Listen, I’m not saying the Mets are gonna win the World Series this year, but I’m also not not saying it. After the rollercoaster of the last decade—where we’ve gone from “Ya Gotta Believe” to “Ya Gotta Be Kidding Me”—the 2025 season is already shaping up to be peak Mets chaos. And I’m here for every damn second of it.
Francisco Lindor is a freaking god. But He is overall playing baseball like a goddamn pumpkin. Dude can’t field a ground ball or hit a meatball going 80MPH down the pipe. Does he need to report a month early? Probably. But I have a 2-month old daughter and let me tell ya .. I am EXHAUSTED at all times. So maybe we can give him a little more grace. Oh and he had a miserable April last year and would’ve won The MVP if there wasn’t a goddamn Unicorn in LA.
Then there’s Pete Alonso. Polar Bear’s got a bat that sounds like a thunderclap and a vibe that screams “I’d crush beers with you at McFadden’s.” The Fat Boy Is Fuck Bombing again and every time he connects, I’m half expecting him to rip his jersey off and chest-bump the Citi Field ushers. Is he staying long-term? Who knows! Steve Cohen’s got the cash, but the Mets have a way of Mets-ing even the surest things.
Speaking of Cohen, the billionaire madman is still out here playing real-life MLB The Show with the roster. Keeping Kodai Senga on what is essentially a “prove it” deal after his injury-riddled 2024? Genius. Grabbing some random reliever from the KBO who’s now throwing 98 with a slider that looks like it’s dodging taxes? Insane. The man’s got a vision, and it’s either gonna end with a parade down the Canyon of Heroes or a billion dollar bonfire of bad contracts. No in-between.
And can we talk about the vibes? The Mets are 3-3 out of the gate, which isn’t exactly “print the playoff tickets” territory, but it’s enough to make you feel something dangerous: hope. The rotation’s holding up—Senga’s back to painting corners, and Luis Severino’s somehow remembered he’s good at baseball. The bullpen’s still a circus, but Edwin Díaz is out there slamming doors like it’s 2022 again. I’m not saying it’s perfect, but it’s our mess, and I’ll take it over the sterile pinstripe purgatory up in the Bronx any day.
Of course, this is the Mets, so the other shoe’s always about to drop. One minute we’re sweeping the Marlins, the next we’re losing 12-2 to the Pirates because some dude named Jared Jones decides he’s prime Nolan Ryan. That’s the deal you sign up for when you bleed orange and blue—ecstasy and agony, sometimes in the same inning.
Look, I’m not delusional. The Braves are still lurking like the final boss of the NL East, and the Phillies have that “we’ve been here before” swagger that makes me wanna punch a wall. But right now, in this moment, on April 3, 2025, the Mets are playing ball worth watching. Grab a $15 beer, scream at the top of your lungs, and let’s ride this thing until it inevitably breaks our hearts—or, just maybe, doesn’t.
LFGM.
A Fan With A Mic 