Mets 2, Royals 0. First win of the season, won by the first Mets home run of the season by second baseman Neil Walker. Starting pitcher Noah Syndergaard, a.k.a. Thor, dominated with a nine-strikeout shutout and was unfazed by close calls and tight jams. But as one announcer called him a “man-child,” another responded, “That’s no man-child, Gary. That’s Thor.”
That’s No Man-Child, Gary, That’s Thor
Twenty-three, fresh-faced out of Texas, barely a rookie
and he’s head hunting in the World Series,
his hammer a hundred mile-an-hour fastball
with that quick silvery flick that tails right in
to the framed catcher’s mitt. Wham.
Over and over, K after K, and something
just ain’t fair about this grotesque demigod
of a pitcher, a thick blonde whip of an ape
that mastered one of the few traits that sets us apart
from the rest: the ability to throw.
This guy could take out Zeus’s eagle
with a pebble thrown from the underworld.
The batter up next thinks he’s hot stuff
so he crowds the plate, waggles his bat,
then hits the dirt when one zings past his chin,
and it’s a game of who’s crazier than who—
crazy to throw so willfully wild,
or crazy to stand back up for the next one.