedly taking ownership. That's rarer than a Mets season without drama.

Second, I couldn't shake the feeling that Carlos Mendoza deserved better.

I could see this season wearing on him. Every postgame looked heavier than the last. The losses weren't just piling up in the standings—they were showing on his face. Through it all, he never publicly threw a player under the bus, never pointed fingers, never made excuses.

As I have stated before I think Mendy is both a good man and a good baseball man.

And maybe—just maybe—if the people above him had allowed him to be a little more of a baseball man instead of managing within an increasingly structured organizational framework, the results might have been different.

We'll never know.

What we do know is this:

David Stearns accepted responsibility.

Carlos Mendoza accepted unemployment.

And somewhere, long-suffering Mets fans are once again left wondering if changing the manager fixes the problem...

...or simply changes the name on the office door while the real issues remain wearing uniforms.