Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing #21: From Streetball to Citi Field: The Unlikely Rise of T.J. Rivera

Welcome to the twenty-first installment of Mets Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, where we rummage through the attic of Mets history like we’re looking for that old Starting Lineup figure of Howard Johnson that lost its head somewhere in a 1990s toy bin. These are the guys who didn’t get bobbleheads or Citi Field banners—but for a moonshot to the Shea scoreboard, a moment of mayhem, or just embodying that lovable Mets mix of chaos and potential, they’re forever part of the Flushing family.

Last week we gave the Sunday School treatment to Mike Jacobs, a square-jawed, lefty-swinging first baseman who burst onto the scene with one of the greatest debut games in franchise history. His was a story of instant impact, longball theatrics, and the cruel math of roster crunches.

This week, we fast forward to a different kind of debut story. It's 2016. Citi Field is bouncing in the post-Murph era, the pitching staff is stacked, and the Mets are still glowing from their World Series run the year before. Into that mix steps a Bronx-born infielder who didn’t come with prospect hype or Topps Chrome refractors—but who earned his place with grit, contact hitting, and a swing tailor-made for a rally.

Let’s talk about T.J. Rivera—the hometown kid who made good, if only briefly, before injuries and front office forgetfulness turned his fairy tale into one of the most quietly tragic “what could’ve been” stories in recent Mets memory.

You can’t help but root for a guy like T.J. Rivera. He wasn’t blessed with elite tools or an MLB pipeline last name, and there sure wasn’t a Sports Illustrated cover with his 12-year-old mug on it. He was just a local Bronx kid playing streetball with a softball glove, making contact like it was his job—which, eventually, it would be. Somewhere along the way, while hitting .600 in high school and dodging errant Danny Almonte fastballs in the Little League circuit, Rivera became a baseball lifer before the paycheck ever came.

Undrafted out of Troy University—even after tearing up junior college and earning a degree in criminal justice, just in case—Rivera could’ve walked away from the game right then and there. But destiny wears many uniforms, and for Rivera, it came in the form of a call from former Mets catcher Mackey Sasser. Yes, that Mackey Sasser. A guy who knew something about overcoming adversity and awkwardness (Google: Mackey Sasser Syndrome), Mackey saw something in Rivera and got him a look from the Mets. The rest, as they say, is Flushing folklore.

Rivera didn’t just hit in the minors—he raked. He put up .300+ seasons like he was printing them at Kinko’s, hitting .349 in 2014, .325 in 2015, and winning the Pacific Coast League batting title in 2016 with a .353 average and a .909 OPS for Triple-A Las Vegas. That standout campaign finally earned him a long-overdue call-up to the Mets, where he debuted on August 10, 2016, and didn’t waste any time making an impression. First hit? Check. First RBI? Check. First dinger? A clutch, go-ahead bomb in extra innings off Nationals closer Mark Melancon, no less. If you didn’t tear up a little, you probably didn’t get choked up when Ray Kinsella asked his dad to have a catch in Field of Dreams.

By the end of 2016, Rivera was starting at second base in the NL Wild Card Game—one of the rare players in Mets history to go from undrafted longshot to playoff starter without ever grumbling about what took so long. He was the ultimate throwback: a contact-first, gap-hitting gamer in an era obsessed with exit velocity and launch angle. His bat was built for rallies, not radar guns.

In 2017, Rivera earned a spot on the Mets’ Opening Day roster, a hard-won validation of years riding buses and pounding baseballs in towns with more tumbleweeds than traffic lights. But baseball, like life, has a cruel sense of timing. Rivera suffered a partial UCL tear in his elbow—ironically, the kind of injury that usually sidelines pitchers—and underwent Tommy John surgery. While pitchers often return with new leases on velocity, for a utility infielder in his late 20s trying to stick on a big-league roster? It was a career detour he couldn’t quite come back from.

The Mets released him in 2019. After stints with the Long Island Ducks and minor league contracts with the Nationals, Phillies, Pirates, and again the Phillies, Rivera quietly exited the playing field in 2022. But not the game. The Guardians saw what Mackey Sasser once did and gave him a new job: teacher. Rivera managed the Arizona Complex League Guardians in 2023, becoming a mentor to the next generation of underdogs, longshots, and maybe even a future Sunday School subject.

Statistically, T.J. Rivera’s professional career was defined by consistency and contact. Across college, the minor leagues, and his time in the big leagues, he hit a combined .318 with a .362 on-base percentage and an .808 OPS. In 106 Major League games from 2016 to 2017, Rivera batted .304, slugged 8 home runs, and drove in 43 runs—all while striking out just 39 times in 344 plate appearances. His elite bat-to-ball skills were a rarity, a beacon of simplicity in a data-heavy era. Whether in Kingsport or Citi Field, Rivera’s offensive approach never changed: consistent, aggressive, and reliable.

T.J. Rivera’s Mets career spanned just 106 games over two seasons, but for those of us who watched, it felt like a reward for believing that perseverance, hustle, and a sweet line-drive swing still count for something. He wasn’t a statue-worthy superstar. But he was a ballplayer in the truest sense of the word—and a Met through and through.

It’s been 2,859 days since T.J. Rivera last played in a Major League game, but his story still stands out. He’s one of those forgotten Mets — not a star, but a player who earned everything through hard work and grit. Rivera’s career might not have lasted long, but he showed what it means to fight for every chance and make the most of it. Remembering guys like him is what this series is all about — the players who may not be household names but left a mark because of their hustle and heart.

Like we say every Sunday, not every player is a superstar whose legacy lasts forever. Some just wear #54, grip the bat a little tighter, and smile like they’ve been waiting their whole life for one at-bat.