For philosophical perspective:
“I met a possum on the road.
I asked where he was gwine [for those not competent in my culture “gwine” = “going”]
He put his tail upon his back,
And showed me his behind.”
Confronting these METS last night was similar experience, in multiples. It was not a pretty sight to look at and had an unfortunate smell associated with it.
I could end the recap here, but posterity needs a little more info as to why this stunk like a possum’s ass.
Mike Minor actually seemed to be putting it back together. One run in the second and a David Wright solo shot in the 3rd, then goose eggs. Meanwhile, the stick wielding useless wonders hibernated. A few hits here and there, but no runs to show.
So, in the 8th, the Offense, individually manifested as Freddie Freeman and collectively, comes to life with two outs. 6 in a row reached safely and 3 scored to take the lead.