It took about 15 minutes for the Mets to reveal themselves as a one-trick pony this year. Every fifth day you could sit in front of a television, or make the trek out to Citi Field, and you knew your faith would be justified because Jacob deGrom would get the baseball, and he would do all manner of wondrous things once it was in his fingertips.
One day out of five, the Mets didn’t make you sick.
Now we have the Giants, who have preached for decades that they are substance over style, that they are team over individual, that they are about toughness and tenacity and a grinding, gritty style.