The first two innings of what would prove the final Phillies-Mets NLDS game were aesthetically hideous, on all sides. Second-half Ranger Suárez, not to be confused with first-half Ranger Suárez, loaded the bases with one out in the first, and escaped without a scratch. One inning later, he did the same thing again. So it didn't feel like the Phillies' luck had run out in the sixth inning, when the bullpen loaded the bases with Francisco Lindor up, so much as it felt like inevitability. What did you honestly think was going to happen but a grand slam?
There are explanations for losses that are tidy and discrete: a Bryce Harper lead-off double that didn't score; a foul ball that sure looked fair; bringing in Carlos Estévez in a bases-loaded situation; Francisco Lindor's existence. And then there are explanations that lack catharsis in their breadth: The offense should've, I don't know, hit more; Jeff Hoffman, who had a 2.17 ERA in the regular season, probably shouldn't have had a 40.50 ERA this postseason, but that's relievers for you. It wasn't the first-round bye that stymied the Phillies momentum; they were an exactly .500 team post–All-Star Game. That doesn't erase the earlier part of the season, when they were very, very good, or that they were still the better team on paper here, but the Mets refuse to play games on paper.
"Do I think they are a better team than us? No," Nick Castellanos said after the 4-1 loss. "But this series, they were."
Playoff baseball, right? The Phillies had lost momentum down the stretch, and were facing a team and fanbase who believe on some level that they are fated to win the World Series, and it is hard to blame them for believing it given the ridiculous things that have happened in the last month. Come on; the Mets were not going to lose this game. There were still three innings after Lindor's grand slam, and the Mets had a three-run lead—a difficult task, but not an insurmountable one. But the top of the Phillies order came and went in the eighth; even after the more recently mercurial Edwin Díaz walked two batters to open the ninth inning, it raised only tepid hopes and, behold, a mound visit set him straight again.
But for my money the play that most signified the inexorability of this year's Mets was Brandon Marsh's infield single in the seventh inning. Jose Iglesias scooped up the ball running toward second, and instead of eating it when he had no shot of getting Marsh out at first, flicked it behind his back at Lindor. The fact that Lindor caught the ball is entirely irrelevant—that is the sort of play you make when you aren't even considering the possibility of something going wrong. Of course Marsh was wiped out on a double play three pitches later. If the Mets have become the 2022 Phillies, the Phillies have assumed the role of the 2022 Atlanta Braves. That's apparently the Faustian bargain of consistent regular-season success.
Speaking of: On the other coast, the Dodgers beat the Padres to tie the series, so we have to thank them for kicking the official start of series-length discourse to at least tomorrow. Unfortunately, we don't have time for a 75-game series, so it's best to take the hits as they come, and root for the Tigers the rest of the way.
