Ian Desmond is 0-for-14 with 10 strikeouts and zero walks against Craig Kimbrel.

I know, I know. Small samples, noise, predictive value and whathaveyou — I get it. Usually, it’s best not to read too much into batter-pitcher matchup stats. Sometimes, though, it’s clear that a certain batter just doesn’t stand a chance against a certain pitcher. Sometimes, it’s clear that a Craig Kimbrel can turn an Ian Desmond into a helpless puddle of mush in the batter’s box simply by standing on the mound.

What if I told you that, in rare cases, fielders could possess the same ability? What if I told you that, in early 2014, Andrelton Simmons learned he had such a power? That simply by taking the field, he could render Travis d’Arnaud completely and utterly powerless? Not only that, but that Simmons could actually control the game with his mind, so long as d’Arnaud was on the field with him?

* * *

The date was April 9, 2014. Spirits were high in the Mets’ clubhouse. The season was young. They’d shut out the host Braves in their home opener the night before. Young catcher Travis d’Arnaud had collected his first two hits of the season and scored a run. He hoped to build upon that success against Braves hurler Ervin Santana the next day. He strode to the plate, confident and unknowing.

This was young d’Arnaud’s first encounter with Simmons. The result was unexpected, yet also unsurprising. d’Arnaud had heard tell of Simmons’ skills. Now, he’d experienced them firsthand.

“What can you do?” d’Arnaud thought to himself. “Gotta tip your cap.”

In fact, as he lunged toward first base, d’Arnaud did tip his cap. It fell right off the back of his head and down to the Earth behind him. As the helmet hurtled toward the dirt, it eclipsed the print on the back of d’Arnaud’s jersey, momentarily displaying the word “dUD.”

This could be interpreted as foreshadowing.

d’Arnaud knew that Simmons was capable of accomplishing such feats, yet something still felt strange about this one. Something seemed off. As d’Arnaud trotted back to the dugout he felt uneasy, squeamish. He couldn’t pinpoint the root of the feeling, and it ate at him until his next at-bat.

The tingling returned to d’Arnaud’s gut.

After the game, in the clubhouse, d’Arnaud suddenly felt a sharp pang in his heart, clutching at his chest as he dropped to his knees not unlike Yoda when there’s a disturbance in the force. His darkest suspicion had been confirmed: Simmons had realized the extent of his powers, and decided to use them for evil. d’Arnaud knew he was now nothing but a puppet under Simmons’ control.

Simmons quickly learned to harness this power. Ten days later in New York, with d’Arnaud standing in the on-deck circle, Lucas Duda smacked a first-pitch double into right-center field. Simmons decided to toy with d’Arnaud, manipulating B.J. Upton to lazily overshoot him on the cut-off throw, in turn allowing Duda to advance to third.

Simmons does not attempt to hide his role in this sequence. No, instead he makes it very obvious that he has complete control over the situation. Note his merely half-hearted attempt at corralling Upton’s heave, his nonchalant jog after the runaway ball.

Simmons’ intent with this tactic is clear: place d’Arnaud in the best possible situation for success. Raise him up as high as possible, thus making the fall that comes with his inevitable failure that much more crushing. Failure, of course, that comes at the hands of Simmons.

d’Arnaud had gone to sleep the night before hoping that he’d wake up with it all having been a bad dream. That he could continue on in his playing career unimpeded, free from the grasp of Simmons’ control. It was at this moment, though, that d’Arnaud realized the extent of the trouble he was in. After seeing the lengths to which Simmons had gone to prove his point — manipulating both Upton on the throw and Duda on the decision to break for home — d’Arnaud began to understand the gravity of the situation.

From on high, Simmons pounces on d’Arnaud’s apparent vulnerability, further crushing his confidence with a sinister snicker directed toward his powerless pawn.

But he wasn’t done there. Fast-forward eight innings. Simmons has positioned the game as such: bottom of the ninth, two outs, bases loaded, the tying run on second base and the home crowd of 31,476 on their feet with d’Arnaud the chance to be the hero. Of course, we know that d’Arnaud has no chance to be the hero, for Simmons has already decided the outcome of the game. This is all just a set-up, after all.

That night, d’Arnaud reflects on his new place in the world. He concludes that he can’t bear to face his enemy the next day. He requests the day off. His wish is granted. The game goes extra innings, though, and d’Arnaud is reluctantly forced into action in the 13th inning. His helplessness knows no bounds.

Months pass. d’Arnaud lives in fear of Simmons’ reign of terror, dreading each ensuing series against Atlanta. In preparation for his next encounter with Simmons, d’Arnaud seeks guidance from Mets legend Mike Piazza.

Piazza can do nothing to help d’Arnaud. There is no defending against the supernatural. Little does d’Arnaud know, but Simmons has been preparing, too, planning his most elaborate assault on d’Arnaud’s psyche to date.

The day of reckoning finally arrives. August 27, 2014. Simmons has considered and planned his moves carefully. He decides he will first tease d’Arnaud by using Chris Johnson, unbeknownst to him, as live bait. d’Arnaud hits a sharp ground ball in the direction of Johnson, a poor defender, at third base. Johnson gets a slow first step, giving d’Arnaud some cause for optimism that he might reach first safely. As we’re well aware, though, this is all according to plan. At the last second, Simmons compels Johnson’s glove to carry over top the ball, allowing it to travel unabated into Simmons’ own grasp.

Of course, this is just the set-up. d’Arnaud remains steadfast in his approach. Piazza had told him his only hope was to hit the ball to Johnson and pray for the best. Avoid Andrelton at all costs. He’d come so close. It was worth another try.

He’d never considered how magnificently that might backfire.

One inning later, Simmons delivers the killshot.

Johnson takes two steps toward the ball before Simmons mind-halts his momentum entirely. This time, Simmons wants center stage. He administers his most soul-crushing blow yet. d’Arnaud is reduced to a shell of a man, trampled by thousands of other shells of men.

In the offseason, he becomes a recluse. He contemplates life and its meaning.

“Why go on?” he pondered, “while Simmons looms?”

He considers stepping away from the game unannounced, succumbing at last to Simmons’ supremacy. After months of deliberation, he arrives at an idea that might allow him to return to the game free from Simmons’ clutches: he’d change his jersey number from 15 to 7, in an attempt to play the season undetected. It was just crazy enough to work.

And at first, it did. In the opening meeting between the two clubs on April 10, 2015 in Atlanta, Simmons eagerly scanned the field, searching for his marionette to no avail. Undiscovered, d’Arnaud displayed no emotion externally, so as not to blow his cover. Internally, a celebration raged. He’d finally broken the chains and overthrown his ruler. He felt like a new man, liberated and free.

But the charade didn’t last long. In the second inning, d’Arnaud met his maker.

d’Arnaud may have recorded the out, but Simmons again had the upper hand. Slamming his body into the mystery catcher, he jarred loose d’Arnaud’s mask to reveal his true identity. Simmons produced a foreboding and evil cackle. The gig was up.

As fate would have it, d’Arnaud led off the next inning. His spirits, again, were shot. Simmons didn’t have much time to plan the following attack, but he’d known how significantly last August’s killshot had damaged d’Arnaud’s ego. He’d known d’Arnaud had spent the entire offseason lamenting the play. Surely he wouldn’t have had time to prepare for another.

Simmons could barely wait. He had d’Arnaud swing at the first pitch, and replicated a near-mirror image of The Killshot. Many thought it would be the last they’d see of d’Arnaud.

* * *

You might not believe it, but there is hope for Travis d’Arnaud still. Sure, his .664 OPS against the Braves may be the worst against any team he’s played more than 10 times and it’s all due to Andrelton Simmons’ mind control, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. After The Killshot 2.0, d’Arnaud vowed not to respond with an attitude of defeat, but rather an attitude of determination. He may not ever be able to vanquish Simmons, but damnit, he’s not going down without a fight. Previously, Simmons’ exploits over d’Arnaud were met with exasperation, further encouraging the shortstop’s devious behavior like a bully on the elementary school blacktop. With a new number, d’Arnaud became a new man.

Of course, for all we know, this could simply be another set-up by Simmons for the next act. But in the end, in the face of adversity — or in this case, telekinesis — isn’t laughter the greatest weapon we have?