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And a very pleasant good evening to you wherever you may be. From a cool, breezy night in Queens, New York, this was baseball at its most beautiful — unpredictable, unrelenting, and unforgettable. The New York Mets, defending world champions, outslugged the Texas Rangers 12 to 8 to take Game One of the 1922 World Series here at Citi Field.
You could almost feel it from the first pitch — a certain electricity in the air, the kind that only October baseball can bring. And the fans, bundled up against a crisp 49-degree wind, were treated to a roller coaster of a game that tilted back and forth before the Mets finally wrestled it away for good.
Alan Sloan, the designated hitter who’s been the beating heart of this Mets lineup, had himself a night to remember — four hits, including a towering home run and a ringing double, driving in three and scoring three more. He hit everything hard, and by the end of the evening, it seemed as though the Rangers had run out of ways to get him out.
But perhaps the biggest moment came in the bottom of the sixth. The Mets trailed 7–6, runners at second and third, one out, and Kevin Brubaker — the ever-reliable left fielder — at the plate. Brubaker lashed a double down the line in left, driving in two, and just like that, New York was back in front. The crowd, 39,781 strong, rose as one and roared into the night.
For Texas, it was a valiant effort — 14 hits of their own, including a home run from Tony Guerrero and a three-hit game from catcher Mike Walden — but their bullpen simply couldn’t hold the line.
You can talk about numbers, you can talk about strategy, but nights like this remind us why we love this game. It’s not about perfection; it’s about resilience. The Mets fell behind, stumbled, then rose up with the kind of determination that defines champions.
And so, as the lights dim over Citi Field and the players retreat to the clubhouse, New York takes a 1–0 lead in the World Series. Game Two comes tomorrow, right back here in Queens, and you can be sure the Rangers will come out swinging.
For now, though — from the city that never sleeps, on a night when baseball once again showed its timeless beauty — this is Vin Scully, wishing you a very pleasant good evening, wherever you may be.
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