Juan Soto Is Miserable, Ya'll!

There’s a storm cloud over Citi Field, and no, it’s not leftover smoke from the last dumpster fire that rolled through Flushing. This one’s got a name. A face. A payroll-devouring contract.

Juan Soto. The glummest $765 million man in baseball history.

The so-called generational star is trudging through his first season with the Mets like a guy who just realized his dream house was built on a toxic waste site. The spark? Gone. The bat speed? Dropping. The smile? Apparently left in the Bronx last October, and good riddance.

Michael Kay recently dropped a quiet nuke on Mets fans: “Very, very glum,” he said about Soto’s demeanor. “No hop in his step. Doesn’t smile much… I’m not gonna say he is unhappy. Because how can you be unhappy with a $765 million contract?”

How? Simple. You sign with the Mets.

Now here’s the kicker — according to Kay, Soto actually wanted to stay in the Bronx. The Yankees didn’t botch negotiations. No, his family steered him to the Mets because they were “comfortable” with Steve Cohen.  That’s not just a bad decision. That’s a generational mistake.

And you know what? Good. Let him be glum. Let him drag his feet. Let him smile once every lunar eclipse and turn every strikeout into a therapy session. He’s not our problem anymore — he’s theirs. The Yankees let him walk, and they were right to do it.

Because here’s the reality: Juan Soto is playing like a man who peaked at 25. His slash line? .247/.379/.437 — numbers that would barely get Isiah Kiner-Falefa a contract in Japan. His OPS+ is the lowest it’s been since he was legally old enough to buy a scratch-off. And his bat speed? It’s dropped 2 miles per hour. That’s not a slump — that’s erosion.

He’s already been bumped from the No. 2 spot in the order — a “spark” move, they called it. What’s next, batting seventh behind Pete Alonso and the ghost of Daniel Vogelbach? The only spark happening in that lineup is the fuse on Steve Cohen’s ulcer.

And look — we’re not going to pretend we feel sorry for Mets fans. You chased him. You cheered when he signed. You mocked the Yankees for letting him go. And now?

Now you’re stuck with 15 years of slow groundouts, dead eyes, and mopey press conferences from a guy who looks like he’s regretting every second of it. 

And Mets fans — you deserve this. You went all-in on a star who didn’t want to be there, who clearly isn’t built to lead, and who already looks like he’s counting the days to his first “minor back tightness” IL stint.

Meanwhile, the Yankees are laughing all the way to October. With Max Fried anchoring the rotation, a clubhouse that actually enjoys showing up to work, and zero albatross contracts dragging them down, Bronx fans are sleeping just fine at night. No regrets. No second thoughts. No, “What if we had just matched the Mets’ offer?”

You can keep him.

And Juan? You should be ashamed. You were supposed to be the next great star. Instead, you’re baseball’s most expensive sulk. You let other people steer your career into baseball purgatory. You chased a $765 million “comfort deal” and now you’re stuck in the most uncomfortable situation in pro sports: being a Met with expectations.

So go ahead. Keep frowning. Keep pressing. Keep waving at sliders like they insulted your family. Because this is the choice you made. You’re the face of a franchise that turns gold into sawdust.

And for Yankee fans watching from a safe, Soto-free distance?

We’re just sitting back, smiling, and saying:

Thank God he’s not in pinstripes.