The Mets Still Believe. The Fans? Well, that’s a different story.
- Mark Rosenman
- 4 hours ago
- 6 min read
There are baseball seasons that unfold like symphonies.
And then there are seasons like this one, which unfold more like the Three Stooges dropped a piano down the stairs at Citi Field.
The Mets entered Tuesday night against Cincinnati looking less like a roster and more like the never-ending search for the right replacement for Curly in the Three Stooges. Every day another player seems to limp into the trainer’s room while another kid arrives from Syracuse carrying batting gloves, sunflower seeds, and the expression of a freshman accidentally wandering into a graduate physics class.
And yet somehow, amid all the chaos, all the MRI results, all the lineups that require fans to grab a media guide and a flashlight, there’s still an unmistakable feeling around this team that nobody is surrendering anything.
Now, I admit, I’m wired to believe in baseball hope. Always have been. I was raised on Yogi Berra’s “It ain’t over till it’s over” and Tug McGraw’s eternal “Ya Gotta Believe,” which for Mets fans is less a slogan and more a legally binding religious document. So optimism usually comes naturally to me.
But even with that mindset, I’ve been stunned by the conviction these players still carry despite the harsh reality sitting directly in front of them. The injuries are real. The standings are real. The revolving door between Syracuse and Queens is spinning so fast it may qualify for its own zip code. Yet talking to these guys Tuesday, there wasn’t a trace of surrender in the clubhouse.
Not from the veteran grinding through frustration.
Not from the rookie living a dream.
Not from the player returning from injury trying to help stop the bleeding.
They still believe this thing can turn. And maybe that belief — stubborn, irrational, very Mets-style belief — is the one thing this season hasn’t lost.
Before Tuesday’s game, I spent time talking with three players living this strange baseball reality from completely different perspectives: rookie sensation A.J. Ewing, veteran infielder Bo Bichette, and recently returned Jared Young.
Together, they painted a picture of a clubhouse that may be bruised, battered, and held together with athletic tape and caffeine, but absolutely still believes.
A.J. Ewing Is Living Every Kid’s Dream at Warp Speed
Twenty days.
That’s all it took for A.J. Ewing to go from sitting with me in Syracuse on May 5th to batting cleanup for the New York Mets in front of 40,000 people in Queens.
If you had predicted that back then, Ewing admitted he would have had “honestly no idea.”
Which is understandable.
Twenty days ago he was probably wondering what restuarant near the stadium was safe to eat at. Now he’s standing in the middle of a major league locker room.
And somehow, the kid looks perfectly comfortable.
“The environment” has been the biggest adjustment, Ewing said. The towering stadium. The crowds. The intensity.
But instead of appearing overwhelmed, he sounds like somebody who got handed the keys to a Ferrari and immediately started asking where the highway is.
“I love it,” he said. “It’s a lot of fun to play in this environment.”
One of the coolest moments for Ewing came when he found himself in a Mets outfield alongside Carson Benge and Nick Morabito — the same trio that had patrolled grass together in spring training and the minors.
That’s the kind of thing baseball romantics love. Three kids dreaming together in Port St. Lucie and Syracuse suddenly finding themselves under the bright lights in Queens.
It’s also enough to make veteran scouts start muttering things like, “Well now THAT’S interesting.”
Ewing admitted the biggest lesson about the majors has come on the bases. In the minors, where he stole 70 bags, elite athleticism could occasionally erase a mistake.
Not here.
“You’ve got to be perfect,” he said. “There’s less mistakes here.”
Translation: major league catchers possess rocket launchers disguised as right arms.
Still, Ewing already sounds like somebody whose focus extends beyond surviving his first call-up. When asked about the electric atmosphere surrounding the Knicks’ playoff run and whether he’s imagined Citi Field reaching that level, his answer came instantly.
“Absolutely. We’re trying to win a World Series.”
Not bad for a kid who was in Syracuse three weeks ago.
Bo Bichette Knows Baseball Can Be Cruel
Few things in baseball are more maddening than hitting rockets directly at people.
It’s the offensive equivalent of spending three hours assembling IKEA furniture only to discover you built a canoe.
Bo Bichette entered Tuesday among the league leaders in hard-hit balls, yet the production hasn’t always matched the contact. Then Monday happened: three hits, including a couple that weren’t exactly tattooed.
That’s baseball. Sometimes the screaming line drive finds leather. Sometimes the broken-bat blooper lands like it was delivered by DoorDash.
Bichette shrugged at the frustration the way veteran hitters often do.
“You can’t really control the outcome,” he said. “You just try to be as consistent as you can every day.”
Easy to say. Harder to live.
Especially while simultaneously adjusting defensively after spring training plans changed thanks to the Mets’ seemingly cursed injury situation.
Bichette came into camp expecting regular time at third base. Instead, injuries forced him back to shortstop.
And despite the mental challenge of changing positions at the highest level, he’s embraced it with the calmness of a guy who understands baseball seasons are basically six-month psychology experiments.
When the conversation shifted to the Mets’ seemingly endless injury avalanche, Bichette didn’t offer excuses. He offered perspective.
“It’s next man up,” he said. “It’s the big leagues.”
That mentality is exactly why players like Ewing and Benge have been able to thrive. Bichette glowed talking about both youngsters, praising maturity levels “beyond their years.”
Veterans notice those things.
They notice who asks questions. Who prepares. Who doesn’t panic after an 0-for-12 stretch that would cause most players to start setting up candles in their locker and praying to Jobu like Pedro Cerrano in Major League.
Bichette also offered an interesting insight into Mark Vientos’ transition to first base, something that has quietly become one of the important developments on this team.
Fans often assume position changes are physical.
Players know they’re mental.
“You overthink things,” Bichette said.
Which is true for baseball and approximately every other human activity invented since the arrival of social media.
Yet Vientos, according to Bichette, has put in the work and is now seeing the results.
That matters. Because for all the injuries and lineup juggling, the Mets are still trying to build something sustainable.
And adaptability is part of survival.
Jared Young Sees a Clubhouse That Still Believes
Jared Young has played enough baseball, in enough places, to recognize when things are spiraling.
And yes, watching the Mets struggle while he was sidelined drove him nuts.
“You want to help the club,” Young admitted. “That really eats at you.”
But Young also spoke like someone who understands baseball seasons don’t unfold in straight lines.
This is especially true in New York, where every two-game losing streak gets treated like the collapse of Western civilization.
Young who also played in Chicago acknowledged that big-market slumps feel heavier, particularly early in the season when ugly records stare at everybody from every scoreboard.
But he also repeatedly returned to the same point: there is too much talent here for this to continue forever.
That belief starts with Carlos Mendoza.
Young praised Mendoza’s consistency and leadership during the rough stretch, noting how the manager keeps showing up every day with the same steady approach despite the mounting pressure.
“It can’t be easy,” Young said.
No kidding.
Managing New York during a losing streak is roughly equivalent to being Wile E. Coyote in a perpetual Acme catalog—new solution every day, same result when it matters most
Still, Young sees signs.
Little signs.
The kind teams desperately cling to, hoping things finally click.
Bichette going the other way. Young players contributing. Mark Vientos looking increasingly natural at first base.
In fact, Young said he told Vientos directly how “smooth and calm” he looks defensively now.
That’s not insignificant.
Because when teams survive difficult stretches, it’s usually because small improvements quietly begin stacking together before anyone notices.
A cleaner inning here.
A clutch hit there.
A rookie realizing he belongs.
A veteran refusing to panic.
And suddenly the season stops feeling like a Curb Your Enthusiasm dinner party gone off the rails and starts feeling like baseball again.
Which, for these Mets, may be the entire point.
Because despite the injuries, despite the frustration, despite a roster that currently resembles a baseball version of musical chairs, nobody inside that clubhouse sounds defeated.
Not the rookie.
Not the veteran star.
Not the role player returning from injury.
They still believe better days are coming.
And for that, you have to tip your cap to the players. The belief in that clubhouse is real, and on display every day, even when the results haven’t matched it. I only wish I felt the same certainty right now, but maybe that’s the beauty—and the frustration—of baseball. It doesn’t hand out answers in May. It hands out 162 chapters, one at a time, and you have to read every single one before you’re allowed to judge the ending. Hopefully, when the final page is turned, this one is a surprise ending, not a repeat of a book we’ve already read too many times.
As a player, they should still be positive. As a fan, thinking this season isn’t lost is delusional. At least the young players are getting a chance with very little pressure.