THE FIRE OF GREATNESS: JUAN SOTO’S ANGER IS EXACTLY WHAT THE METS NEED

Houston, TX

Juan Soto wasn’t just mad—he was fuming. And honestly? You love to see it. The best artists are never satisfied, and the same goes for generational baseball talents. Perfection is a curse, and Soto wears it like a badge of honor.

The Mets clubhouse was calm after their 3-1 Opening Day loss to the Astros. Shrug it off, grab some food, move on—it’s a long season. But Soto? Nah. He couldn’t let it go. The moment Josh Hader’s wicked slider made him look human, he was done with the night. No chit-chat, no laughs, no late-night snack. Just frustration, bottled rage, and an early exit. You just know he’s still thinking about it.

And then there’s Clay Holmes, navigating the treacherous waters of reinvention. A sinker made him an All-Star, but now he’s a starter, expected to expand his arsenal. Spring training had everyone hyped about his new changeup, but when the lights came on for real? Old habits kicked in. Nearly half his pitches were sinkers, and that vaunted changeup? He threw it just four times. Pressure does that to you—it makes you retreat to what made you great.

A veteran scout watching from the stands caught something: Holmes’ delivery got sloppy mid-game. Legs probably tired. Stamina slipping. He admitted as much, saying he lost command in the second and third but found it again in the fourth. That’s a small win. Closers don’t get second chances; starters do. He’s learning on the fly.

Two players. Two mental battles. One furious, one adapting. But both tell the same story—this game isn’t just physical. It’s a mental war. And Opening Day just gave us a front-row seat.