NEW YORK — Juan Soto’s discipline made him a fortune.
That is the foundation and the throughline of everything that makes Soto special. That applies in the batter’s box and beyond it. Soto does not swing at junk. Whatever you tantalize him with — fastball up, slider out, splitter down, a symphony of jeers — he will not chase, or at least, he chases less than anyone else. Soto is an elite decision-maker. That superpower forces you to operate in his arena, to play his game by his rules.
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On Friday in the Bronx, Soto laid off yet another tough pitch.
Making his first Yankee Stadium appearance as a Met, the man who does not bite flew above the fray. This unforgiving pit of vipers gave it a good go, hissing and hollering at everything Soto did for 2 hours, 58 minutes. The right-field bleachers, that oh-so-intoxicated hub of Yankees fanaticism, booed each mention of his name. They chanted, “F*** Juan Soto.” They cheered his failures and, as he ran out for his first inning of defense, quite literally turned their backs on him.
“I was ready for it, I was ready for it,” he said after the game. “They’re really passionate fans.”
The home team won the ballgame 6-2 because Mets starter Tylor Megill had a horror show of a third inning, in which he surrendered four walks and four runs before getting yanked offstage. Yankees starter Carlos Rodón kept the Mets in check across five innings, allowing just one run. Soto walked all three times he faced Rodón before grounding out sharply in the seventh and flying out meekly to end the game.
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Soto saw 29 pitches on the night, 16 of which were outside the rulebook strike zone. He chased just one, a full-count softball at the letters, the type of borderline pitch that any hitting coach would recommend protecting. Soto, of course, fouled it off.
It was a strong, considered choice on a night full of them. For Soto, that was expected, predictable, impressive nonetheless.
When Soto chose Queens over the Bronx, accepting the largest contract in sports history, he understood the consequences. He knew that the $765 million would come with a small price: For the next 15 years, three times a season, he’d need to reenter the bee’s nest. He would, each Subway Series, revisit his old stomping grounds to face the music. In a way, it would be an annual tour of what could have been, a yearly glimpse at the alternate reality that could’ve been Soto’s life.
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Considering all the money — so much money — returning to the Bronx thrice a summer was a price worth paying. But it was also an opportunity — 15 opportunities, in fact — for Soto to become agitated, to fall for the trap, to engage and enrage and allow the moment to overwhelm him.
And of course, the first visit would carry the most weight, as it would set the tone for the next decade and a half.
At around 3:30 p.m. Friday, before the gates opened, before batting practice, Soto wandered out of the visiting clubhouse and onto the field. Only a few cameras skittered around the dirt semi-circle behind home. Silence, the echoing kind that swirls around an empty baseball stadium, rattled in anticipation. Soto chatted with a few members of the Yankees training staff, then ducked back into the unseen of the clubhouse.
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An hour or so later, during the end of Yankees batting practice, he reemerged. This time, a throng of eyeballs and iPhones followed his every move. He strolled to the back of the batting turtle, a smile on his face, a man in his element, and greeted his old co-workers. It was all supremely normal, friendly, mundane. Yankees second baseman Jazz Chisholm, currently injured, came out in a gray sweatsuit to say hello. At one point, while the final Yankees group of bench players was taking batting practice, Soto casually leaned against the back of the batting cage and chatted with Yankees assistant hitting coach Pat Roessler.
He looked at home, comfortable, unconcerned with the impending hurricane.
Perhaps that’s because, beneath the surface, beyond the F-bomb avalanche tumbling down from the bleachers, Soto’s return to Yankee Stadium wasn’t actually that big of a deal. There is no lingering discontent between him and his former teammates — no beef, no hatred, no drama. The current Yankees understand why he took $765 million to play in Queens. Nobody in the Yankees’ locker room or front office feels slighted or wronged. Soto made a business decision — and a good one. There are no hard feelings.
Yankees captain Aaron Judge is famously risk-averse, conflict-avoidant. In the Derek Jeter mold, he rarely says anything interesting — on purpose. It’s the best game plan for a sports star in New York: Play it safe, let the fame and the play do the talking. But when Judge is talking magnanimously about Soto, it’s not a front.
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Judge really, truly isn’t peeved. They were teammates; now they aren’t. Besides, the Yankees’ “Plan B” pivot in the wake of Soto’s departure is doing mighty well. Cody Bellinger and Paul Goldschmidt went a combined 5-for-10 on Friday. Max Fried has the lowest ERA in baseball. Judge’s Yankees, without Soto, are real contenders.
And so are the Mets, with Soto, who returns tomorrow for Game 2 of the series.
Chances are he won’t blink.
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