Baseball is a game.
It’s also a billion-dollar industry. And the people who are really, really good at it sometimes get enshrined in museums.
But still, it’s a game, and Juan Soto — the Mets outfielder paid in such a way that makes it feel like much more than a game — understands this. It’s what makes him as good as he is.
Because games, of course, are supposed to be fun.
“In the minor leagues, you try to put up numbers to make it to the big leagues,” he told Newsday on Sunday in Pittsburgh. “And when [pitchers see you trying to be patient], you’re like, OK, this is a new part of my game. You’re seeing other teams getting frustrated because you’re walking, because you’re getting good at bats . . . and I really love it.”
He smiles then, closed-lipped and impish. It feels good to hit a pitch at 116 mph, but apparently, it’s fun to show bunt in the first inning when you know you can hit a ball that hard, or to get a free pass against a pitcher who can’t make you chase.
“Yeah, exactly,” he said. “When you’re making good decisions and make them keep working and going and going and they just can’t find a way to get you out, that’s really fun.”
Soto isn’t only a home-run hitter, or a rightfielder, or a base runner. He’s a player.
It’s what made him attractive to basically everyone who could afford him in the offseason. Last year, when he was with the Yankees, Aaron Judge often was the guy with the most splash. But Soto’s value, despite his superstar status, can occasionally be subtle; the thing is, when you’re getting paid for 15 years, $765 million, and competing in New York, subtle doesn’t always fly.
It certainly didn’t when Soto got off to a slow start — he slashed .219/.345/.448 in May — and his contract is still called into question now, despite compiling one of the best months in franchise history. He slashed .322/.474/.722 in June, with 11 home runs, 20 RBIs and 25 walks.
But while there’s a natural pressure to living up to the biggest contract in North American sports history, Soto’s game remains centered on patience. And in a stretch where the Mets are swooning — they’ve lost 13 of their last 16 going into Tuesday night’s series opener against the Brewers at Citi Field — that type of consistency is important.
No matter how bad things get, Soto knows how to take a pitch.
“That’s what makes him who he is,” manager Carlos Mendoza said. “That’s why he’s elite: his ability to take walks and control the strike zone. Even when he doesn’t get results, he doesn’t panic.”
Mendoza and president of baseball operations David Stears have spoken candidly about pressure that comes with Soto’s contract, but as the weeks tick on, a few things become clear: 1. Soto understood what it meant to be paid that much (per Stearns); 2. Soto was frustrated that he couldn’t produce to the level he expected early on (per Mendoza); 3. It didn’t fundamentally change who he was as a player (per data).
At the end of May, his slash line of .224/.352/.393 compared to his expected slash line (determined by quality of contact) accounted for one of the biggest discrepancies in all of baseball. But he stayed patient. Though Soto is only 26, Mendoza, who got his start in player development, never outwardly worried about keeping him motivated when well-hit balls were going for outs.
It’s a useful skill, evidenced by the fact that one of the things the Mets talked about in their players’ only meeting on Saturday night was “counting on each other and passing the baton,” Francisco Lindor said.
Soto’s been good at that, but it doesn’t come easily — this idea of doing what you can and trusting the people around you to finish the job. It certainly doesn’t come naturally to a player who has too often been seen as some sort of fixer, even from a young age.
But it can be learned.
“I used to be a free swinger all the time,” Soto said. “When I was in the minor leagues and if I would start taking walks, I’d be a better hitter, so I started working on it. We started working on drills in the cage where I started taking pitches, making good decisions and going from there.”
About six or seven people spoke in that players’ only meeting, according to Brandon Nimmo, and Soto was among them. But last year with the Yankees, and this year with the Mets, Soto has never seemed particularly outspoken. If anything, he comes off as genial and regimented. Still, he talked.
“I have my own way about me,” he said. “Guys know who I am and how I handle myself being here. So, I don’t know what type of leader you want me to call myself [after speaking at the meeting]. I’ve never called myself a leader.
“I always call myself a rookie.”
He says this while playing his eighth major-league season. He still grins at pitchers when they don’t get him to chase. He doesn’t panic when he can’t produce, or the Mets can’t win.
When asked about the usefulness of communication — something that Lindor brought up when talking about that meeting — he notes there are different types of players. There are the ones who need to talk it out, and the ones who need to focus on themselves.
So which one is he?
“I try to be open to everybody,” he said. “But at the same time, I know we have a lot of pressure — everybody in here — and a lot of guys have to do their own thing. So me, putting more pressure, more thoughts of what I have going on, I don’t think it’s going to help. I keep it to myself.”
It’s the team approach. It isn’t gaudy. It isn’t dramatic. It’s the emotional equivalent of taking four pitches out of the strike zone instead of bailing out and trying to hit a ball into the stands, even if it isn’t in your wheelhouse.
“In the beginning, it was hard to do that,” Soto said about that particular skill. “But you’ve got to be smart . . . And I’m at my best when I’m being patient.”
It’s been worth the wait.
Laura Albanese is a reporter, feature writer and columnist covering local professional sports teams; she began at Newsday in 2007 as an intern.