We've all fumbled with keys in the dark, trying to jam the wrong one into the front door, as it saws its way in but doesn't turn.
From the moment he took the dais as manager of the Mets, Mickey Callaway felt like that key. He's a baseball man, and likely a good man. But he never fit that jagged hole that would unlock the Mets into a contender. While there are only a few feet between an assistant coach from a head coach, or a position coach and a manager, the job requirements are miles apart.
Some people make good lieutenants but not good captains. Norv Turner could design the heck out of an offense, give it a sheen of power and precision. Likewise, a pitching coach -- Callaway's former job in Cleveland -- doesn't always make for a manager.
The ugliness of Sunday was perhaps the exclamation point on this point. Callaway hurled some vulgarity at a beat reporter after Sunday's awful loss to the Cubs -- a game they led 3-2 in the eighth inning before the bullpen blew it again. It has become a scratched record on loop. Mets take lead. Mets blow lead. Their bullpen has become comically bad, like a segment from some baseball parody film from the 1970s.
Callaway lost it after being peppered with questions about his decision to stick with Seth Lugo rather than tap his arm and call for closer Edwin Diaz, or anyone else. Lugo, of course, gave up the three-run bomb that lost them the lead. But he's also been the Mets' most reliable reliever. Diaz, the shiny new closer whom the Mets got in the Robinson Cano trade, has not lived up to his glittering 57-save magic in Seattle last season. In the first half of 2018, Diaz had 36 saves. He has 16 with the Mets. He had a 2.25 ERA with the Mariners at the same point in Seattle, but a 3.64 ERA with the Mets. Even at his best -- something we haven't seen since Diaz switched coasts -- he's not considered a five-out pitcher.
Making things worse, Jason Vargas charged at the same reporter, first threatening to kick his (bleeping) backside before lurching toward him. Noah Syndergaard and Carlos Gomez reportedly restrained Vargas, but the damage was done, and the optics are awful.
It's not Callaway's fault that the Mets have a little league bullpen. But when Jacob deGrom elbows his way through six innings and leaves with a lead, you have to win those games. If you don't, you will be grilled for it. And the response has to be measured. And when you're the skipper of a squad that is clinging to life by its collective fingernails, one long losing streak from obscurity, you must be in charge.
You don't drop F-bombs on beat reporters. Your players can't go Bobby Bonilla on sportswriters. You can't implode off the diamond right after your club does it on the diamond. The team issued an apology soon after, declaring they "do not condone this type of behavior from any employee," but the optics can't be erased. You need grownups in charge or the youngsters smell and then seize upon weakness, creating the kind of chaos we saw Sunday.
These things always feel like a preamble to change. A coach or manager toiling on a hot seat sounds off on the media, makes some adolescent display of displeasure, then eventually gets canned for his sins. There's a universal, hybrid look of anxiety, anger and pressure that crushes the on-field boss, this time amplified by the bouquet of microphones and blinding flash of cameras unique to the Big Apple.
The Mets have already given Callaway a vote of confidence, which often turns counterfeit with a few more losses. Now he has to watch his mouth, his team and his back as he squirms on the hottest seat in the sport.
You can change mechanics, throwing motions or the grip on a baseball. But once you lose the grip on your team, you can't regain it. That's where Callaway is now, stuck between poor performance and perception, like a man out of control, and perhaps soon out of a job.
Follow Jason on Twitter at @JasonKeidel.
