The Marlins first Game after Jose Fernandez's Death was Strange, Sad, and a Little Bit Normal, Too

The news out of Miami early Sunday morning, that 24-year-old Marlins ace Jose Fernandez had died in a boating accident, was awfully strange and sad. So too was the Marlins' first game after Fernandez's passing. It was strange and sad to see the entire team outfitted in uniforms with Fernandez's name and number 16; it was strange and sad to hear "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" played by a lone trumpet; it was strange and sad to see Mets and Marlins embracing on the field and wiping their cheeks.

It was incredible, and strange, and sad, to see the left-handed Dee Gordon come to the plate in the bottom of the first inning, take a pitch from the right side in Fernandez's honor, then swap out helmets, circle around to his usual batter's box, and hit his only home run of the year. He cried circling the bases and was weeping by the time he touched home. His teammates helped him through the dugout and into the tunnel below.

It was strange and sad to see the Marlins follow the final out of their 7-3 victory with a modified handshake line that culminated in a gathering around the mound. Giancarlo Stanton and Don Mattingly spoke; everyone left his cap on the hill. Gordon was the last to file off, staying behind for a moment to pat the "16" painted in the dirt.

These will be the lasting and fitting images of Monday night's game. They struck the tone and told the needed story. Even strange and sad baseball games, though, last a long time, and so there was time for something else—something regular squeezed in.

That something regular was the bottom of the second inning, an inning of crisp offense from the Marlins. Stanton started the frame with a single rocketed up the middle, Justin Bour followed with an opposite-field double, and J.T. Realmuto followed that with an RBI infield hit to the 5.5 hole. Adeiny Hechavarria hit a liner to center that hopped the fence for a ground-rule double; pitcher Adam Conley squeezed Realmuto home. The Miami announcing booth talked baseball for a minute: the promising sign from Bour, recently returned from the 60-day DL, and the good-for-a-catcher speed of Realmuto. The Mets infield came in, and Gordon shot a bouncer over second base to plate the game's fifth run. Once he reached first, Bartolo Colon spent some time throwing over to make sure he didn't stray too far from the bag.

When Colon threw over, something wonderful happened. The Miami fans, strangely and sadly quiet to that point outside of the leadoff homer, booed. It wasn't a boo of indignation that Colon would sully a somber night; it was the plain old fan-frustration at one of the game's more tedious strategies. They wanted Gordon to get to run, as always, and they were mad that Colon wasn't letting him. It sounded good.

What many people love about baseball is its ritualistic aspect. Players do the same things over and over, and sometimes they work and often they don't. What people loved about watching Fernandez was how incredibly he could tilt those odds, how his high-90s fastball and homing slider could give him what looked like total control, and how plainly he enjoyed this. He turned ritual into thrill. He never threw a usual pitch.

But that string of usual things in the second inning is what stood out from this game. A ball hit just where the shortstop couldn't make a play, an infield-in gamble backfiring. Colon drawing boos, the standard throw-over fare. Baseball was never calm when Fernandez was playing it, but it was on Monday night, for a bit.