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.

A Pitcher and His Best Friends

We’ve all said it. Made it a mantra, even. Enemy runner on first, maybe other bases too, maybe they’re loaded. Outs? Not enough of them. Maybe just one. Maybe none.

C’mon, get a ground ball.

It’s been called the pitcher’s best friend for a century or more — the ball put in play that yields two outs […]

Little Miracles

Some random observations from the Mets’ cudgeling of Patrick Corbin and the Nationals:

I’m going to get the complaining out of the way first: Dear God, what did they do to the black uniforms? Eliminating the white drop shadow was a dreadful idea; without it, the tops look murky and muddy, with the orange and blue […]

The Nightly Quest for Precious Outs

The basics of Tuesday night’s game all look good in the recapping.

The Mets scored seven runs, powered by homers from Brandon Nimmo and Francisco Lindor, All-Stars in our hearts even if they aren’t accorded that status next week. Nimmo’s homer was a summer-night special, an apparent fly ball that got high up into the humid […]

Great Escape

When your team’s going well, you call a game like Sunday afternoon’s things like “an inspiring win” or perhaps “proof of resilience.”

When your team’s going badly, you just laugh at being randomly atop karma’s wheel for a day.

I’m not sure what to call Sunday afternoon’s game, because I’m not sure what the Mets are.

One of […]

Back From the Edge

In the early going Saturday, it sure looked like the Mets had reverted to the unholy mess they were throughout May. In the first inning they followed second and third and nobody out with a pop-out and a pair of Ks; in the second they wasted a leadoff single and then a one-out double. In […]

The New Market Inefficiency

This recap’s headline is a term we’ve heard a lot in the sabermetric age, as front offices search for previously overlooked and/or undervalued traits in players. The last two nights, I’ve found a new market inefficiency as a fan: You don’t need to watch the part of the game that doesn’t matter.

I don’t recommend this […]

That ... Was a Lot

The Mets and the Nats, sheesh. I guess it proves that for every Nieuwenhuis there’s a Suzuki. And for the critical stretches of Monday night’s mildly bonkers game, it wasn’t clear whether the compass was going to wind up pointing to N or S.

And I missed the first five innings! I mean, so sue me […]

Fits and Starts

Since we’re Mets fans, we all knew the bullpen had issues. Since we’re adults, we all know progress isn’t always or even usually a smooth arc — it comes with fits and starts.

A day after blowing a big lead because of a nightmarish inning of relief, the Mets endured a bunch of bad luck, came […]

Separated After Birth

I won’t claim it’s high on my lengthy list of Selig/Manfred era outrages, but it annoys me that the Astros are in the American League. They’re our expansion siblings, after all, arriving along with us in 1962 as the Colt .45s.

We began as a novelty act to salve the still-fresh wounds of Dodgers and Giants […]

Monsters in the Mirror

I stopped attending Subway Series games years ago because they’re like Thanksgiving dinners where every single uncle and cousin you dislike RSVPs that they’ll show up drunk and eager to talk politics. No thanks — I’ll catch these from my couch, where any woofing mookdom can be addressed as an internal affair.

That part’s predictable; the […]