Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing #64 – Double Identity Part Two: The Two Bobby Joneses

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly stroll through the Mets attic — the place where the yearbooks are a little dusty, the bubble gum cards stick together, and every once in a while you stumble across a name that makes you stop and say, “Wait… I remember that guy.”

Last week we tangled with the curious case of the two Mike Marshalls — yes, two Mike Marshalls, both on the roster at different times, both leaving fans scratching their heads and double-checking the box score. It was confusing, comical, and a perfect reminder that Mets history is full of weird little wrinkles.

Which brings us to this week’s lesson.

Sometimes Mets history goes one step further. Sometimes… it gives you two players with the same name, pitching at the same time on the same team.

And sometimes the story gets even stranger when those two players are both named Bobby Jones. Lefty, righty, New Jersey, Fresno — they couldn’t be more different, yet for a while, the universe conspired to keep them forever linked in the minds of Mets fans.

If you thought keeping track of one Bobby Jones was tricky, the Mets once decided to double down. Nothing says organizational clarity like yelling “Hey Bobby!” and watching both pitchers turn around like identical twins in a sitcom.

Let’s start with the lefty, Bobby M. Jones. He arrived in Flushing in 2000, already seasoned from a baseball journey that looked like it was planned by a travel agent with a dartboard. Drafted in the 44th round, he clawed his way through the minors, bounced around organizations, and somehow found himself sharing a clubhouse and a name with another Mets pitcher.

Chaos naturally followed. Mail got mixed up. Coaches got confused. Somewhere a bullpen phone probably rang and the pitching coach just said, “Send in… uh… whichever Bobby is warm.” The Mets didn’t lean on Bobby M. heavily, but he carved out a role. He spent most of 2000 in Triple-A Norfolk, but when called up, he was quietly effective, making eleven appearances with a respectable 4.15 ERA, and sometimes pitching right after the other Bobby Jones. It was like a baseball version of a comedy sketch. At one point, the Mets literally sent one Bobby Jones down just to make room for the other. You couldn’t make this up. Even Casey Stengel would’ve needed a flowchart. Bobby M.’s Mets tenure stretched into 2002, and it perfectly captured what this series is all about: a guy grinding, adapting, and somehow ending up in one of the strangest name collisions in team history.

Then there’s the other Bobby Jones, the right-handed thinker, and Mets fans, you remember this one. He wasn’t overpowering. He didn’t light up radar guns. In an era chasing 98 miles per hour fastballs, Bobby J. would show up throwing 87 and a look that said, “Don’t worry, I’ve already thought three pitches ahead.” Drafted by the Mets in 1991, he climbed the ladder the old-fashioned way by getting people out and not making a big deal about it. By the mid-90s, he was as steady as they came. Not flashy, not loud, just effective. The kind of pitcher who worked fast enough that the beer vendor barely had time to finish a sale.

And then came October 2000. In a postseason run filled with drama, Bobby J. delivered one of the greatest pitching performances in Mets history, a one-hitter to clinch the NLDS. One hit in a playoff game at Shea with the crowd roaring like it was 1969 all over again. For one night he wasn’t the other anything. He was the guy. He outdueled the Giants, stared down a lineup that included Barry Bonds, and turned Shea Stadium into a full-blown revival meeting. If you were there, you remember the noise. If you weren’t, you’ve probably heard someone yell about it at a family barbecue.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4UvQANtF-bs

Of course, baseball being baseball, his career was a mix of highs and humbling moments. Injuries, inconsistency, and the occasional reminder that pitching is part science, part art, and part “why is Derek Jeter swinging at the first pitch?” Still, Bobby J. left his mark. A decade in the majors, nearly 90 wins, and one October masterpiece that still plays on a loop in the minds of Mets fans of a certain age.

So there you have it, two Bobby Joneses, same clubhouse, same media guide, wildly different paths. One was a left-handed journeyman who kept showing up, doing his job, and occasionally answering to the wrong name. The other was a homegrown Met who gave the franchise one unforgettable October night and proved you don’t need to throw 100 miles per hour if you can outthink everyone in the stadium. Together, they gave us one of the strangest and most delightful cases of double identity in Mets history.

Before you close your textbooks and head out of class, come join the conversation in our Facebook group. Sunday School works best when Mets fans start digging through the attic together remembering the players, the characters and the names that make you say “I can’t believe I forgot about him.” Bring your memories, your trivia and the forgotten faces you think deserve their own lesson. Around here class participation is always encouraged.