Because...METS.

The Mets may have grabbed two more tabloid back pages but—AMAZE-ingly—their loss last night wasn't even covered in the Paper of Record.  Not even by wire service copy.

There was, instead, only a line under the standings—Chicago Cubs 4, Mets 1—and the box score.

That was it.  Not one written word.

Instead the Grey Lady went with a feature on how Todd Frazier is in a baffling slump, which is really not all that baffling, considering:

a—He's old.

b—He never could hit that much anyway.

It seemed more as if the poor fellows in the NY Times sports department—those who aren't preoccupied with soccer, extreme diving, or hiking, anyway—were just too depressed to write anything.

Still, it is remarkable:  a six-game losing streak at home, after a run that got the team into third place in the Bud Selig, Wild-Card Play-in Standing, just two games out of a slot.  And after sweeping a tough Indians team that gave us all we could handle.

Going into the last two games of the Cubs' series, still, the Mets seemed to have a reasonable chance to recoup, especially with their two best starters, Thor and Leg Room (how my computer insists on styling "deGrom") set to go.  

Instead, Syndegaard threw his worst game EVER, while Leg Room surrendered the most earned runs he'd given up in a start in, well, a long, long time.

The team couldn't even hit Craig Kimbrel, falling into the full Stanton.  They have now fallen back to 5th place in the Wild Card rally, 5 games behind the Cubbies in the No. 2 spot.

How did this happen?  Thor was actually mumbling something about how he'd managed "eight straight quality starts"—I'm not making this up; boy, did we dodge a bullet with that one!—before coming up with...nothing.

Leg Room, to be fair, was betrayed once again by a terrible Mets defense, which flubbed two, eminently playable balls—though he did promptly surrender his second homer of the night to Carrot Top Caratini, a Cubs newbie filling in for the injured Anthony Rizzo.

The sudden reversion to awful fielding, particularly by Rosario, who seemed to have turned it around, was, well, amazing.  So has been the disappearance of clutch hitting, and not just by the Toddfather.  Conforto seems to have turned back into a pumpkin—or maybe a white mouse.

Who knows why these things happen?

I like to say it's because the Mets—unlike a certain franchise to the north of here, known for racism and endless whining—really do have the worst luck in baseball.  But this is beyond freakish injuries and underperformance.

(And speaking of underperformance, the Mets' unfaithful once again failed to reach 40,000 in attendance.)

I guess the only explanation that can be given is...METS.