There are many things the Mets don’t do well, and don’t do right. You can categorize them any way you like: alphabetically, numerically, fiscally. The Mets, in many ways, are the home office of bad ideas done badly.
But their ballpark isn’t one of them.
Their ballpark, in fact, grows on you the more the years pass. In a time of rampant stadium and arena additions around here, in fact, you could certainly argue that Citi Field is the best of the bunch, at least from an aesthetic standpoint.
From a results standpoint?
That’s a different issue. And as the Mets return tonight for a big nine-game homestand that could well determine if we are still talking about them after Memorial Day, they are where they have been too often in the yard’s five-plus years of existence.
Scuffling. Struggling. Sagging.
The Mets are 9-12 at home, one year after they were 33-48 at home, which was one year after they were 36-45 at home, which was one year after they were 34-47 at home. We hear a lot of reasons for that, starting with the outfield dimensions and, no, Citi will never be confused with the Polo Grounds, where it was 279 feet down the left-field line and 258 feet to right.
But here’s something to consider.
In 2009, Citi’s first season, the Mets actually played winning ball at home, 41-40, this in a horrific year in which they finished 70-92 overall. And in 2010, another losing season (79-83), the Mets were actually superb at home, winning 47 games. And both years, it should be noted, were before the fences were both shortened and brought in by as much as 15 feet.
The funny thing is, the Mets have done right by their ballpark. They have invested time and patience in developing young pitchers, who must look at Citi’s distant power alleys and sigh (in a far different way than David Wright does). They have four outfielders who can all cover ground, precisely the way to defend that vast lawn, anchored by Juan Lagares.
But they are sabotaged by an army of hitters – save for Daniel Murphy – who have clearly become spooked at the prospect of hitting there when, if they would alter those concerns, they should instead be investigating all the various nooks, crannies, pockets – and opportunities — that the field provides.
One of the reasons the 2010 team thrived there was because it had two players – Jose Reyes and Angel Pagan – who lived in the alleys, combining for 12 triples at home. And it’s not simply the measurements either: There are nights the ball simply doesn’t carry. Blame Flushing Bay. Blame the LaGuardia wind patterns. Whatever.
This is part of the price for asymmetrical parks, which have been all the rage since Camden Yards opened. In the old days, that was a requirement: Ballparks were shoe-horned into neighborhoods. Your outfield was shaped because of Bedford Avenue or 161st Street or Lansdowne Street or Waveland Avenue.
Citi Field was built in an old parking lot. The dimensions are a conceit – though a good one. It would have been foolish to, say, customize right-center field for David Wright (because it would be doing the same for Ryan Howard and Freddie Freeman and Chase Utley, the list goes on). Once you have the yard you have, you build your team to fit it, not the other way around.
The Mets have actually done that. And yet their hitters clearly can’t purge their minds, or their nervous systems — they see fences that seem 700 feet away. Which is a shame. Shea Stadium was a pitcher’s paradise. No Met was ever going to hit 60 homers playing there; only three ever hit 40. Yet the Mets won 52 percent of their games there from 1964-08, years when the team played .488 ball as a whole.
When the Mets were good enough, they won there. A lot. The secret weapons? Pitching, defense and the occasional timely hit or three. Imagine that.