WASHINGTON — As with most points of comparison, there is “Happy Gilmore.” And so allow us to explain how Happy Gilmore has clearly influenced Terry Collins, the manager of the Mets.
Specifically, in that 1996 ode to silliness, there is a scene between Happy and Chubbs Peterson in which Happy (Adam Sandler, of course) approaches Chubbs (Carl Weathers, so good he makes you forget Apollo Creed) and says:
“I’m stupid. You’re smart. I was wrong. You were right. You’re the best. I’m the worst. You’re very good-looking. I’m not very attractive.”
Collins has never quite gone that far.
Yet.
But he has proven to be one of the most honest voices in professional sports. You might say he owns one of the most honest voices in the history of professional sports, since most of his candor is directed not at his players, not at the umpires, not at the cruel damsel of sporting fate, but rather, as Bill Parcells called him, the guy in the glass.
Part One (and Part Two) was Detroit, early August, during that part of the season when it seemed the Mets couldn’t get out of their own way, when it felt like they might go the duration without ever winning two games in a row. On a Saturday night in Comerica Park, Jay Bruce tried to score with two outs in the ninth on a Travis d’Arnaud hit, down a run. He didn’t make it. Leading to this 1-2 move from Collins:
1. The Mets had a replay challenge left. It was a close play. There is zero benefit to not using your daily challenge. Collins consulted with Jim Kelly, their replay official. Kelly said he looked out. Again: No point in not at least taking a look. Collins didn’t ask for a look. Twitter melted. And that was nothing compared to Sandy Alderson.
Asked why he didn’t take a shot, most managers might huff, puff, rant, rave, or simply dismiss the question. Collins did not. This, amazingly, is what he said: “Because I didn’t think about it — that’s why. Plain and simple. [Kelly] said, ‘He’s out.’ I said, ‘OK.’ ”
2. The next day, asked why he hadn’t pinch-run the swifter Brandon Nimmo for Bruce (who’d been acquired from Cincinnati earlier that week), Collins said this: “I don’t know how fast Jay Bruce is. We really haven’t seen enough of him. He might be faster than anybody on our team, for all I know.”
Part Three was Saturday night in Atlanta. Again, it involved a slow-footed Met, Wilmer Flores (and make no mistake: There is slow, there is super slow-mo, and then there is Wilmer Flores). Flores doubled with two outs in the eighth inning of a tie game. T.J. Rivera followed with a single.
Flores is so slow, he recalls the old Mets joke of the ’70s revolving around another “deliberate” runner: “Staub scored all the way from first on Kranepool’s home run.” Well, Flores couldn’t score all the way from second even though, with expanded rosters and athletic pitchers, there were about 10 guys in the Mets dugout who would have. Twitter melted. We assume Alderson wasn’t exactly guffawing.
And this was Collins explanation: “I should have ran for him there. I was trying to get the pitching set up, my fault. We certainly had enough guys who could have ran for him, which we should have.” And then, in case anyone missed the point: “I was trying to get the pitching set up and get a pinch hitter in and got distracted. My fault.”
My fault.
And what’s funny is this: Those two words define so much of the yin and the yang about Terry Collins. There are daily furies that rage on social media detailing Collins’ various in-game faux pas (and, to be fair, Collins regularly feeds those insatiable masses with his decisions.)
But those two words also go a long way in the Mets clubhouse. Understand: The Mets heard them. And surely weren’t surprised by them. His critics scoff at the importance of this, but for the second straight year Collins’ team hasn’t tanked on him when it could have. You think that’s a small thing? Ask Pirates fans. Ask Marlins fans. Collins demands accountability and he doesn’t just walk the walk.
Amazingly, astoundingly — he also talks the talk.