The blog for Mets fans
who like to read


Greg Prince and Jason Fry
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.

Got something to say? Leave a comment, or email us at (Sorry, but we have no interest in ads, sponsored content or guest posts.)

Need our RSS feed? It's here.

Visit our Facebook page, or drop by the personal pages for Greg and Jason.

Or follow us on Twitter: Here's Greg, and here's Jason.

All I Need Is A Miracle

Welcome to a special pre-Game Six edition of Flashback Friday, a weekly feature devoted to the 20th anniversary of the 1986 World Champion New York Mets.

Twenty years, 43 Fridays. This, because sometimes it’s imperative that you go on short rest, is one of them.

Stupid Grape Nut Flakes. I’m never eating them again. What the hell was I thinking? Ten minutes ago, we were tied. We had momentum. It was 3-3, just like the Series was going to be. I followed my father into the kitchen. I couldn’t believe how into it he is. A couple of years ago neither he or my mother cared about baseball at all. Not anymore. He started reading a Wall Street Journal from the other day with the TV in the background when the tenth started. He decided that by not paying attention, he was going to change the Mets’ luck. He’s the sanest person I know and now he’s like the rest of us.

Me? I poured myself a bowl of Grape Nut Flakes. I don’t even like cereal that much. It was just nervous eating. But there I am with my bowl and my spoon and there’s Aguilera giving up a home run to Dave Henderson. Him again? We’re down 4-3 and I blink and we’re down 5-3.


So this is it, huh? This is the way it ends. It has been such a great season. Such an unbelievable season and we’re about to lose the fucking World Series to the fucking Boston Red Sox. Dad’s still in the kitchen. Mom’s in their bedroom. Me, I’ve come upstairs to watch the end of 1986 by myself in my office.

I can’t take Vin Scully and Joe Garagiola anymore. It’s like they’re rooting for the Red Sox. I’m turning down the TV and blasting WHN. If I have to go down, it’s going to be with Bob Murphy.

C’mon Mets! C’mon! You’ve got to have two runs in you. You definitely have the right guy coming up.

Wally Backman. I love Wally Backman. There’s nobody I’d rather have come up in this spot than Wally Backman. Wally Backman never lets me down. He’s the most dependable guy on this team. Who got on base in Game Three against Houston to set up Dykstra? Wally, that’s who. Wally is not going to allow the Mets to go down. He’s going to get on. We can still do this.

WALLY! Lousy fly ball to left field. Jim Rice catches it. One out.


That’s OK. It’s just one out. We’re not dead yet. Keith Hernandez is up. Keith is only the most clutch hitter in all of baseball. We’ve seen it all of this year and last year and the year before. Keith is the reason we’re any good at all. God, I love Keith Hernandez. There is nobody I’d rather have up with everything on the line. Keith can get on. There’s only one out. We can still do this.

Home run swing! Deep! But it’s dying. Of course it is, it’s Shea. That annoying Dave Henderson catches it. I hate that guy. Two out.


Oh that’s it. We are so fucking doomed. Fuck! We won 108 games! We were in first place all year! We won the greatest playoff series ever against the Astros! We came back from being down 2-0 at Fenway on Tuesday and Wednesday. And we came back from being down in this stupid game against Roger Clemens of all people. Maybe we should have won it in the ninth, but I didn’t think we wouldn’t win it eventually. It took 16 innings in Houston. I thought we’d win it here in the tenth. But Aguilera gives up those runs — the homer to Henderson and then Boggs doubles and Barrett singles him in — and now we’re screwed. The two guys I wanted up, Backman and Hernandez, made out. That’s it.

Schiraldi’s unhittable. And the last out is gonna be Gary Carter.

This is not who I want up. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that caller to One On One on ‘FUV, that really whiny Red Sox fan who predicted weeks ago that it was going to come down to Schiraldi versus Carter in the seventh game and Schiraldi was going to strike out Carter to end it. He was off by a game but he had everything else right.

Fucking Carter. He’s the last guy I want up there. Who made the last out last year against the Cardinals? Carter. Who hit .255 this year? Carter. Who is not going to come through in a situation like this? Carter. Can you picture him actually getting a hit here?

Carter got a hit.

Oh why bother? Stop teasing me. I’ve lived through this too much as a Mets fan, all these false rallies, all this false hope in ninth innings and extra innings all my life. Carter gets a hit. Big deal. We’re still losing by two and look who’s coming up.

Kevin Mitchell. Damn it, I don’t want him up there. Mitchell had a nice start this year when he was playing all those positions but has he done a damn thing since they went to Wrigley and he decided he was going to hit it onto Waveland Avenue every time up? I read his father was there and he wanted to impress him. Seems all he did was go into a seasonlong slump. Wasn’t he hitting like .349 and what did he wind up at? .277, I think. Geez, he’s a rookie who swings at everything now. This is no time for Kevin Mitchell.

Mitchell got a hit! Carter’s on second!

Oh goddamn it. Now I have to take this seriously. Why can’t they just get this over with? It’s as good as done anyway, probably. I hope we win, but I can’t believe we will.

Look who’s up. Knight.

Fantastic. Ray Knight. Perfect ending to a perfect year. Ray Knight was the WORST player on the 1985 Mets. If he had been any good at all, or if Davey had benched him and put HoJo in like he should’ve, we would’ve beaten the fucking Cardinals last year. Instead he batted .218. I never booed a Met before but I couldn’t help myself. Ray Knight was just so fucking awful! It was nothing personal. It was more directed at Davey for sticking with this stiff.

So this year Ray Knight makes us think everything is fine. He hits six homers in April and he hits that game-winner against the Astros on Fireworks Night and suddenly Ray Knight is a good player again. But y’know what? I don’t believe it. This is all a setup. Ray Knight is going to revert to form right now. He’s going to pop up or ground out or swing through one of Schiraldi’s fastballs. We are so fucked and now it’s worse because they’re getting our fucking hopes up.



I can barely breathe.

Looks like Schiraldi’s coming out. Who is McNamara bringing in? Bob Stanley…didn’t he used to be their closer? Is he still any good? Don’t Red Sox fans hate him? Didn’t he have lots of saves at some point?

They’ve gone to commercial. What can I do? What can I do?

I know! Let me run into my room and put on “Let’s Go All The Way”. Here we go, first track, side A. That’s my song, that’s my slogan, we’re going all the way now. At least I hope so.

OK, song over, radio back on, I’m running back to the television. Bob Murphy’s nice and loud. Mookie Wilson’s up.

Oh this sucks.

Mookie. Of all fucking people, Mookie. Has Mookie EVER gotten a big hit for us? Mookie has been nothing but unfulfilled promise for us since 1980. Mookie has never been a good leadoff hitter or a good clutch hitter. Mookie doesn’t know how to take a pitch. Mookie strikes out all the time. This is how it’s gonna end, isn’t it?

C’mon Mookie! Don’t swing at everything.

Y’know what would be great right now? A wild pitch. I’m always saying that and it never happens. But man, a wild pitch would score Mitchell and tie the game.

Oh shit! Mookie’s gonna get hit! Wait! He jumped out of the way! IT’S A WILD PITCH! OH MY GOD, THAT’S NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE! I ASKED FOR IT AND IT CAME!


He scored! He scored! Game tied! 5-5! We’re not gonna lose! We’re not gonna lose! Mitchell scored! And Knight’s on second!


Ground ball. That looks like three out but at least it’s tied. Sisk is coming in, I guess. Better than nothing.













How did I get downstairs? I swear I don’t remember running. It’s like I took all 13 steps in one leap. My father’s standing dumbfounded in the kitchen. My mother’s telling me she videotaped the last half-inning, that she caught it all. I told her not to bother unless it looks like we’re going to win the World Series and the only thing that could have happened was the Series was going to end the wrong way but she taped it. Wow!

The phone’s ringing. It’s Larry. He’s calling me from his car again with his new “portable telephone,” whatever that is. Him and his gadgets. Said he was at a wedding and decided to leave so he could listen to the game. He wants to know what exactly happened. He wants me to explain. He knows we won but he’s trying to grasp it. He’s not even a Mets fan and he’s going crazy. I’m going crazy. My parents are going crazy. Shea Stadium is going crazy. Larry’s coming over. I can show him the tape. Hell, I’ve got to see it again for myself.

Oh my god, I can’t believe it! We were about to lose. I mean it was over. Two outs. Nobody on. I had absolutely no faith that this team was going to come back. But just like that they did. They won. We won. Three hits, a wild pitch and Mookie’s ball going through Buckner’s legs. Just like that, the Mets won. There’s going to be a seventh game tomorrow night. Oh my god.

I swear this has to be the best day of my life.

9 comments to All I Need Is A Miracle

  • Anonymous

    Running up and down my spine.
    Earlier this year I was at a black tie function with the wife. We go to a couple of year for hospitals. The dinners are fundraisers and have silent auctions. A couple of years ago I bid on a signed pic of the grounder. Alas, I lost out.
    So this year, after bidding on tickets to a couple of games (one which would have been Benson's return), I notice the picture is there. Mookie and Bucks have signed it. I bid, more than the starting bid. I check later, someone outbid me. I would not be denied, so I upped the bid.
    A couple of weeks go by, and nothing. Then, a phone call. My bid was highest. A few days later, the signed and framed 8 x 10 print was hanging on the wall.
    Tonight, methinks I will move it to on top of the TV. Osmosis you know.

  • Anonymous

    Thanks. Just what I needed to get through today. Reached your blog through MBTN. — MetsfanSZ36 in Florida

  • Anonymous

    Greg, tonight will be the next best day in your life….

  • Anonymous

    My Game 6 story – briefly.
    I was home from college for the weekend, so I could watch in color instead of the little b&w, and I somehow left my Mets hat behind. So, I'm sitting with my folks, wearing one of those stupid plastic batting helmets with the adjustable strap inside.
    Two down, bottom of the tenth. My mother, who knows me too well, gives me THAT look and says “do NOT throw that helmet.” How did she know that's what I would have done?
    I've done a lot of hat throwing this week. Need some more Magic.
    Pleeeeeze. Pleeeeeze. Pleeeeeze.

  • Anonymous

    I have been doing my Mark Messier predictions all day.
    There *will* be a Game 7.
    Greg, once again you bring tears to my eyes – I almost lost it at the end there
    “There's going to be a seventh game tomorrow night. Oh my god. “

  • Anonymous

    I was four years old in 1986. I still remember this moment, because my father (a Queens native) jumped off the couch so forcefully he touched the ceiling and knocked a beer all over the carpet.
    They can do it again.

  • Anonymous

    This gave me chills while reading it! As I contemplate my trip to Shea for TONIGHT”S game 6 I am reminded of my own, 1986 Game 6 experience. I was a junior at Clark University, and was home for midterm break. A few of my friends from high school were home as well. Four of us went to the Ground Round in Ft Lee to watch the game because our friend was a waitress and would comp us beer and food. As the game progressed, and the Mets needed a little help, I startted using a Budweiser promotional scorecard as a rally cap…they scored when I put it on! As the tenth inning started, I didn't put on the rally cap…but the a guy in his 40's or 50's came up through the crowded bar, slapped me on the shoulder and said, “put that fuckin' scorecard on your head!” I put it on, obediently, and the rest is history. Maybe we should all put on scorecards and eat Grapenuts tonight!

  • Anonymous

    i was in albany with my girlfriend. i couldn't take the suspense of game six early, so we went out to do the grocery shopping at the local pricechopper. while there, i'm hearing on the store radio that we've gone into extra innings, and worse, that we've given up two runs.
    except it's not. same deal for me as everyone else — first wally, then keith. that's it. the greatest season in mets history, down the toilet, not even an asterisk to the plucky red sox and their overhyped curse. they even flash marty effing barrett's name on the screen.
    but when carter came up, i thought he'd get a hit — no way HE'S gonna make the last out. kevin mitchell too. the whole ray knight and mookie at-bats, i am screaming at the set, and girlfriend is alarmed as i go through the bipolar mood swings that define being a mets fan, trying to explain through gasps that these…things…don't …happen…that this…is the most…amazing comeback…in the history of organized sports. EVER.
    in a very real sense, it proved the existence of a just and loving god.
    thanks Big Guy.
    it's been 20 years. and just yesterday.
    i'll be there tonight.
    there's only room on the #7 for faith and the faithful.
    all aboard.

  • Anonymous

    I think I read this just in time. Game 6 at Shea. I'm out of words.
    Well, except one: