WHAT WE’VE SEEN so far are snippets and snatches, teases and traces, the 30-second samples you get for free from I-tunes, the melodic riffs that make you crave the whole song. We’ve gotten a little more than a quarter of Carlos Beltran across little more than half a season.
“Believe me,” Mets GM Omar Minaya was saying last night, leaning against a wall deep in the bowels of Yankee Stadium, “you haven’t even seen a little bit of what this guy is going to do for us.”
Minaya has plenty of reasons for believing this, of course. All across December, into January, Beltran was his Holy Grail, his sacred mission, the prize that would prove he was serious about making the Mets legitimate again, an everyday bookend to Pedro Martinez.
Nobody believed Minaya could get that done, not with the Yankees in such obvious need of youth and elegance in center field. But he got it done, got Beltran’s signature on a $119 million contract, meaning player and GM would forever be linked by one bold leap of faith.
“It’s more than that,” Minaya said.
It is more than that, because Beltran didn’t just show up last October, even if that’s when most of America discovered him. Anyone who saw what Beltran did in Kansas City, excellence conducted in a vacuum, understood this was one of the most complete talents in the game.
We haven’t seen that, not in its entirety, not yet. Beltran was off to a splendid start when he aggravated a nagging quad in May, probably should have been sent to the disabled list, but the Mets are such a delicate concoction right now they couldn’t afford to part with him for two full weeks. He played through pain, refused to whine about it.
And he struggled. He struck out a lot, popped out a lot, misplayed a few balls, even as he would occasionally fly over fences to steal home runs.
Snippets. Snatches.
He hit a three-run bomb in Oakland last week, then it didn’t seem like he got another good swing until the fifth inning last night, when he made a Mike Mussina breaking pitch disappear.
“I know I am better than I’ve been,” Beltran said yesterday, before the homer against Mussina, before the highlight-reel catch of a Hideki Matsui blast that ended the eighth, before the Mets slapped a 6-4 loss on the Yankees. “I know that there are better days ahead for me, and for this team. I have faith. I have belief. I know there is going to be a light at the end of this.”
It’s good that Beltran throw a night or two like this against the Yankees before the Mets return to Shea Stadium next week, to stave off the bloodhounds masquerading as Mets fans, keep them from baying and booing at Beltran, who soon enough will become the greatest everyday player to wear a Mets uniform.
Scattered bile had surfaced on the last homestand, and that was before Beltran’s batting average dipped below .270. It’s absurd, of course, a daily reminder why some free agents would rather sign in Qatar than Queens. We can only hope that Mets fans paid close attention last night, where on full display was everything the Mets have now, and everything the Yankees lack.
On the one hand, you had Bernie Williams dropping a American Legion fly ball in the pivotal second inning, feebly stranding four runners his first two at-bats. On the other, you had Beltran belting his ninth homer, making that catch against Matsui. Bernie is a forever Yankee. But even forever Yankees grow old. Beltran is 28. He won’t worry about such things for a good long while.
“If you know his talent,” Minaya said, “you know it won’t be long. There’s too much talent there. Just wait.”
Before long, the snippets and snatches will be streaks and skeins. He really is that good. Sometimes, it’s good to remember that, good to realize what Carlos Beltran will be for the next 6½ years for the Mets. And what he could have been for the Yankees.