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Jason Fry and Greg Prince
Faith and Fear in Flushing made its debut on Feb. 16, 2005, the brainchild of two longtime friends and lifelong Met fans.

Greg Prince discovered the Mets when he was 6, during the magical summer of 1969. He is a Long Island-based writer, editor and communications consultant. Contact him here.

Jason Fry is a Brooklyn writer whose first memories include his mom leaping up and down cheering for Rusty Staub. Check out his other writing here.

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Very Much At Home

I won’t be at Game Seven tonight, but my stomach is already on a train and my heart is running on the express track.

Next stop…well, we’ll find out pretty soon, won’t we?

I like Willie Randolph. He said the extent of his pre-Game Six pep talk was to go over travel plans for Detroit. Nice. Willie’s been a winner all his life (or haven’t you heard?).

I haven’t been a winner all my life, but I was very early on. My first experience with baseball was as a winner: six years old, 1969, on top of the world. There was nothing about it that suggested it was to be expected, so I didn’t and it wasn’t. I’ve only had three more cracks at it since then and only one that came through all the way.

But this is where I came in, a Mets fan whose team was going to the World Series. That’s home for me. That is where I want to go again, that is where we are too close to not get to now. Starting late Tuesday night — that was Game Five if, like me, you’ve lost all concept of days of the week — the greatest thing there could be was Game Seven, specifically its existence. I’ve never been to a Game Seven. Most Mets fans haven’t. I don’t have to be there tonight. As long as the Mets are, that’s sufficient.

Technically, the rules are the same as yesterday. Lose yesterday and it would be over. But yesterday was about survival. Today is Game Seven. We win and we go on to greater things. We lose and we don’t, just like yesterday, but we’re not thinking that way anymore, are we? It’s both not as bad and a whole lot worse.

Yesterday I threw everything I had at survival, all my Faith, even the No. 41 throwback jersey I was given as a gift eleven years ago, something I’d never worn to Shea before last night because I didn’t want to spill anything on it. I guess really I was just saving it up. I don’t know that I have any clothing, any lyrics, any stats, any gimmicks anymore. I just have my team in Game Seven. We’re both home.

And I don’t intend on losing again.

17 comments to Very Much At Home

  • Anonymous

    It's very tempting to go there anyway, just to be there… if (no jinxes here!) we win.
    LET'S GO METS!!
    LET'S GO METS!!
    LET'S GO METS!!

  • Anonymous

    LET'S GO METS!!!!
    LET'S GO METS!!!!
    LET'S GO METS!!!!
    LET'S GO METS!!!!
    (Takes four to win this series.)

  • Anonymous

    Touche, as always.
    I'm so nervous that even IF, FOR THE SAKE OF ARGUMENT, there is reason to celebrate later, I'll probably just calmly stare at the screen with glazed eyes. It will be more relief than euphoria.

  • Anonymous

    indeed, i pulled out all the stops last night to do my part to induce karmic convergence, all in the name of of survival. while i won't hesitate going to the well again, the team must force their will on the game with or without the aid of the legions of charms, incantations and rituals entered into on their behalf.
    all day, i've been disappointed to smell more than a whiff of triumphalism among sports talk jocks and fans alike. not once all day did i hear anyone address the cardinals' side of the equation, mainly suppan's strong postseason record (and his mastery over the mets less than a week ago).
    but there is one great leveling element, and appropriately enough for this blog and others like it, it involves the fans. yes, the cards have the decided edge on starting pitching. but last night, it was obvious just how much an advantage home-field provides. that's a tribute to the fans — that would be all of US.
    those of us in the stadium tonight will be in a real sense the equalizer for suppan, getting into his head, and those of his teammates, offering unswerving support for our guys, urging them on, tying our hopes to their talents, maybe even intimidating the umpires by just a wee little bit.
    level the playing field; bring on the game. no doubt now. let's take this one.

  • Anonymous

    I feel ill.

  • Anonymous

    oh my gosh, chavez, home run, oh my gosh…
    its hard to learn how to breathe

  • Anonymous

    I honestly feel like throwing up. I've been holding it in all day. They're killing me here.
    And just when I thought it wasn't possible to love Endy any more than I do… there you go.

  • Anonymous

    No shame.
    No embarrassment.
    No hanging our heads.
    No pouting.
    No griping.
    No tears.
    No more games this year.
    Go Tigers. I guess.

  • Anonymous

    I'm sorry, I can't give you “no tears.” That horse has already left the stable.

  • Anonymous

    Here's a tissue and a hug, Laurie.
    It's all gonna be all right.
    And Mets Grrl can start that new job of hers a week early now.

  • Anonymous

    Bases loaded in the 9th of game 7. What a way to go.
    I just need to digest this. But for now, I'm crushed. :-(

  • Anonymous

    predicted NYPOST headline: SUPPAN NAZI
    Beltran… the strike out looking was more painful than Kenny Rogers.
    Valentin with the bases loaded with one out after the Endy catch.
    David striking out with Beltran on 1st and not running.
    This hurts. I don't know about perspective or if I can even bring myself to read this blog tomorrow.
    This hurts.

  • Anonymous

    I learned tonight that the fandini makes a good noose.

  • Anonymous

    It's funny, I dont know anyone on this website personally. However, in this lowest of moments, when I dont feel like talking to any of my fellow mourners I still found my way to this website like I have every single day since some writer mentioned it on CNNSI.com. I really wanted to see if Jason or Greg have left anything. I wanted to see what Laurie and the other regulars left. This has been a dream season. A dream that ended a little too earlly. But at the least, I can say I found a place where I feel at home as a Met fan.
    So Greg, Jason, and all the regular posters, thanks for making this amazin year even more so.

  • Anonymous

    Don't worry… we'll all be good as new before you know it. Funny, I don't feel like talking to anyone either. I've turned my phones off. But I am answering “sorry about your Mets” emails and coming here. No one else really understands how sick and despondent I feel. Sure, they can be sympathetic. But they don't truly “get it.”
    Pitchers and catchers soon. And then we will kick a** all over again. Count on it.

  • Anonymous

    I'm crushed right now. Of course, not like 2000, but shit, this is now, so it fucking hurts right now.
    I really though Floyd was gonna hit a HR, and win it Kirk Gibson style.
    I guess I'm kind of numb right now, but it's been an amazin year, and I thank you all for sharing it with me…

  • Anonymous

    To quote Hugh Grant:
    “FUCK! FUCK!FUCK!FUCKITY!FUCK!FUCK!”