Montas Is Just Milking The Mets Delivering A Whole Lot Of Nothing

Look, I tolerated Frankie Montas when the Yankees brought him to the Bronx. Key word: tolerated. I didn’t throw a parade, but I didn’t burn the jersey either. Then came the betrayal. Turns out, Montas was already damaged goods when he strolled into Yankeeland—banged up, kept it quiet, and crossed his fingers that grit alone could get him through it. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. The man ghosted the rotation, took up residence on the injured list, and cashed every check along the way. Honestly, if that’s not performance art, I don’t know what is.

That was the turning point. The injury, the silence, the paycheck—it all screamed fraud. So when Steve Cohen and the Mets decided to add Montas to their circus this offseason, I actually felt a twinge of joy. Not because I like seeing a pitcher flame out, but because, finally, this was their mess. Let the blue-and-orange brigade deal with it. After all, Steve Cohen isn’t exactly Theo Epstein. He’s more like Monopoly Man with a Citi Field season ticket package.

Back in February here on Bleeding Yankee Blue, I wrote this little gem:

“Fresh off a $34 million, two-year contract with the Mets, Montas is once again dealing with an injury… sidelined with a significant lat strain… requiring a PRP injection and at least 6-8 weeks of rest before he can even think about throwing again. Wow.”

Well, it’s June now. Tick tock.

Montas just made his third rehab start—this time against Triple-A hitters. And if this was his grand comeback tour, he might want to skip the encore. Four innings, five earned runs, and four home runs surrendered. Three of those bombs went to the same guy. I mean, come on. This wasn’t a Cy Young audition, it was a demolition derby. Sure, he hit the strike zone—43 of 61 pitches went for strikes—but when every strike leaves the yard, what exactly are we celebrating?

Let’s be clear: Montas looks nowhere near ready for a major league mound. And my question is this—why throw millions at a guy who has a history of hiding injuries from teams paying him to perform like an ace? That’s not just risky—it’s dumb. But hey, that’s the Mets, right? Baseball’s eternal little brother. The redheaded stepchild of the MLB. The franchise that shops at the Yankees’ discount rack and wonders why everything smells like Bengay.

The Mets love a good Yankees leftover. It’s like they’re the highest-paying customer at the baseball pawn shop. “Ooh, you’re selling off a pitcher with shoulder issues and a vague sense of ethics? We’ll take him! Full price!” By the time these guys hit Queens, they’re either broken down, burnt out, or both. And in Montas’ case, the return window closed two surgeries ago.

Let’s zoom out for a second. The league as a whole? It’s broken too. Owners hand out contracts like candy on Halloween—bags of cash with zero accountability. Sure, players aren’t property. No one’s saying they are. But if you’re signing for $34 million, is it too much to ask that you show up to work in one piece? We’ve reached a point where there’s no renegotiation, no repercussions—just rehab stints and rehab checks.

And Mets fans? Brace yourselves. You won’t be seeing Montas take a meaningful pitch for a long, long time. Maybe not ever. And while that’s already tragic, here’s the kicker: the Mets didn’t even sign him because they believed in his talent. No, they signed him because they needed to keep the piggy bank warm for Juan Soto. A guy who can’t field, can’t run, and apparently forgot how to hit. But don’t worry—he’s “trying really hard.” Priceless.

Steve Cohen loves to call himself a businessman. Maybe on Wall Street. But in baseball? The guy’s running an open bar for underachievers. He throws money at every problem like he’s hosting a wedding in Vegas. And sure, maybe the Mets are technically good. But good teams don’t make dumb investments like this. The math doesn’t add up, Steve.

Bottom line: Frankie Montas is toast. And Cohen? He’s not a genius, he’s just a rich guy with a baseball team and a short attention span. Until the Mets stop playing nurse to Yankee castoffs and start demanding performance, they’ll always be what they are—just the Mets.