A Note on Jacob deGrom
Life ain't always easy, but it sure looked that way when deGrom was on the mound.
By Jasper
This past Sunday I found myself thinking a lot about Jacob deGrom. Sitting in the stands at Citi Field on a beautiful afternoon in Flushing, I had come to see Bartolo Colón throw out the first pitch on the 7th anniversary of one of baseball’s most iconic moments (a moment I remember clearly, having watched it live in my high school library before being asked to leave for shouting “IT HAS HAPPENED”).
While deGrom officially left for the Rangers this past December, in a long telegraphed move, I hadn’t fully let it set in until Sunday. I'm not sure what it was exactly. Perhaps it was seeing Colón back on the mound, or Matt Harvey finally calling it quits, maybe it was watching Mets pitchers give up 13 runs to the at-sea-level Rockies.
In a young season full of troubling signs for the Mets, it’s not hard to drift off.
This is not to say that thinking about Jacob deGrom is a leisure activity. No, certainly not that. Things never felt that comfortable when it came to Jacob deGrom.
For most fans, the minor leagues represent an informational black hole. Warping our understanding of time, ability, and what’s a “reasonable” expectation, these small-town teams with silly names battle it out in front of crowds no larger than at an A’s game. On average, for every 10 players that go into the void, one major leaguer comes out.
There are people whose job it is to figure out what goes on in there. They tie a rope made of radar guns around their waist before getting lowered into the abyss. It is up to them to inform the public about who might make it out.
Occasionally, a question is sent down about John McSlugger or Chris BigSwings who hit 10 home runs in 3 games. The sound travels up the rope: “McSlugger? Has a weird leg kick in his swing, would never work in the majors. Also, turns out he’s just three raccoons in a human skin suit.”
Jacob deGrom walked out of the abyss when nobody was looking. Selected by the New York Mets in 2010 in the 9th round of the MLB Draft from Stetson University, deGrom was a shortstop until his junior year(!) when he switched to pitching. I know this because on his debut against the Yankees on May 15th, 2014, I had never heard of him and had to look him up.
deGrom wasn’t even the most highly touted Mets pitcher to debut that week, as current Astros closer Rafael Montero made his first start the previous day.
Before the game, I texted my brother, “I have no clue who this LeGroom guy is, but debuting in the Subway Series is brutal.” Spell check had it nailed, as deGrom’s long, flowing hair was nearly as captivating as his fastball. Reports from the rope people said deGrom had “the ceiling of a No. 3 or 4 starter.” He threw seven innings that game, striking out six, and giving up one run but took the loss. Years later, we would call this kind of a start a “deGrom.”
I could go on for pages listing off facts to remind you of deGrom’s brilliance. The number of times my phone would light up to say he had a no-hitter going in the 7th. Or how struck out 8 batters in a row to start a game. He was a baseball player built for Twitter, a non-stop generator of numbers and streaks so absurd that you didn’t even need to see a video for it to melt your brain.
And deGrom liked it that way.
Not known for his voice, deGrom was the epitome of a leader by example. I would even go as far as to call him the Mike Trout of pitchers, which is to say, despite his otherworldly talent, he never seemed interested in being MLB’s star. He was just a guy.
Getting to my point in all of this, deGrom was everything the Mets could ask for, and more.
deGrom showed up with no expectations tied to him. There was no cute card that said “Jacob deGrom, pitcher: Leave in direct sunlight, start 1-2 times per week, should grow into perennial Cy Young contender.”
deGrom arrived in the shadow of uber prospects like Harvey and Noah Syndergaard, players with comic-book hero nicknames like Thor and the Dark Knight. Not only did they thrive as MLB players, but as New York stars. While their stars burnt as fast as they did bright, deGrom was in the dark reading “How to Throw a Slider 94 MPH: 100 Ancient Secrets to Hucking Baseballs.”
No moment better encapsulates the Jacob deGrom story than the 2015 MLB All-Star Game. If you have the time (it’s only four minutes), I recommend watching deGrom pitch the 6th inning and listening to the commentators’ reactions:
As the inning ensued, the announcers’ attempts to recognize each batter’s all-star resumé became a sideshow. deGrom hummed right through Stephen Vogt, Jason Kipnis, and José Iglesias in a mere 10 pitches. He worked so efficiently, and with such power and precision, that Harold Reynolds had to exclaim, “They can’t get mad at us for not saying anything, he’s going too fast!”
By the end of the inning, deGrom had stolen the show, and the night.
And it’s not just my Mets fandom text screaming that either. While at the time all I could do was replay the clip over and over again for friends, now, Youtube shows you each video’s viewing hotspots. deGrom’s inning isn’t hard to find, it’s the game’s largest spike.
Of course, with each new level of success, expectations only multiply. This was no longer a No. 3 or 4 starter. Discussions about deGrom quickly moved to the trophy case and what a Hall of Fame track would look like given his relatively advanced age. People began to speculate on how deGrom’s body would evolve having logged so few innings compared to his peers, perhaps giving him a chance at a later peak.
Initially, deGrom proved these theories right, to an extreme. After carrying the Mets through the playoff years of 2015 and 2016, deGrom demonstrated an unmatched ability to find ways to tighten up his game. Gone were the luscious locks, replaced by an efficient, clean cut. That 97 MPH fastball in an adrenaline-pumped All-Star game? Try 100 MPH on his 100+ pitch of the night, combined with a slider thrown harder than the league-average fastball.
Jacob deGrom did things no starting pitcher had ever done and he did them with the consistency and longevity that the Mets desperately needed year after year.
Unfortunately, you can’t keep tightening things forever. deGrom’s body, a mix of tendons and lanky muscles working in perfect harmony on the mound, was not able to protect its weak spots.
Today, the Jacob deGrom experience has a cruel new meaning. The days of consecutive quality starts with double-digit strikeouts have been replaced with days on the injured list thanks to a litany of concerningly vague injuries.
While the NY media, ever the soft-spoken bunch, greeted deGrom’s off-season departure with a collective scowl, as a Mets fan, I can only thank deGrom. His deal with the Rangers, a team eager to declare themselves officially “rebuilt,” was designed to draw him from Queens. Had the Mets offered anything close to it, you’d be hard-pressed to find a Mets fan who could look you straight in the eyes and say they felt good about it.
For so long this team had been a circus of mediocrity. A team destined for tabloid greatness, skilled in the art of the 78-win season. Jacob deGrom made it worth watching, and worth keeping hope that one day the Wilpon Empire would fall.
Miraculously it did, and it gave way to something beautiful. Something a 15-year-old me would find downright unimaginable. The Mets aren’t yet the Dodgers of the NL East, but I feel fairly comfortable that smart, well-intentioned people are working on it.
That said, it’s hard to look at the Mets’ rotation and not see a group of talented outsiders. Players who weren’t there for the frustration, for the dark days.
I wish nothing but good health and baseball for Jacob deGrom, the last bastion of my childhood Mets fandom.