Mets Fans, Lend Me Your Ear, I Come to Praise Mendoza Not Bury Him

Mets fans, lend me your ears—though given the way this season went, most of us would rather stuff them with Shea Stadium hot dog wrappers than listen to another rant from New York’s sports talk airwaves. The Mets’ 2025 campaign has been less Field of Dreams and more a Shakespearean tragedy where everyone dies in the fifth inning and the ghost of Mel Rojas keeps wandering through the bullpen. And yet, as the chorus of outrage grows louder, I can’t help but notice it’s being led by folks like BT and Sal Licata, who, to my knowledge, have never set foot in Port St. Lucie, never sniffed the pine tar in a Mets locker room, and couldn’t pick a Rule 5 guy out of a police lineup. Then there’s Boomer Esiason, who has played professional sports and therefore should know better—but for all his finger-pointing, let’s remember he was a quarterback for 14 NFL seasons, made the playoffs in just two, and finished with a losing career record. And Craig Carton? Don’t even get me started. This is a man who resigned from WFAN after being arrested for securities and wire fraud, was sentenced to three and a half years in prison, served a year before finishing his term under home confinement, and finally wrapped up three years of court-ordered probation in June 2024. In other words, he’s spent more time under federal supervision than most Mets relievers spend under the supervision of a pitching coach.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I’m not sitting here in some ivory press box pretending everything’s fine while the Flushing burns. I’m one of you. A Mets fan. And trust me, I’m just as frustrated as the talking heads on the radio, the doomsayers on social media, and the diehards who follow us every day on KinersKorner.com. But here’s the thing: I also know how impossibly fragile a baseball season is. So much has to go right just for a team to stumble into October. A fat payroll doesn’t let you hit the fast-forward button to the playoffs. It doesn’t guarantee health. It doesn’t magically fund the backup infielder who suddenly morphs into a star and carries you into October glory. Those things are in the fickle hands of the Baseball Gods, and some years they’re with you, some years they’re not. See: the black cat of 1969, the ball off the wall in 1973, Bill Buckner in 1986, Daniel Murphy in 2015, José Iglesias and OMG in 2024, Jacob Young making not one but two incredible defensive plays to steal a game, or former Met Harrison Bader morphing into Joe Hardy and single-handedly winning series as both a Twin and a Phillie—probably costing the Mets a playoff berth. So before we sharpen our pitchforks for Carlos Mendoza, let’s take a deep breath, look at what really went wrong, and admit this simple truth: none of it is his fault.

And yes, I know a lot of the venom has been sprayed in David Stearns’ direction too. That’s a whole other article for another day. But let’s be clear: nobody on the radio, nobody in the press, and no fan—including yours truly—has more baseball smarts than Stearns. This is the guy who built a perennial contender in Milwaukee, pulled off the Christian Yelich heist, and in his first year in Queens helped Mendoza steer the Mets to a 14-game improvement. Sure, they slipped back a half-dozen games this season, but under his watch the farm system had its best year in decades—Binghamton winning the Eastern League, Brooklyn winning the South Atlantic, affiliates topping 90 wins for the first time in a quarter-century. That doesn’t happen by accident. So no, I’m not going to kill Stearns either.

If James Carville were a Mets fan (and honestly, he looks like a guy who’s waited out a rain delay at Shea), he’d have said it perfectly: It’s the pitching, stupid. Plain and simple. Sure, there were other problems—the offense disappeared for weeks at a time, and the bullpen door might as well have been a trap door—but the biggest issue was starting pitching.

In 2024, the rotation wasn’t dominant, but it was steady. Sean Manaea made 32 starts, threw 181 innings, put up a 3.47 ERA, and even got Cy Young votes. José Quintana gave them 170 innings with a 3.75 ERA. David Peterson broke out, going 10–3 with a 2.90 ERA in 21 starts. Even Tylor Megill chipped in 78 decent innings. That group wasn’t spectacular, but they showed up every fifth day and kept the Mets in games.

Now look at 2025. Peterson held his own and even made an All-Star team, but he was pushed to a career high 168 innings instead of 121 and it showed in the second half of the season. The Clay Holmes experiment was a success as he gave them 31 starts, solid if at times unspectacular. Kodai Senga, the guy who was supposed to anchor the staff, missed big chunks of the season and managed only 22 starts. Griffin Canning gave them 16 good starts until he was hurt, Megill 14. And Manaea? The same pitcher who got Cy Young votes the year before was unrecognizable—12 starts, 5.64 ERA, 13 homers in just 60 innings.

Here’s the difference in black and white: in 2024, the top four starters combined for 104 starts and 552 innings. In 2025, those spots gave them 91 starts and 523 innings—a dozen fewer starts and 30 fewer innings, with shakier results across the board. That gap meant the bullpen was leaned on far too often, and as every Mets fan knows, asking more from the bullpen usually ends with you asking, “Who is this guy and why is he in the game?”

And then there was the bullpen. On paper in March, it looked like a strength: Edwin Díaz back to close, A.J. Minter as a lefty weapon, Danny Young and Max Kranick as depth pieces, Dedniel Núñez as a live arm. By June? Half of them were on the IL, and the Mets were auditioning relievers the way Broadway auditions chorus lines. The result: a franchise-record 46 pitchers used in 2025. That’s not a bullpen, that’s a casting call.

To be fair, there were bright spots. Edwin Díaz was as good as advertised—1.63 ERA, 28 saves, 98 strikeouts in 66 innings, holding hitters to a .154 batting average. That’s elite. Veterans Brooks Raley (2.45 ERA) and Tyler Rogers (2.30 ERA) were reliable when healthy. Even journeyman Rico Garcia somehow struck out 16 batters in 12 innings while allowing just seven hits.

But for every Díaz, there was a Ryan Helsley. The Mets brought him in at the deadline to be the missing piece. Instead, he was missing the strike zone. In 22 appearances he posted a 7.20 ERA, walked 11 in 20 innings, and gave up four home runs. That’s not “deadline acquisition,” that’s “dead on arrival.”

And here’s the part that stings: if you scroll back through Helsley’s 2025 log in St. Louis, it’s not like he was a disaster. In fact, he was pretty good. By July 25, the man had 21 saves, a 3.00 ERA, and was closing games like a pro. He wasn’t lights-out Díaz, but he wasn’t lighting fires, either. From April through July he blew a couple saves here and there (five in all), but he was otherwise one of the Cardinals’ most trusted arms.

So what happened when he crossed the Whitestone Bridge? His Mets debut wasn’t terrible—one inning, two hits, no runs against the Giants. Then, Cleveland came to town: one blown game in extras, another tight loss the next night. From there it snowballed. By mid-August he was giving up crooked numbers in one-third of an inning, the kind of outings that make you reach for the Maalox and wonder what exactly the scouts saw.

And that’s the question: was there anything David Stearns, or Carlos Mendoza, or Carnac the Magnificent for that matter could have seen to prevent this? His velocity was still upper-90s. His strikeout numbers in St. Louis were solid. His walk rate wasn’t perfect, but not red-flag bad. The peripherals (FIP in the mid-3s) suggested competence, not collapse.

Sometimes a reliever just drives his U-Haul into Flushing and his career drives into a ditch. Was Helsley tipping pitches? Was it bad luck, bad coaching, bad confidence? Or was this the baseball gods’ way of reminding Mets fans that hope is a dangerous thing?

And he wasn’t alone. Ryne Stanek appeared in 65 games, gave up 33 earned runs, walked 32, and finished with a 5.30 ERA—like Stephen King’s Charlie McGee from Firestarter, gifted with pyrokinesis and turning every appearance into a blaze.. Gregory Soto, another name reliever, allowed more hits (33) than innings pitched (24). Ryan Helsley, Gregory Soto, Ryne Stanek—that’s three supposed back-end guys with ERA+ numbers of 57, 91, and 76. Translation: well off their norms, below average across the board. Mendoza handed them the ball thinking they still were what the back of their baseball cards said they were—a line famously coined by George Will. The fact is, they were far from it this year—so is that on Mendoza?

The team’s overall relief picture tells the story:

Top-heavy performance: Díaz, Raley, Rogers combined for a 2.12 ERA in 84 innings.

Everyone else: 4.90 ERA with a WHIP over 1.40.

Walks were killers—five relievers had a BB/9 over 4.0, and several were north of 5.0.

Home runs were just as bad—eight different relievers allowed more than one homer per nine innings.

By September, it felt like every night was the same script: starter battles, offense scratches out a lead, bullpen hands it back with a walk, a bloop, and a bomb. That’s how you end up with 46 pitchers in one season—too many injuries, too many experiments, and not nearly enough answers.

Let’s start with the offense — but let’s be clear: it’s still pitching, stupid. The Mets scored 766 runs in 2025, two fewer than last year, but still 64 more than the Padres and 50 more than the Reds. They matched the Mariners and outpaced the Guardians. That’s not a fluke — it’s a strong offensive baseline.

The Mets’ Big Four — Lindor, Soto, Alonso, and Nimmo — delivered as advertised. They provided the core production the front office envisioned. But injuries to Jose Siri and Jesse Winker — two high-energy players who brought outfield depth and DH power — stripped away important flexibility. That left Tyrone Taylor manning center far more often than planned. Taylor is a strong role player: a dependable glove, steady effort, and situational versatility. But an everyday lineup spot isn’t where he thrives. His offensive numbers this season (.227 BA/.271 OBP/.345 SLG vs. RHP; .211/.297/.256 vs. LHP) reflect that struggle.

Would Siri and Winker have delivered enough offense to swing one or two more games in the Mets’ favor? Maybe. But without them, manager Mendoza’s options were thin. This is one area David Stearns may have been referencing when he admitted he could have been more reactive — injuries exposed a lack of depth and lineup flexibility.

Add to that the Mets’ commitment to a youth movement — with Alvarez (23), Veintos and Baty (both 25) as its foundation — and inconsistency becomes a natural byproduct. Compare that to rivals: the Phillies have no starters younger than 27, the Dodgers only one under 30. With youth comes growing pains. If your pitching holds up, you can weather the storms. If it doesn’t, you fall short.

All that being said — how is this Mendoza’s fault?

Carlos Mendoza wasn't a good manager on Opening Day until June 13 when the Mets were the best team in baseball ,and then woke up as a bad manager. Each season brings its own challenges, and this year the Mets simply weren’t able to collectively overcome theirs. But this is a leadership group, from ownership to David Stearns to Mendoza himself, committed to building long-term success. Sometimes that means accepting temporary setbacks. This was Year Two of Carlos Mendoza, and yes — I’m frustrated that I’m not watching Game 1 of the Mets Wild Card. But in some way, isn’t it a little miraculous they still had a shot to make it in Game 162?

And I wonder: what would all those piling on the Mets today have said if they were around in 1925, when the New York Yankees — led by Hall of Fame manager Miller Huggins — followed up their 1923 98-win World Series championship with a second-place finish in 1924, and then a disaster of a seventh-place, 69-win season in 1925 with Gehrig and Ruth? Would Huggins have lasted long enough to win 110 games in 1927?

Mendoza deserves the same patience. Building something special rarely comes without bumps in the road. I’ve seen firsthand how prepared he is in spring training — no wasted time, every drill with a purpose. I’ve seen the way he is with the players. This is a baseball lifer who knows the game inside and out, and from everything I can tell, he has the respect of his clubhouse. He’s in year two in the biggest market in the sport, and his record sits at 172–152. For perspective, Gil Hodges was 173–151 in his first two years. Terry Collins went 151–173. Bobby Valentine was 176–148. Davey Johnson was 188–136. Buck Showalter was 176–148. Every one of those managers is remembered fondly by Mets fans.

As of now, I’m firmly Team Carlos. I come not to bury him, but to praise him.