Boswell: Murphy’s flaw turns the tide for Mets in Game 4 loss
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Version 0 of 1. NEW YORK — If you wake up Daniel Murphy at 4 a.m., he’ll hit a line drive. But that’s because he’s probably been sleeping in a batting cage. Murph lives to hit. That dedication led him in October to perhaps the greatest performance ever in back-to-back postseason series, including seven home runs for the New York Mets in nine games. But if you hit Murphy a groundball, that’s another story. On Halloween night in Citi Field, the goblins of baseball, the ghosts and ghouls that inhabit the back of our minds and tell us what we deserve to do well and when we probably deserve to fail, attacked and defeated Murphy’s nervous system. Murphy’s not Bill Buckner. But after the way the Mets lost Game Four of this World Series, 5-3, to Kansas City on Saturday night, if the two ever meet, they’ll definitely have stuff to discuss. [Six outs from tying World Series, Mets implode] In the top of the eighth inning, with the Mets ahead 3-2 and on the verge of tying this confrontation at two games apiece, the Kansas City Royals’ Eric Hosmer hit a high chop that turned into a routine low-hopping grounder. With Royals on first and second base, because of walks by Tyler Clippard, and one out, this was all good news for the Mets. Murphy would field the simple dribbler, flip to first base for the second out of the inning, and New York’s shutdown closer, Jeurys Familia, would battle — and, if baseball’s normal odds prevailed — defeat the Royals’ Mike Moustakas to end the inning. Instead, nothing happened. Or, rather, everything happened. The ball trickled under Murphy’s glove untouched and rolled into right field as Royals romped everywhere. “We got the ground ball,” Mets Manager Terry Collins said. “We just didn’t make the play.” Shea Stadium, which once stood adjacent to the current site of Citi Field, has been torn down. Perhaps the demons that inhabited it and haunted the Boston Red Sox in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series — the last world title for the Mets — were annoyed at the destruction of their habitation. In Boston, they talked about the need to “Reverse the Curse.” Now it may be the demons of Flushing that are reversing baseball fate. After Murphy’s error, the score was tied, Royals stood on the corners and the Mets infield had to deploy halfway rather than at full depth. That invited Kansas City to do what it does best — slap solid drives into narrow vacancies. What happened next may test the faith of Mets fans. If all received wisdom is supposed to be in the Bible, then how come, in all 807,361 words, the name “Moustakas” never appears? His meek groundball would have been gobbled, even by a Murphy, if the New York infield had been back. Instead, this grounder also reached the outfield, Lorenzo Cain scored with the go-ahead run and, moments later, Salvador Perez singled home an insurance run for a 5-3 lead. “When you have to play the infield [halfway], that next ground ball isn’t the same,” Collins said. “We just couldn’t stop the bleeding.” If such misfortune as the Mets suffered in this game, now falling to a 3-1 series deficit, feels excessive, almost like a punishment for some crime that is not appropriate to a mere game like baseball, then perhaps we need to go back one night to find a cause: hubris. This game, after all, was played under the shadow of all the shenanigans of Game 3. Eventually, this series may be remembered for one play — Murphy’s. It may alternatively be remembered for one pitch — a deliberate knockdown pitch by Noah Syndergaard to start Game 3. The question of the night here concerning that “purpose pitch” was simple. Had Syndergaard struck the perfect inspiring note to awaken his team. Or would he simply increase the resolve of the Royals, even though they were far from home? Sports history works with instant hindsight. And the principles of its historiography are not as demanding as those that might be applied to the Roman Empire. If it feels like it works — if the heroes and goats line up tolerably well — then that’s going to be the first draft. Often, there isn’t a second. When the Mets returned home to New York, they trailed this Series 2-0 and seemed flat, confused and back on their heels against a poised Kansas City Royals attack that had won games started by both Matt Harvey and Jacob deGrom. Then Syndergaard, with his shoulder-length hair and 101 mph fastball, got an idea. Maybe a back-page New York tabloid headline inspired him: “Mets need Thor to save World tonight. Hammer Time!” Why not turn back the clock a few decades and throw the first pitch of Game 3 near the head of the Royals’ leadoff man? Then, after the game, go right ahead and say he did it on purpose. That was last done during the World Series of . . . probably never. If you wanted to buzz up a Series, you couldn’t do a better job of it than buzzing the tower of Alcides Escobar, the Royal who lusts for first-pitch fastballs and conked one for an inside-the-park homer on the first Mets pitch of this Series. By the time this Game 4 began, everybody in baseball, including Hank Aaron, had offered an opinion. Collins said Syndergaard “wasn’t muzzled” and could run his mouth all he wanted. The Royals, about 25 of them, ripped the 6-foot-6 righty for acting “stupid” and “unprofessional.” Royals Manager Ned Yost acknowledged he’d seen all of Syndergaard’s postgame quotes. Syndergaard bragged that he’d “made a statement” and that if the Royals didn’t like it, they could “meet me 60 feet, six inches away. I’ve got no problem with that.” “I didn’t expect him to throw a strike” to Escobar, Yost said. “But I didn’t expect him to throw it under his chin, either. But we’ve got a few tricks up our sleeves, too. Let’s go with that.” The rest of this Series will be played with that as backdrop. Did it wake up the Mets? Will the Royals accept the challenge? At the instant Hosmer hit his grounder to Murphy, history was leaning toward Syndergaard. Now, his Thor helmet may have a couple of incipient goat’s horns growing out of it if the Royals win this Series and choose to point at him as an inspiration — for them. [Syndergaard turns up the heat in Game 3 win] For decades, the World Series has been known as baseball’s showcase. As such, the adults who own and run the game have informed the children (players) and their handlers (managers) that whatever testosterone excesses they indulge in at other times, cut it out in the World Series with millions of potential fans — who only watch once a year — tuning in. No managerial ejections, please. (You can count them on your fingers since 1903.) No head-hunting. And absolutely no brawls. In earlier rounds of the playoffs, all is normal. In the Series, no, not usually. Syndergaard didn’t get the memo. Maybe it wasn’t in digital format for his phone. Just 24 hours ago, Thor had the Hammer. Now, something of similar weight has fallen on the Mets, on Murphy and on Syndergaard, too. That can still change. But the haunts of this Halloween don’t feel that way. For more by Thomas Boswell, visit washingtonpost.com/boswell. |