By Tom Robotham
On March 25, the Yankees and the Giants will kick off the 2026 baseball season. The next day, the other 28 major league teams will join the action.
Normally, I’d be excited about this. As I’ve noted in this space before, baseball is my favorite sport, by far. Over the last seven decades, the start of a new season has also lifted my spirits because it heralds the coming of spring—the end of the cold dark days of winter—every bit as much as birdsongs and blooming azaleas do. By April, I’m usually scanning the calendar to see when I might be able to go to a game and bask in the sun while the action unfolds.
This season, however, feels different. For one thing, recent developments in the way the game is played—and broadcast—have been irritating me for a while. I hate the pitch clock and the extra-inning “ghost runner” rule. This year, moreover, MLB will have “robot umps.” For now, there will still be humans behind the plate, but the new system will allow players to challenge calls. That may not seem like a big deal—tennis has had that system for years—but for me, baseball games have always been a refuge from modern mechanized life. I hate the intrusion of more technology.
Even more egregious is the trend in broadcasting to mic up players and interview them while the game is going on. The announcers might as well tell viewers, look, we know baseball is boring and that most people these days have the attention span of a gnat, so we’re going give you plenty of distractions.
None of this, however, fully explains why I’m feeling melancholy as a new baseball season dawns. The principal reason is that the management of the New York Mets—which I’ve rooted for since I was 6 years old—took a sledge hammer to the team during the off season with as much brazen disregard for fans as Trump showed to citizens in general when he demolished the East Wing of the White House.
Now, due to inaction or outright trades on the part of management, the heart of the team is gone. Edwin Diaz, arguably the best closer in the game, is with the Dodgers—as if they weren’t dominant enough already. Outfielder Brandon Nimmo, who played for the Mets for a decade, is now a Texas Ranger, and I shall miss him. In an era in which so many athletes display arrogance, Nimmo carries a humble work ethic onto the field, exemplified by his habit of sprinting to first when he draws a base on balls. Another player I’ll miss is Jeff McNeil, who won the MLB batting title with the Mets in 2022 but is now in exile with the homeless Athletics. Admittedly, due to injuries and some intangibles, McNeil may be entering the home stretch of his career, and his departure doesn’t sting as much as other changes do. Still, he was a fine second baseman, and I liked watching him play.
What I cannot forgive the Mets’ management for is their willingness to let Pete Alonso go. And I’m hardly alone. He was a fan favorite, and only partly because of his awesome power at the plate, which enabled him last season to set the team’s all-time home run record. He was less accomplished as a fielder, but he made a lot of dazzling plays due to his relentless efforts to improve his defense. He was also incredibly durable, hardly ever missing a game. Most of all, though, I loved his boyish enthusiasm and how he took every at-bat to heart. When he’d strike out, you could see the quiet frustration in his facial expression. That may not be a good quality entirely. There were many times when I thought he took failures too hard. But there are times when I do that myself, so I could relate.
Now he’s in Baltimore, and I wish him well. In fact, I hope his season is so spectacular that he shames and embarrasses Mets owner Steve Cohen and president of baseball operations David Stearns.
Cohen, in an interview, gave lip service to the fact that it’s tough to see longtime players move on, but he was unconvincing. Like all billionaire hedge-fund managers, he cares about one thing and one thing only: winning at any cost.
Don’t get me wrong. I want my team to win too. When the Mets did, in 1969, against all odds, I was elated. It was even more exciting to watch them win the World Series live and in person at Shea Stadium in 1986.
And yet, some of my fondest memories are of watching games, on TV or at the park, when the Mets were awful, beginning in the early ‘60s when they were the worst team in the sport’s modern history. No matter. I liked the continuity of players like Ed Kranepool, who was with the team from the beginning and played with them until 1979. Subsequently, I loved that Norfolk native David Wright spent his entire career with the Mets, from 2004 to 2018. On the other side town, moreover, I idolized Mickey Mantle, who spent his entire career with the Yankees. (Unlike many Mets fans, I’ve never hated their crosstown rivals.)
Pete Alonso could have been one of those legacy players if the current management gave a shit about such things. But they don’t. Instead, they’ve assembled a hodgepodge of new acquisitions in hopes of winning a title.
My guess is, they won’t even win their division. But even if they do, and somehow go on to win the Series for only the third time in franchise history, I’m not sure I’ll care all that much.
It’s not entirely clear to me why I feel this way. Management’s contempt of fans, after all, has been a big part of the game ever since Red Sox owner Harry Frazee sold Babe Ruth to the Yankees in 1920. An even better example is when Dodgers owner Walter O’Malley abandoned Brooklyn altogether in 1958. Then there was the Mets boneheaded trade of Tom Seaver, in 1977. I was young when that happened, though, and I eventually got over it. The failure to even attempt to keep Alonso feels different.
As I’ve pondered my disappointment, I’ve come to realize that this isn’t just about baseball. It’s a reflection of a broader societal trend—an increasing tendency among the rich and powerful to see people as interchangeable pawns to be used or discarded as they see fit.
I don’t know whether that makes sense to you. But it’s wearing on my soul. At any rate, as for baseball, I still think it’s the most beautiful game ever devised. My lifelong devotion to the Mets is another matter. Cohen and Stearns have sucked my team spirit right out of me. Perhaps that will change as the season unfolds. Maybe I’ll take an interest in one of the new players on this nearly unrecognizable “team.” I doubt it, though. Either way, I’ll be watching a lot more Orioles games.