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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.

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August and Everything After

Two sure signs we’re on the wrong side of summer:

1) My friend Chuck, Illinoisan by employment but New Yorker by heart, called me Saturday, as he will when he’s in time-killing/errand-running mode. He was in a mall somewhere in the Midwest, taking his daughter back-to-school shopping. Back-to-school already? I asked. How early do they go back to school there? Then I considered the middle of August isn’t all that far off from school, not even here.

2) The conversation turned, within a minute or two of pleasantries, into an extended Met update for the benefit of those who no longer live in New York and don’t necessarily check in with certain blogs as often as they should. After receiving the latest state of the dysfunctional union report, Chuck took a measured tone:

“You shouldn’t give up,” he said. “Anything can happen.”

And that, even more than sales on sweaters and loose leaf binders, is the surest sign to me that autumn is lacing up its running shoes and preparing to grab the baton from a faltering summer — because even across a thousand miles and a digital phone connection that doesn’t include video conferencing, I can see Chuck suppressing a smirk. He does this every hopeless year right around this time, poking at me with a proverbial stick to see if I’ll swipe at it. He tried it in late August of 2003, the weekend after the last-place Mets had swept a surprisingly competent set of games against the first-place Braves and were maybe, just maybe on the cusp of creeping toward the outer edge of the box in the paper where they list the Wild Card contenders.

“You shouldn’t give up,” he said then, too, innocent as a slice of room-temperature apple pie. “Anything can happen.”

I paused to think about the 2003 Mets’ chances of pulling off a miracle to beat all miracles. And then I considered the source of those seemingly encouraging words — my best friend since college, yes, but someone who carries a playful manipulative streak longer than anything Mike Vail ever put together hittingwise.

“Fuck you,” I said almost seven year ago.

Chuck broke up in hysterics.

I didn’t repeat in 2010 what I told him in 2003, because I knew his faux keep-the-faith message was coming. No, I said calmly on Saturday, anything can’t happen.

Soon after our call ended, I was on a train bound for where anything couldn’t happen and, rest assured, it didn’t. The Mets lost bloodlessly on Saturday. Their signs were even less vital Sunday as they lost yet another must-win series. They are now some distressingly large amount of games out of first place in the N.L. East and nearly as many in the Wild Card race. I don’t buy the papers anymore, but I’m guessing that if they haven’t dropped from the box of contenders by now, they will soon.

That’ll happen some Augusts. It’s happened this August, just in time for those back-to-school sales and back-to-reality lifechecks. The summer ends too soon while the season ends too soon after summer, no matter how long the season is extended. The Mets’ season won’t be extended at all. We’re now in that transition mode between wanting to hang on to baseball for as long as we can and wishing the baseball we’re seeing would please go away already.

Saturday afternoon I didn’t want it to end. Chuck could bait me about the Met disarray, but I had a game to get to. I had people to meet at the Apple — Jeff, at last up from D.C. after months of our talking about it, along with his son, Dylan, and Dave, Jeff’s buddy from Brooklyn. We’d set this date at the height of the Mets’ 2010 competitiveness. Not that it mattered to a couple of lifers, but it was assumed that this would be a big game. And of course it was a big game: it was the first game Jeff and Dylan would be seeing at Citi Field all season. It wasn’t a big game in any other sense, however. As I said, some Augusts just work out that way. Couldn’t do anything about the standings, but I could still look forward to spending a night with the Mets and with people I like.

Funny thing about me and Citi Field. As much as I’ve analyzed it and criticized it, I’ve grown mighty proprietary of it, never more so than early Saturday evening. None of the guys I was meeting had yet seen the Hall of Fame and Museum, so I enthusiastically began pointing out highlights once we entered: here’s the ball Mookie hit; there’s the plaque that doesn’t quite get Doc’s term of service right; listen for this part of the narration on the video, it’s particularly good; oh, and take a look over here!

I was the same way after we left the museum and then the store (where Mets fans registered their disgust with the current regime by purchasing $28 t-shirts and such). Our tickets were Field Level, but they allowed us access to Excelsior. Hey, c’mon, I gotta show you Caesars Club — we don’t have to stay there, I just wanna show you what it is. I was like that up and down all the escalators and staircases and throughout the concourses.

I’m taking the official Citi Field tour in a couple of weeks. I’m not sure why I’m not guiding it.

The sole Met highlight of the error-strewn game itself was when a beachball made the rounds in the seats below us. It was harmless good fun until it finally occurred to somebody in orange and blue that the ball was red and white and emblazoned with a “P,” requiring it to meet a sudden but timely death. We still couldn’t do anything about the standings or the scoreboard, but we cheered the proactive move on the part of our patriotic Mets fan brother in the slightly fancier seats. His popping the beachball reminded me of Benjamin Franklin reporting excitedly to Thomas Jefferson in 1776 of “a ragtag collection of provincial militiamen who couldn’t drill together, train together or march together, but when a flock of ducks flew over, and they saw their first meal in three full days, Sweet Jesus could they shoot together!”

The Mets were ultimately deflated, but our spirits remained high as we parted ways on the Super Express Saturday night. I was so happy to have seen Jeff, so happy to have been at Citi Field, so happy to have been around baseball and beachballs that I hated to admit that it would all end soon enough.

It always does.

As I waited for my eastbound train at Woodside, the slightest pre-September chill wafted by. Summer was still technically in effect, but the season was giving its seven weeks notice. This is a Mets team scuffling to maintain its self-ballyhooed Home Field Advantage, which is now adds up to a not-so-advantageous 8-10 at Citi Field since July 5. They’re barely grasping .500 overall. They never win a series on the road. They rarely offer any kind of hitting support for their valiant battalion of starting pitchers. They wouldn’t even do Pat Misch the courtesy of playing defense on Saturday. No, this is not a Mets team that merits “anything can happen” consideration.

The only thing that could happen after Saturday night was Sunday night. It rained on and off. Citi Field sounded dead the first few innings on radio. It looked even deader on TV, at least while Mad Men was in commercial. I saw the starting lineup and was struck by what an amorphous blob of players the Mets had become. Mostly youngsters, which is supposed to give us hope, but lately has given us nothing. Sprinkled between them, a couple of veterans who have to play every now and then if just to keep them theoretically sharp. Some of these starting Mets were vital in spurring the team into surprising contention in May and June. Now, in mid-August, the whole bunch was receding from view.

Baseball season is both too short and honestly long enough. How is it that Opening Day wasn’t just last week? How is it that a quarter, a third, half and now just about three-quarters of the season have flown by? It goes too quick. Yet it’s interminable. It’s been long enough for Ike Davis to emerge as a budding star and then show us how far he has to go to develop consistent offensive skills. It’s been long enough for Angel Pagan to establish himself as the batting order’s bulwark and for opposing pitchers to adjust to all of Angel’s improvements. It’s been long enough for Mike Pelfrey to find himself, lose himself and grope around in the dark for a piece of his April self all over again.

There isn’t enough of the Mets if you salivate over spring and luxuriate in summer and treat every trip to their imperfect ballpark like you might an invitation to the chocolate factory when you were five. Nevertheless, there’s more Mets than you can stand when they’re drearily getting their own beachball burst again and again on too many nights like Sunday. You can only take so much of detesting watching what you’re pretty sure you love.

I’m not a fan of Sunday night baseball. I’m not a fan of autumn’s encroachment. And I’m not a fan of giving up on the Mets. Ten out in the East…eight out for the Wild Card…anything can happen. But at this stage of the season, it usually doesn’t.

Tim Kurkjian of ESPN has, at last, given up on an anachronistic baseball obsession of his own. Recommended reading here.

10 comments to August and Everything After

  • […] This post was mentioned on Twitter by You Gotta Believe!, Greg Prince. Greg Prince said: August and Everything After: #Mets fade from contention, while autumn makes its inevitable move on summer. […]

  • Jim

    Greg, If Miracles happened every day they would not be special because they are miracles,but we root for them everyday because we never know when they are coming and because of that as long as the Mets have ANY pulse or hope left I cannot say it is over. However I am not blind, The Mets have not done anything that I said they needed to do on my facebook status and the cold reality is that each day passes the reality that this might not be the year sets in. Okay let’s look at the bright side, When the Mets are out of it or in this case only a miracle can save them I stop focusing on the big picture, I just root for them to win the game they are playing and if they lose, I do it all again the next day. 2. Met tickets will be cheaper (Not from the Mets but I noticed that tickets for the Mets-Pirates are as low as 5.00 on stub hub and with todays economy that’s a bargain…..and also with less fans there faster lines at the concessions. (I remember ALL the leg room I had in 1993. So while I wish the Mets would make a run and get back in this thing, I am ready to deal with playing out the string and enjoying what is left of a soon to be finished 2010 (in all probability) and dream of Mets Glory in 2011…. A full season or R.A. Dickey, Hopefully Jason Bay bounces back, Carlos Beltran in his contract year! and more!! Let’s Go Mets!!

  • These are tough times. As far as the lineup goes, we have no faith in the veterans, and hope for the future is dwindling quickly. But we’ve been through it all before and survived, so we’ll just keep on keepin on, I suppose.

    Maybe 2010 will be remembered as “boring year, outside of finally getting that no-hitter”.

    Or maybe the Cubs will win the World Series before that ever happens.

    • I found myself thinking last night that if Dickey had given up one fewer hit Friday (and why wasn’t Francoeur playing more shallow and closer to the line for a lefty hitter?), boy would I not complain whatsoever about anything else in any other game for the rest of the season.

      Which would probably wear off quickly, but I’d like to test the theory.

  • metsadhd

    Here’s a suggestion for those given to actually go to Citi.
    Have you even been to the Coke Musuem in Vegas, where they serve Coke products from around the world?
    Well, I feel that we fans should be treated to medically enhanced waters for free with admissions.
    Paxil, Lexapro, Prozac,Lithium,Adderall etc etc.
    This is the only ways the Coupons could maintain and maybe increase attendance for this year and next year.
    What a pathetic shame we have become.
    The Coupons make Scrooge McDuck warm and fuzzy.
    It’s a wonderful thing for them that us fanatics don’t weigh thing in terms of marginal cost versus marginal return.
    If we are truly the masochists that we seem to be, the ushers would all be females attired in blue and orange leather and black whips for crowd control.
    Now that’s what i am talking about.

  • mikeinbrooklyn

    Having completely given up by now, I spent Saturday at the Beer Garden in Astoria. There were an incredibly HUGE amount of Phillies fans. When a few sat next to me and the missus, I was afraid things would get ugly. But they were actually nice guys. It’s easy to be nice when you don’t feel threatened, I guess.

    (As for Kurkjian, I was hoping he was going to stop his silly “He’s only one of 3 players to have x number of triples, y of stolen bases, and z of getting to first after the catcher drops the 3rd strike, in his career” type of nonsense.)

  • Inside Pitcher

    “a ragtag collection of provincial militiamen who couldn’t drill together, train together or march together, but when a flock of ducks flew over, and they saw their first meal in three full days, Sweet Jesus could they shoot together!”


  • CharlieH

    …anything can happen. But at this stage of the season, it usually doesn’t.

    Except for 7 up with 17 to play.

    Yeah, I said it…

  • metsadhd

    Gosh am I lame, I forgot to say the most important beverage of all.
    Kool aid at all water fountains.
    I have asked you before and will ask you again, Why exactly does Hojo have a job.
    A ouija board would provide better assistance.
    Let us all take up a collection to buy the Mets a new hitting coach.
    Get one of the kids with a blind fold and a bat whacking at a pinata to instruct.
    That is exactly what our gents in blue and orange look like.
    I thought for sure we were protected under the cruel and unusual clause against these spectacles.

  • […] Mets garb when I was in Philadelphia last month, the most hurtful remark I heard any Phan make came a week later, after we lost to them at Citi Field. What was said wasn’t said directly to me, but within a […]