ATLANTA — If this season of zeniths and rock bottoms ends somewhere special, here are the words that would be etched into Mets lore:
“Trust me,” Edwin Diaz told manager Carlos Mendoza. “I got this s–t.”
After a disastrous eighth inning in the doubleheader opener at Truist Park, Diaz was tired.
He had thrown 26 pitches a night earlier.
He had thrown 21 pitches in the eighth.
Just eight of those were strikes.
But after coughing up a three-run lead, Diaz returned to the dugout and watched Francisco Lindor drill a two-run home run that gave the Mets a one-run lead.
As others went nuts, Diaz went to his coach.
He asked Jeremy Hefner if he was still in the game, and his pitching coach said no.
So Diaz went one step higher on the ladder and approached Mendoza.
With some colorful language, Diaz was insistent.
“I told Mendy, ‘I’m going back out, no matter what,’ ” Diaz said. “I don’t care what you say. I’m going back out.”
Diaz, of course, could relay this story with a smile because it all worked out.
The Mets closer finished off the exhilarating, 8-7 win over the Braves that punched the Mets’ ticket into the postseason, using sheer will when his arm (and brain on one occasion) failed him.
It would have been understandable if Mendoza had lost faith.
Diaz entered in the eighth with his club ahead, 6-3, and two runners on base with one out.
Diaz got Gio Urshela to tap out and got Jarred Kelenic to ground a ball down the first-base line, a diving Pete Alonso keeping it in the infield.
Alonso rose to his feet and wanted to toss to first, but no one was there: Diaz had forgotten to cover the base, which allowed a run to score and became the first thread-pull of an unraveling.
“It was a mistake,” said Diaz, who later apologized to his teammates in the clubhouse.
Diaz walked Michael Harris II on four pitches to load the bases.
A down-the-middle fastball to Ozzie Albies was crushed to left for a bases-clearing double.
The Mets’ lead was lost, and Diaz appeared lost, too.
But Lindor’s swing changed the game, and there was no changing Diaz’s mind.
“This team gives me so much, and they trusted me,” Diaz said. “If we were going to lose the game, I want to be the guy who lost it. I want to fight for this team, for these guys.”
So an exhausted Diaz, fresh off blowing a lead, retook the mound with the opportunity to blow another.
With one out, Eli White singled and stole second.
Mendoza visited the mound, and Diaz began arguing that he should remain — but Mendoza already had accepted as much.
They talked about controlling the running game, and Mendoza left his closer in the game, willing to live or die with him.
Two outs later, they lived. Travis d’Arnaud grounded out, and after 40 pitches, Diaz threw one more time, his glove spiked against the mound.
Francisco Alvarez jumped into his pitcher, but Diaz’s feet remained glued to the ground.
The pitcher who tore his patellar tendon in one celebration had promised his wife he would not jump around this time.
His wife, and Mendoza, could trust him.
