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ABOUT US

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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The Happiest 163

Could ya use an extraordinary Met season right about now? Try this one, courtesy of The Happiest Recap, the Faith and Fear series that ran from April to November, capturing the “best” wins from across the first fifty years of New York Mets baseball, numbered from 001 to 163 to correspond to where they fell into the schedules from whence they came. Click on the links and enjoy the entire essay for any game number as well as an alternate choice (since “best” can’t help but be subjective).

Below you’ll find one sentence apiece from each of the “best” games, all of them offered here medley-style to make the remainder of the old year feel a little more Happy, and provide a little reassurance that the new year will surely include its own Recaps worth recalling.

001-003

Gary Carter loomed as a game changer. (April 9, 1985)

And in what would become known as the Year of the Pitcher, Jerry Koosman stepping up and joining Tom Seaver atop the Mets’ rotation assured us we’d be able to use the plural — “pitchers” — for many years to come. (April 11, 1968)

Tommie Agee had struck the first fair home run to ever land in the Upper Deck of Shea Stadium — and the first of two home runs on the day as the Mets captured their first series of the year. (April 10, 1969)

004-006

Gooden definitely had enough so that his very first big league batter knew it right away. (April 7, 1984)

It fell to “Little Al Jackson,” as Murph was fond of calling him, to make the Mets winners in their new home for the very first time. (April 19, 1964)

Martinez’s first Met win, too, of course, and it was exactly the kind of gem GM Omar Minaya had in mind when he signed him to a four-year contract: a complete game two-hitter; one walk; nine strikeouts; plus the biggest sigh of relief any April Met starter ever generated. (April 10, 2005)

007-009

It was the first of 198 Terrific Mets wins and the first of 311 in what was quickly revealing itself as a Hall of Fame career. (April 20, 1967)

When the 7-2 victory went final, Citi Field still had a long way to go toward feeling like the home of the Mets, but unpacking a first win in the new place certainly made those unfamiliar surroundings seem just a tad cozier. (April 15, 2009)

If you’re wondering when precisely the 1986 Mets became the 1986 Mets, you could do worse for a legitimate starting point to their ultimate world domination than one of the less auspicious nights of the year. (April 21, 1986)

010-012

Jay went the distance, stopping the Pirates’ winning streak at ten and, of more cosmic significance, introducing the Mets to the sensation of not losing. (April 23, 1962)

On and on the festivities unfurled from Busch Stadium, from a duel in the sun between two sharp southpaw starters — Johan Santana for the Mets, rookie Jaime Garcia for the Cardinals — to a twilight struggle between obstinate bullpens to, as the shadows gave way to utter darkness, desperation farce. (April 17, 2010)

You can’t clinch the N.L. East with 150 games remaining, but you can sure make a statement, and with this 4-3 win, the Mets did. (April 17, 2006)

013-015

And the consecutive strikeout feat of 10 straight…never before touched, never again — not for forty years, at any rate — seriously challenged. (April 22, 1970)

The Mets won 8-6, for the first time delighting their home fans not just by existing but by excelling. (April 28, 1962)

All that mattered was on a Saturday afternoon at Wrigley Field, two weeks into the campaign, the Mets were making a bid to lead the N.L. East. (April 22, 1978)

016-018

Discovering that the ball landed between his jersey and his undershirt, he pulled out the white sphere from behind his white shirt, handed it to home plate ump Mike Winters and proceeded to first as McCray trotted home with the only run of the game. (April 23, 1992)

Rusty’s red hair, however, was in ample evidence as was all of his frame as he took off, tracked down and nabbed the ball in a half-dive, ending Gorman’s seventh scoreless inning of relief and stranding the 14th Pirate baserunner of the day. (April 28, 1985)

The Mets’ left fielder kept sizzling, belting Nye’s 1-0 pitch over the fence for a 3-0 Mets win, their first walkoff triumph of the year. (April 27, 1969)

019-021

Keith Hernandez led off the bottom of the fourth and, with one swing, eviscerated Kryptonite. (April 29, 1987)

Mags had made one of the several Met defensive gems earlier that contributed to the sense that TONIGHT COULD BE IT!, but this infield roller was immune to that kind of magic. (April 28, 1992)

The Mets won 8-7 and gave Bob L. Miller the first W of his second Met tenure mercifully quickly. (April 20, 1974)

022-024

But against the Reds — with a mighty assist from Davis — Fisher accomplished something no Met pitcher had done before: win an eleven-inning start. (May 9, 1967)

For now, we’re thinking about southpaw Shawn Estes and what, if one were to judge by results, should have gone down as his signature Met start. (April 26, 2002)

On a 3-2 pitch, Mays swung and not so much turned the clock back but set atlases everywhere straight. (May 14, 1972)

025-027

The game had a little something for every Mets fan left in the unusual position of wanting to witness a Mets win and a Strawberry home run while realizing they were not mutually beneficial. (May 7, 1991)

Dibble may not have received the scouting report on Johnson. (May 4, 1989)

Whatever made or didn’t make sense in terms of defensive alignment, Mets fans mostly wanted what made Mike Piazza happy after all he had done in seven seasons to plaster smiles on their faces. (May 5, 2004)

028-030

Now, a decade later, coincidence or something had the Mets on a baseball field when the engineer of those evil attacks had been at last eliminated. (May 1, 2011)

The Mets took their first lead of the night, 8-7, at one minute before midnight. (May 5, 2006)

It was as if the Mets had played Friday night for all the marbles only to discover a fresh set of marbles had been placed before them about, oh, ten minutes later. (May 6, 2006)

031-033

But then, in the top of the fifth, a star was born. (May 16, 1983)

Gentry would have to sate himself with the one-hitter and a whitewashing of one of the National League’s fiercest lineups. (May 13, 1970)

Teaching old dogs new tricks may present interspecies challenges, but new first basemen can apparently pick up on incredible acrobatic feats very fast. (May 11, 2010)

034-036

In the bottom of the inning, what had been John Franco Day and then Saturday Afternoon at the Fights became a standout moment in the Met career of Rico Brogna. (May 11, 1996)

Infamy of sorts for John Cangelosi, but at least it emanated from a rousing 11-4 Mets win, albeit one that went unreported in SI. (May 14, 1994)

What didn’t figure into the calculation was the people least excited by the “achievement” were the New York Mets themselves. (May 21, 1969)

037-039

For Mets fans who pried their eyes open clear to the end as Friday dawned, that morning’s last or perhaps first cup of coffee tasted anything but bitter. (May 24, 1973)

They cheered that new apple in the Mets Magic top hat that rose with every Mets home run. (May 25, 1981)

To watch the reaction to the stunning climax of this Sunday afternoon at Shea would be to believe you had been invited to the cast party that marked the end of what some would call a forgettable five-year run. (September 20, 1981)

040-042

And, most enduringly, like that uttered by the eternally quoted caller to the sports department of the Waterbury Republican, a Connecticut gentleman who sincerely wanted to know if what he thought he’d heard was true…that the cellar-dwelling Mets had actually scored 19 runs that afternoon. (May 26, 1964)

Robin Ventura, in two very different games, had accomplished the same unusual feat: a grand slam in the first inning of the first game; a grand slam in the fourth inning of the second game. (May 20, 1999)

Perhaps because the depleted Mets had been so close to defeat — and probably because the video delay heightened the drama — Santos’s teammates poured out of the dugout to greet him as if he had just beaten Papelbon on the final swing of the night. (May 23, 2009)

043-045

That’s how fast young Ryan was as a rule…and make no mistake: in this game, Nolan Ryan ruled. (May 29, 1971)

Olerud, in turn, stuck it to Schilling. (May 23, 1999)

Mike Piazza was immediately the center of the action in the Mets’ world as soon as he arrived in Flushing, and there was no mistaking he was the reason there was any action. (May 23, 1998)

046-048

It wouldn’t last, and Torre’s relationship with his discontented stars didn’t make much difference even in the short-term, but when the man who would go on to win 2,326 regular-season games and four World Series titles enters the Hall of Fame as a manager, it will have to be recalled how it all began for Joe Torre: cleaning up Joe Frazier’s mess and attempting to set the Mets on course in what was rapidly becoming their most wayward season ever.
 (May 31, 1977)

Because baseball is baseball, and baseball is rarely predictable and only occasionally fair, Dick Rusteck’s debut shutout was his last win in the majors and 1966 was his only season in the bigs. (June 10, 1966)

With one increasingly characteristic thrilling victory, they reached all kinds of new peaks and didn’t appear intent on stopping their climb anytime soon. (June 4, 1969)

049-051

But Elster spun his good-field/no-hit reputation on its ear when he walloped Peña’s first pitch into the left field bullpen to give the Mets a 5-4, 11-inning win. (May 31, 1988)

On this particular Tuesday night, the Mets and the San Francisco Giants — for whom Benitez had registered 45 saves since 2005 — hooked up over a dozen innings that were fairly fascinating long before the ghost of blown saves past stuck his fingerprints on the storyline. (May 29, 2007)

His out-of-town tryouts deemed successful, Doc was scheduled to reopen off Broadway, and uppermost in many minds was the critical reception he’d elicit. (June 5, 1987)

052-054

Just like that, on three first pitches, Dave Kingman homered three times and drove in eight runs. (June 4, 1976)

Larry Bearnarth’s ten innings of relief in one game established a Mets record that has never been matched. (June 9, 1964)

Ask for a fly ball, receive a fly ball that clears the right field wall to win yet another game, this one 8-4 in eleven innings. (June 10, 1986)

055-057

Mets Magic, after that 7-6 startler, was contagious. (June 14, 1980)

Sergio Ferrer would finish 1979 batting .000 in seven at-bats and the New York Mets would finish 1979 seventeen games out of fifth place, but the ten-run sixth they posted en route to a 12-6 win over the Reds proved enduring. (June 12, 1979)

Wrigley Field isn’t Gold’s Gym, but the Mets flexed their muscles and gave their bats the most thorough of workouts during an extended iron-pumping session on the North Side of Chicago, one that encompassed two days, three games and 25 sets of bulging biceps. (June 13, 1990)

058-060

But if you listened to Lindsey and willfully ignored everything else you had heard in the preceding weeks and months about a star player and a front office engaging in an intractable feud, you would have sworn it was just another typically terrific fifth day, courtesy of Tom Seaver. (June 12, 1977)

Valentine, against all rules and regulations, poked his head into the Mets’ dugout. (June 9, 1999)

Mike took one ball and then took Roger Clemens clear over the Yankee Stadium wall for a grand slam home run. (June 9, 2000)

061-063

He’d recover to strike out Swoboda for his 18th K of the game and two batters later, after allowing a single to McMillan, get a double play ball out of Gonder, but the spell was broken. (June 14, 1965)

In the annals of New York National League inside-the-parkers, it may have been the most dramatic of the genre since 33-year-old Casey Stengel sped as best he could around the bases to give the Giants a 5-4 lead in the top of the ninth in the opening game of the 1923 World Series at Yankee Stadium. (June 11, 2005)

The Mets leapfrogged the Phillies to take a half-game lead in the N.L. East on the first day of summer. (June 21, 1984)

064-066

It was the third consecutive save versus the Mets that Sutter had blown, dating back to the previous September, dating back to that fateful encounter with Mookie. (June 20, 1982)

They looked, at the end of a 9-1 road trip — the road trip from heaven, if you will — like a team that had no genuine competition in its division. (June 15, 2006)

Summer was here and the time was right for the 1990 Mets to assert themselves in ways few clubs in the franchise’s history ever had. (June 25, 1990)

067-069

It was a game that belonged to every Mets fan, every descendant of every Giants fan and Dodgers fan, maybe. (June 16, 1997)

The Mets held on 8-3 and swept the five-game series to go up a game-and-a-half on the Cubs, two on the surging Pirates and five on the fading Cardinals. (June 25, 1970)

That added up to a 5-0 Mets win and 27 up, 27 down: the perfectly minimum number of batters a team can face in a nine-inning contest. (June 17, 2003)

070-072

For Seaver, for the Mets, it was their ninth one-hitter in eleven seasons of franchise history. (July 4, 1972)

He continued his trot facing the wrong way, until he arrived at home plate, the number 34 on his back greeting the next hitter, Tim Harkness. (June 23, 1963)

The Mets would have to “settle” for eight runs in one inning, six of them charged to Spahn, all of them plenty for Stallard, who cruised to an 8-4 complete game victory. (June 26, 1964)

073-075

This one — one of the farthest-traveling Shea had ever seen — carried, much as Darryl was known to carry the Mets on his back. (July 3, 1990)

In case it wasn’t enough that the Mets had just beaten the Astros 6-5 in ten innings, Tim alluded to the undeniable fact that the Mets (now 12½ up on their nearest Canadian rival) had the best record in all of baseball, 4½ games better than that of the best the American League had to offer, the Boston Red Sox. (July 3, 1986)

Six wins in a row for the unfathomable, indefatigable, contending Mets, and only four behind the heretofore impregnable Braves, not to mention a tiny game-and-a-half off the Marlins’ Wild Card pace. (June 24, 1997)

076-078

And six minutes after it was over, a crowd estimated at between 8,000 and 10,000 got the rest of what they came to Fulton County Stadium for: the Fourth of July fireworks show. (July 4, 1985)

Nevertheless, an almost airtight case can be made that on a Friday night at Shea, when the Mets didn’t overcome their biggest in-game deficit ever and didn’t post their highest one-inning run total ever, they still forged the most magnificent comeback in franchise history, doing so on the strength of the most monumental inning in franchise history. (June 30, 2000)

When the cheerily meandering contest (a plodding 3:54) went final, the Mets had a 15-6 win and the series sweep that had eluded them in ten previous Bronx engagements, even if this series happened to start on May 17 and end on June 27, and even if this Delgado day of days was compelled to continue back at Shea for a (less scintillating) nightcap. (June 27, 2008)

079-081

But the Mets kept clawing as if something more than a modern-day Mayor’s Trophy was at stake. (July 3, 2004)

The Mets were reborn and rebranded as an honest-to-goodness baseball team that was likely to beat any other baseball team any day of the week. (July 8, 1969)

It’s known as the Imperfect Game, which is ironic in that it may be the most perfect regular-season game the New York Mets have ever played. (July 9, 1969)

082-084

Seaver then got fly balls out of Callison and Tony Taylor to preserve the 4-2 victory, giving Frisella his second win of the season, dealing Larry Jackson his second loss ever against the Mets (he’d finish his career versus New York at 21-2) and earning for himself the first save of his career. (July 8, 1968)

What a night: five times up and five hits for the five-tool player of Met dreams, including one of each kind of hit. (July 3, 1996)

Further, the Mets not only stood at .500 but stood tall and proud at having stood up for one another. (July 15, 1980)

085-087

Denny Neagle had pitched seven shutout innings himself, but now the Mets had a 1-0 lead, and all Green had to do was hand it for safe keeping to his closer and Sabes’s buddy, John Franco. (July 29, 1995)

Once he divined the lay of the land, he pulled in Scott’s would-be game-winning RBI with two hands, tumbling to Tal’s grass in the process. (July 7, 2007)

Thus, the final victory of Jerry Koosman’s Met career was accomplished by defeating Tom Seaver. (July 13, 1978)

088-090

All of it jumbled together and coalesced into an extended outburst of pure, ecstatic joy on behalf of the home team, peppered by a hearty sprinkling of Sheadenfreude as regarded the overbearing visitors (and their twenty-some-odd-thousand acolytes) from one borough away. (July 10, 1999)

In the final game in which Willie Mays and Hank Aaron both appeared, the Mets went ahead, 8-7. (July 17, 1973)

Seriously, the only thing that would have made Johnson moving his nine pieces around more perfect would have been Roger and Jesse high-fiving as they literally passed in the night. (July 22, 1986)

091-093

He’d retire in 1985, with exactly that one stolen base to his credit, one of nineteen swiped by Mets pitchers in the fifty years there have been Mets pitchers. (July 22, 1975)

Delgado doubled and Wright homered — not a grand slam, but quite good enough to provide the Mets their tenth and eleventh runs of the inning, the most ever generated by any Mets club. (July 16, 2006)

What everybody remembers is Murphy and the night the forever upbeat voice of the team since its founding in 1962 uttered a four-letter word on the air that wasn’t “Mets”. (July 25, 1990)

094-096

Given opportunity after opportunity to remind Whitey Herzog who got the best of the Keith Hernandez deal, Keith Hernandez just kept delivering. (July 24, 1984)

The Mets won 2-1 on Tommie Agee’s second steal of the inning, his second steal of home of the season, the first and only time a Met has ended a game by stealing home. (July 24, 1970)

If a relatively obscure baseball rule was involved, however, there was no way Valentine was not going to a) know it and b) work it. (July 18, 2001)

097-099

Fast-forward, then, to a Saturday at Shea against the Dodgers, when Jose Reyes truly takes flight. (July 23, 2005)

In the long, dark emotional winter that set in amid the heat of summer, however, Rico Brogna left Mets fans who tuned into Channel 7 that Monday night with a lingering memory of a baseball game to cherish…and the kind of ballplayer (7 HR, 20 RBI, .351 BA in 39 games) they could look forward to once the sport came to its senses and back to its diamonds. (July 25, 1994)

The score, as generally expressed by Bob Murphy, was Expos nothing, the Mets coming to bat, but a three-up, three-down fanning of such decisive nature was enough to make anyone watching think Montreal was already trailing. (July 30, 1985)

100-102

Nothing lasts forever, and there’s an individual who will drink to that…though you couldn’t have blamed Anthony Young had he started drinking long before it was confirmed eternity isn’t always what it appears to be. (July 28, 1993)

Ojeda’s and Smiley’s particular type of scintillating duel — in which each man threw a complete game while allowing no more than three hits — became only the second 1-0 win in Mets history to meet such stringent standards. (July 29, 1988)

He grounded it to Wright at third, who forced Coste at second and, with a 3-1 victory sealed on Wagner’s final Shea Stadium save, the Mets were in first. (July 24, 2008)

103-105

While Seaver was basking in history, Gooden was making ever more of it. (August 4, 1985)

This, you might say, is where the Mets began to become the Mets, at least the Mets as they were on the verge of being understood. (July 31, 1983)

All the Mets could offer to counter the publicity blitz around Nomo — 10-3, with a 2.08 ERA entering the game — was a homegrown pitcher whom their loyalists were watching closely even if the rest of the world wasn’t. (August 20, 1995)

106-108

Ron Swoboda came on, all right, and didn’t the visitors from the West know it? (August 4, 1966)

Seeing as how Bob G. Miller was at least keeping it in the proverbial family, it’s doubtful Bob L. Miller minded all that much that he couldn’t be the first Miller on the 1962 Mets to notch that elusive W. (August 4, 1962)

But hadn’t Keith Hernandez made a career of foiling the Dave Ruckers of the National League? (August 5, 1988)

109-111

Terrell’s fame was instantly slugging but his cause, like that of all baseball players who conducted their business sixty feet and sixty inches from home plate, was pitching. (August 6, 1983)

If he didn’t come through against Mesa here, there’d be an eleventh inning, but, honestly, if he didn’t come through against Mesa here, it would mean the Mets blew the most golden opportunity this side of “plastics” in The Graduate. (August 4, 1998)

The 20-6 win went into the Mets record book and, like Neil Armstrong’s American flag, stayed planted there long after NASA stopped scheduling lunar excursions. (August 7, 1971)

112-114

Now that we mention it, Gooden vs. Koosman does sound a little Twilight Zone-esque, offering as it does a blurring of noncontiguous Mets eras. (August 15, 1985)

Ellis Valentine’s arm was just one tool, but it had a brilliant evening. (August 13, 1982)

All that mattered is it left the field of play fair for a grand slam home run — the grand slam home run that gave the Mets the 7-3 victory to make a winner at long last out of Roger Craig. (August 9, 1963)

115-117

So Benny, in a blink, had committed an E-7; was directly responsible for a run; wore pineapple-sized egg on his face; and had acted as what seven-year-olds in less linguistically sensitive times would have called an Indian giver. (August 12, 2000)

The last of the Met runs that crossed home plate — accounting for the 18-5 final — was carried by a young man from Brooklyn in an unusually tight gray polyester uniform. (August 14, 1979)

If it wasn’t exactly the “breakfast in bed for 400,000” Wavy Gravy and his Please Force were passing around, it was revelation enough for the crowd in Queens to chew on. (August 17, 1969)

118-120

Met batters swung in harmony all game long and Met runners converged on home plate at Wrigley Field a franchise record 23 times. (August 16, 1987)

When the chalk dust settled, the Mets scored nine runs in top of the first inning on eight hits and three Giant errors. (August 16, 1988)

He was nine outs away from pitching the first no-hitter any Met had ever thrown. (August 16, 1999)

121-123

Still, it is breathtaking to see Barry Bonds come up six times, see Barry Bonds be pitched to six times and live to tell about it. (August 21, 2004)

The ghosts of 1986 were in perfect alignment with the ongoing runaway of 2006 as Mets management saw fit to bring arguably its two most dominant teams together at Shea for one Saturday night. (August 19, 2006)

It’s a comeback unmatched across a half-century of Met baseball, its phenomenal nature undiminished by its relative obscurity as a Met landmark. (September 2, 1972)

124-126

Who knew it would be so easy to neutralize the worst damage Albert Pujols could inflict? (August 22, 2006)

Much to the delight of the home fans, the Mets raked Hampton for four-first inning runs, with one coming in on a wild pitch and two via a Rey Ordoñez single. (August 21, 2001)

So, yes, after barely avoiding seemingly inevitable demotion, you could definitely say Mike Jacobs was happy to be here. (August 24, 2005)

127-129

Many moving parts had to click to end the game to their satisfaction, but the Mets were nothing if not in sync. (August 27, 1986)

Donn grabbed  the ball and threw it to third baseman Bobby Pfeil who tagged McCovey for…the…uh…7-2-3-5 double play. (August 30, 1969)

And for the first time in the history of the world, Sandy Koufax was the losing pitcher in a game he pitched against the New York Mets. (August 26, 1965)

130-132

Starting at second and again batting second, Jefferies once more stoked Mets fans’ imaginations when they saw him double and score in the first, homer to lead off the third and triple home a run in the sixth. (August 29, 1988)

It may have represented an uneventful goodbye to New York National League baseball for Aaron, but the complete game, five-hit shutout — the first shutout of his career — would turn into an unforeseen milestone for McGraw. (September 1, 1974)

The ultimate second-place hitter established himself as No. 1 in the Met record books when it comes to best game any Met hitter has ever had. (August 30, 1999)

133-135

It was ace vs. ace doing exactly what you paid for if you were fortunate enough to be among the 51,868 in attendance. (September 6, 1985)

That the Mets were bearing down on first-place Chicago was the most accurate barometer of how far the Mets had come in such a short time, but the fact that they possessed a starting pitcher on the precipice of a heretofore unthinkable Met milestone…just chalk it up as another Amazin’ element of a season whose most magical properties were yet to be revealed. (September 5, 1969)

The exhilarating 7-3 trip pulled them to within a half-game of St. Louis…and when the Cardinals dropped a makeup game the next day to the Cubs, it was a dead heat atop the division. (September 8, 1985)

136-138

Everybody was in awe of the pitcher who had been awing baseball for close to a decade. (September 1, 1975)

It became a typical One Dog day in the sixth when, at 1-1, Lance’s 18th triple and 184th hit of the season drove in Alvaro Espinoza and Rey Ordoñez to give the Mets a 3-1 lead. (September 1, 1996)

It was the 22nd game-winning RBI of the season for Hernandez, a National League record for a statistic that hadn’t been around for very long but seemed indicative of what Keith was born to deliver. (September 12, 1985)

139-141

On whomever he set his gaze, the black cat was recognized immediately as bad luck for one team, and not the other. (September 9, 1969)

The all-important PCT. was included to let every Sheagoer and the entirety of the free world know the Mets held an advantage of .593 to .592. (September 10, 1969)

Twenty-three seasons had conditioned Mets fans to recognize a no-hitter as it was getting away from them, and this one shouldn’t have been that. (September 7, 1984)

142-144

There was a curtain call for the starting pitcher…for five innings’ work. (September 9, 2007)

Eras’ ends don’t necessarily arrive with advance notice, but perhaps buried in the fine print of tickets to Shea Stadium on this Thursday night, there was a disclaimer that there might not be another game of this magnitude at this venue again for a very long time. (September 13, 1990)

The Mets sent their fans into winter happy…and not happy because winter was at hand. (October 1, 1995)

145-147

The Mets and their fans had indeed waited an extra several days for this moment, just as they’d waited through two near-misses in 1984 and 1985, just as they’d waited through 13 long years with no playoff berth at the end of any season’s rainbow. (September 17, 1986)

With the last strike safely in John Stearns’s mitt and the 4-1 win complete, Koosman ascended to center stage. (September 16, 1976)

It was the largest ninth-inning comeback the Mets had ever engineered at Shea Stadium. (September 13, 1997)

148-150

The Mets’ overall presence may have been no more than a slight psychological balm for the grieving and the shaken, but it was what a baseball team could give, and the Mets gave it. (September 21, 2001)

Tastes of redemption were evident everywhere as Joe Girardi’s Florida Marlins made the league’s last, unsuccessful stand against inevitability. (September 18, 2006)

Mike Vail, after playing in a total of 26 major league games, had now hit in 23 consecutive contests. (September 15, 1975)

151-153

It’s easy to overlook just how sweet it was when compared to the celebrations of two years earlier and the lack of any more of them in the month ahead. (September 22, 1988)

Stone’s successor was Tug McGraw, Yogi Berra’s favorite reliever in September — everybody’s favorite reliever in September, but it was Berra who wouldn’t or couldn’t wait to use him. (September 19, 1973)

The Mets had won 4-3 in a game that would be forever remembered for the Ball Off the Top of the Wall and how it bounced in the only direction it could. (September 20, 1973)

154-156

The 124th and final home run of Todd’s Met career was easily his biggest. (September 16, 1998)

Quite suddenly, quite shockingly, the moribund Mets had tied the contending Cubs at three apiece. (September 25, 2004)

It was the kind of Mets Magic that had captured two World Championships, and millions of hearts in lesser times. (September 22, 2011)

157

They were the champions of wishing and hoping and praying, if not necessarily thinking, because thinking would have guided any sane person away from this scenario. (September 24, 1969)

158-159

Still, the Mets had done something they had never done before (and something time would prove difficult to do again) by punching their ticket to the postseason twice in a row (September 27, 2000)

And they couldn’t have possibly known that they had experienced the last walkoff win in the life of Shea Stadium. (September 25, 2008)

160-161

Considering all the variables, it surely ranks among the very most impressive one-hitters in Mets history. (October 1, 1982)

They were division champs for the second time in five years, creating a miracle every bit as incomprehensible as the one from 1969. (October 1, 1973)

162-163

Next thing Shea saw, Mora, the pinch-runner who stayed in the game and shifted at Valentine’s will from left to right and back to left, singled to right for the fifth hit of his major league career. (October 3, 1999)

No Mets team ever needed a longer schedule to qualify for at least one more set of baseball games. (October 4, 1999)

From Merry Olde England

The life of Brian includes a numerical tribute to a team that doesn't swing by the U.K. too often.

Before the Christmas trees start coming down and just ahead of Boxing Day, we have this cup of Yuletide cheer to share from the United Kingdom. FAFIF reader Brian Spencer — whom Stephanie and I had the pleasure of meeting (along with his lovely wife Chris) at Citi Field this past season — is kind enough to send us evidence of what the Faith and Fear t-shirt looks like all lit up for the holidays, somewhere in the north of England.

Yes Virginia, there are Mets fans on other continents…and still a few hardy blue and orange souls on this one.

Your Newest Cardinal

Carlos Beltran is a Cardinal.

I say good for him. A player criminally unappreciated by the Mets’ stupider fans deserves a last go-round in a town that’s reflexively supportive of its players.

But isn’t it weird that Beltran’s a Cardinal? Because remember he took that called third strike that one time against the Cardinals? (If you haven’t already, go back and read Greg’s take.)

That Adam Wainwright pitch was a magical offering. Pretty much every day, some batter somewhere in a Major League Baseball game is frozen by an unhittable 12-6 curve to end an at-bat. But not all such pitches are created equal. Ones that end at-bats in the third innings of games in mid-May are just kind of a bummer. But ones that come at the end of Game 7s of playoff series are different. Imbued with the sense of the moment possessed by all inanimate objects, they are little spherical judges of a man’s character.

If not offered at, such curveballs prove that a player isn’t a winner and has never played with passion. When confronted with such pitches, real men realize at the last second that they have been fooled and take gritty, agonized hacks despite the fact that the ball is already settling into the catcher’s glove. They then contort their faces in a rictus of pain intense enough to be seen from the upper deck, rend their uniforms with bloody fingers and try to beat themselves to death with their own bats. Carlos Beltran failed to do any of those things, and so revealed his essential character to those wise enough or sufficiently steeped in WFAN to see it. All of the things he did later — getting the knee surgery he knew he needed, gamely trying to return from it too early, shifting to right field to defuse a clubhouse controversy — were shameful attempts at trickery.

Is it weird that Beltran will be a Cardinal, a teammate of Yadier Molina, he of the comically tattooed neck and the cosmically awful home run?

I suppose it is. But it’s always weird.

It’ll be weird confronting Jose Reyes as a Marlin. It was weird when Pedro Martinez smothered the Mets as a momentary Phillie. It was weird when Darryl Strawberry and Dwight Gooden beat us as Yankees. It was weird seeing Lee Mazzilli as a Yankee. It was weird seeing Lenny Dykstra as a Phillie, or Rico Brogna as a Brave, or Edgardo Alfonzo as a Giant. My forebears probably thought it was weird seeing Jim Hickman as a Cub or Gary Gentry as a Brave. And let’s recall that only an injury saved us from what would have been a deeply, tragically weird confrontation with Tom Seaver of the Boston Red Sox in the 1986 World Series.

We’d like players who were our favorites, or even just logged enough time to be familiar, to never go anywhere else. By all rights they should vanish and be remembered as they were. The world buffets us with change enough as it is — it’s galling, somehow, to get more strangeness and dislocation from baseball, which is supposed to be our escape from such things. But baseball doesn’t play by those rules any more than the rest of life does. Ed Kranepools are few and far between — most players with whom ties are severed find it in their interests to play wearing someone else’s uniform, just as most former colleagues, mentors or mentees insist on continuing to earn a living even if it’s with competitors and most ex-girlfriends fail to do the decent thing and flee to a nunnery.

Carlos Beltran will be a Cardinal. He’ll probably sit next to Yadier Molina now and then and inexplicably not karate-chop him in the throat. He’ll probably get some hits off of us, maybe even one off an attempted 12-6 curveball that turns out to be more of a 12-3. It’ll be weird. Life often is.

Carlos Beltran as Kevin Bass

In his career, he was — among other things — an Astro, a Giant and a Met. He stood in the batter’s box representing the last shred of doubt as to where a hard-earned National League flag would fly. If he succeeded, his team would know life and a possible world championship. If he didn’t, there’d be a lasting image of triumph for somebody else and a lingering legacy of what might have been for him, his franchise and its legion of fans.

As it turned out, he experienced a series-ending third strike from the worst vantage point possible. And six years later, he wound up a part of the team that once upon a time made him a famous final victim.

So went the story of Kevin Bass, 1986/1992. So goes the story of Carlos Beltran, 2006/2012.

Eerie, huh?

Beltran is winging his way to St. Louis, about to become a Cardinal a half-dozen years after succumbing to the Cardinals. That would have been weird if this were, say, December 2008 or 2009. It would have been Too Soon. But it’s about to be six years from Called Strike Three, not to mention two teams later. Carlos’s San Francisco stopover took care of the “he sure looks strange in that alien uniform” factor, though he never wore it in our presence. Thus, the first time we get a look at post-Met Beltran in our midst (June 1 at Citi Field) it will be as a member of the outfit that transformed otherwise beautiful 2006 into a living dwell. I personally dwelled on 2006 for five full years until the calendar advised me it was time to let it go. So I did.

My renouncement of continual hard feelings about the way the last NLCS the Mets played ended — not just Beltran not swinging at a probably unhittable curveball, but the whole of Game Seven — means I have to view Carlos the Cardinal as not all that much materially weirder than the news that Anderson Hernandez (pinch-running for Paul Lo Duca, who had just walked) has signed a minor league contract with the Pirates; or Endy Chavez (on second three innings after making a certain Catch) has gone Oriole; or that Jose Valentin (on third) is nowadays managing in the Padre chain.

Players move on in this game we love to watch progress yet sometimes tend to freeze in place. They’re necessarily professional about it. At the Mets holiday party, I asked Justin Turner how strange it is seeing so many of his 2011 teammates — Beltran, Jose Reyes, Francisco Rodriguez, Angel Pagan, Chris Capuano, Nick Evans, Ryota Igarashi, Jason Pridie (whose wedding he’d recently attended) and whoever I’m leaving out — land in other places so soon after they were his 2011 teammates. “You get pretty accustomed to it,” the former Red farmhand and Oriole shrugged. And sure enough, within a week of my getting to meet Justin Turner of the New York Mets, his name was linked to a trade rumor that says he might be headed for Colorado.

Turner as a prospective Rockie, Pridie as an Athletic, Capuano as a Dodger, Pagan as a Giant or even the celebrated Reyes breathing through Marlin gills, however, aren’t images that quite pack the historical dissonance of Carlos Beltran joining the Other Side from a pitched playoff battle of yore. Beltran’s now with Yadier Molina. He’s now with Adam Wainwright. He’s going to try to help the guy who stuck the knife in our backs with a ninth-inning homer and the guy who twisted it in fatally with a ninth-inning strikeout.

That’s business. That’s time. It’s still weird, just less so because of business and time.

Anyway, the Beltran bulletin brought me back a little to August of 1992 when the Mets did the historically dissonant thing and imported their version of the Beltran the Cardinals are getting for 2012. Well, the Kevin Bass for whom the injury-riddled Mets were compelled to deal nearly twenty years ago wasn’t anywhere near the player Beltran was in 2011. He was never on Carlos’s level save maybe for 1986, which loomed as inconvenient for the Mets that October.

Kevin Bass was having the season of his life 25 years ago, helping to lead the Houston Astros to the National League West title. He batted .311, made the All-Star team and finished seventh in MVP voting. He and Glenn Davis were what made the Astro lineup formidable enough to forge a postseason berth behind the club’s otherworldly starting pitching. If a big game was on the line, Kevin Bass was not who you wanted facing you.

Of course the Mets had Kevin Bass facing them with their biggest game to date on the line in 1986, the Sixth Game of the National League Championship Series. He was the fella who came to bat in the bottom of the sixteenth, the Mets ahead by one run, the Astros with two on and two out, Jesse Orosco bone-tired and Keith Hernandez and Gary Carter preparing for fisticuffs should anything but a slider be called for. Anybody would have been a formidable foe with the tying run on second base in those circumstances, but it was Bass’s contemporary stature that made the moment a little extra legendary in the instant retelling.

We know what happened. Orosco threw nothing but sliders. Bass swung through the last one. Carter caught it, Hernandez delivered no punches, Mike Scott went into dry dock for the winter and everybody connected to the Mets went nuts on the United flight home.

I don’t know to what extent Bass was saddled with his strike three, and if it shadowed the balance of his Astro tenure as Beltran’s strike three shadowed his with the Mets. I do know Kevin Bass was never talked about as an All-Star or MVP candidate again and that the Astros didn’t contend all that seriously through the rest of the 1980s. Kevin left for San Francisco as a free agent after the 1989 season. They didn’t go anywhere with him on board, so it was no skin off the Giants’ nose to let the Mets have him for a song in ’92 when the plummeting Flushingites were strapped for outfielders (Bobby Bonilla and Howard Johnson — that season a center fielder — had both gone down during the same weekend series in early August).

When Kevin Bass, Astro obstacle from our last spurt of genuine glory, arrived to don a Mets uniform, it wasn’t treated as a story of any kind. Nobody looked at the guy from the Astrodome’s most searing moment and said, “ironic, ain’t it?” or anything of the sort. Bass simply seemed old and stopgap, never more so than in his third game as a New York Met. It was at Shea on August 10, 1992, against the Pirates, the Mets’ ostensible archrivals, though the Mets’ midseason sag had taken the starch out of their mutual arch. The Bucs were on their way to a relatively easy third consecutive division title (or one more than the Mets won during the epoch when they were considered the class of the East). Our team was wallowing double-digits from first place.

Yet under such inauspicious circumstances, the Mets replicated the length of their contest versus the Astros from October 15, 1986, that sixteen-inning, pennant-determining affair that wasn’t decided until Kevin Bass struck out in its 282nd minute of play. That epic afternoon/evening in Houston wasn’t Bass’s finest four hours and forty-two minutes. After walking in the first and making it to third as the Astros went up by a quick three runs, a squeeze play gone awry marked him a dead duck. Carter nailed Bass in what was scored a caught stealing and it allowed Bobby Ojeda to stanch the early bleeding.

Bass would ground out in his next three at-bats before singling in the twelfth…and then get thrown out trying to steal second when the score was interminably tied at three. He was charged with a throwing error in the fourteenth as the Mets went ahead, 4-3. He struck out to lead off the fifteenth when it was 4-4. And he went down as Houston’s last hope in the sixteenth, making the final an eternally beatific Mets 7 Astros 6.

Six years later, with the stakes considerably lower, Kevin Bass of the Mets proved sixteen-inning games just weren’t his bag. Against the Pirates (who started rookie knuckleballer Tim Wakefield), Kevin Bass avenged his 1986 nemeses by sabotaging them from within. He went 0-for-7, his at-bats growing ever more futile as the 1-1 game groaned on.

• With runners on first and second and a chance to win it off Denny Neagle in the bottom of the tenth, Bass grounded to third to end the threat and the inning.

• With the bases loaded and a chance to win it off Bob Patterson in the bottom of the twelfth, Bass flied a 3-1 pitch to center to end the threat and the inning.

• With runners on first and second and a chance to win it off Stan Belinda in the bottom of the fourteenth, Bass flied to left to end the threat and the inning.

Three shots at ending the damn thing, three outs, eight runners left on base. Throw in the pair he stranded to end the bottom of the third and Kevin Bass left ten Mets on base.

All the other Mets combined left four runners on base.

Finally, the 1992 Pirates made like the 1986 Mets and scored three runs in their half of the sixteenth. But then the 1992 Mets attempted to wake up as the 1986 Astros did in their half of the sixteenth. Bill Pecota homered with two out to make it 4-2. Then Dwight Gooden pinch-hit a single. Vince Coleman came up as the potential tying run…with Kevin Bass on deck…in the bottom of the sixteenth inning!

I wrote the most sensational script in my head. Coleman would somehow get on, Bass would then homer, the Mets would win, and all the talk on the ’FAN that night and in the papers the next day would be about how the spirit of 1986 still lived in these Mets. In the days after, this newly revitalized band of Amazins — energized by an Astrodome ghost, of all things — would commence a roll that would lift them from fourth to first in a matter of weeks, and make room for another pennant, baby!

Except Coleman grounded to second and ended the game with Bass waiting in the on-deck circle for an eighth plate appearance that never came. Nobody mentioned the parallel between the first great Game Six from 1986 and the umpteen-hundredth miserable loss from 1992. Six years was a long time ago then.

It’s a long time ago now, even if it will probably seem shorter when Beltran, the Cardinals and the slightest hint of 2006 come to town in 2012.

Classic Move

On Thanksgiving, SNY ran three of its most classic Mets Classics: the 1986, 1988 and 2006 division-clinchers. They’re all worthy choices and they’ve all been shown so often that I should know them by heart, but it never hurts to take a second (or second-hundredth) look at the Mets earning a playoff spot. Bud only knows when it will happen again.

I DVR’d the ’86 clincher with the intention of transferring it to a disc, which I haven’t gotten around to yet. So it’s been sitting on the recorded list for a month and last night I decided to visit it for an inning. Doc Gooden got through the top half of the first OK, though Ryne Sandberg punched a double down the right field line, thereby prompting a chant of “We Want Keith!” in the direction of first-time first base fill-in Dave Magadan, playing in place of an ailing Hernandez. The Mets came up in the bottom of the first, and after two quick outs, Magadan — batting in Mex’s spot, which seems pretty bold, now that I’m thinking about it — uncoiled and stroked a single to the outfield. That got him cheered.

Gary Carter was up next and lofted a fly ball to leftish-center. It appeared destined to be caught, at which point I heard myself thinking the following:

“Fuck, Carter’s gonna leave another runner on. He’s always doing this.”

The ball fell in and sent Magadan to third on what was ruled a double. Ralph Kiner admonished young Dave for initially stopping at second and thus not scoring, while Tim McCarver forgave the raw rookie, considering he’d never been on third base in the big leagues before…to which Ralph replied third base is in the same spot in the majors as it is in the minors. That exchange reminded me how good those two were together (and why McCarver was well on his way to the Ford C. Frick Award). Still, I was more interested at this moment in what I was saying in 2011 than what they were saying in 1986.

Let’s review the facts:

• I know, as I watch this, that this is a clincher. The Mets will win the game and the National League East by the end of the evening.
• I know the Mets will win much more than that in the weeks ahead.
• I know the Mets will win the biggest game of their collective life because Gary Carter will spark a two-out, tenth-inning rally with a base hit.
• I know Gary Carter drove in 100 runs on shaky knees in 1985 and would drive in 105 before 1986 would be over.
• I know future Hall of Famer Gary Carter was the reason the Mets stepped up in class from spunky upstarts in 1984 to serious championship contenders over the next two years.
• I know, to bring it back to September 17, 1986, that the New York Mets have been the best they’ve ever been for nearly six months and have given me, in real time, no cause to be upset with anything about them.

Yet as there’s a runner on first and two out and I see Carter swing and it seems certain the ball will be caught and the Mets won’t score, I am absolutely in the moment of watching not the greatest Mets team ever comprised preparing to secure a milestone victory, but just some Met not driving some other Met in, just as Mets “always” do in my mind when fly balls hang up a second or two too long.

And this was somehow comforting. It reminded me, in living 1986 color, how embedded this stuff is within my soul. This wasn’t another off-the-field contretemps. This was a game in front of me, albeit on quarter-century tape delay. It mattered to me whether a 25-year-old fly ball might fall in. Seeing it take flight and start to descend awoke in me the ancient spirit of living and dying with my baseball team, an instinct stuck to my being from way before 1986. In the course of a season or a lifetime, I temper it, I moderate it, I don’t overdo my reaction to every ball hit in the air…but when I draw a bead on one, even via a contraption that didn’t exist when the ball was first struck, well, fuck, it better fall in.

This one did. Then Straw came up and flied out to end the first, and I was pissed off all over again.

Mets Fan Club for Minority Owners

$20 million fills in a stack of these babies.

I get the feeling that whoever conceived the already infamous Mets Investor Partnership Benefits section of the “term sheet” revealed by Richard Sandomir in the Times put it together as soon as he or she finished updating the Mets Fan Club for Kids membership form.

For $25, your child receives:

• Two tickets to a 2012 Mets home game
• Kids Club Jersey Backpack
• Window Cling courtesy of Kozy Shack
• Welcome Letter from the New York Mets
• Membership ID Card with Lanyard
• Membership Certificate
• Mets Folder
• Rewards Card redeemable for a free gift at Citi Field
• 3 Issues of the Kids Club Newsletter
• Birthday Card from the Mets
• Subway pre-loaded meal card
• 10% off retail at the Mets Clubhouse Shops
• Invitation to the Mets Fan Club for Kids Day at Citi Field events
• Special 5 year member gift
• Topps Baseball Cards
• Chances to win prizes and much more!

As our buddy Matt Silverman attested on December 5, that’s a pretty good deal. It’s a veritable ton of unquestionably neato Met stuff for $19,999,975 less than it would take to get you:

One Preferred Limited Partnership Unit

But wait…there’s much more!

• Membership on an Advisory Board of the Club
• Regular updates regarding financial performance and other material developments
• Business card with “Owner” title

No mention on whether a lanyard is included with your card.

There’s more “much more!” to becoming a 4% owner of the New York Mets, and assuming you come up with the $20 mil, they probably work with you. Still, there is a weird, detached paternalism at play when you read the constraints the Mets placed on these potential benefits. For instance, besides trying to impress very rich people with their very own “Owner” card, prospective buyers are offered “the opportunity to attend a road trip in another city with hotel arrangements covered by the Mets,” with the parenthetical qualifier, “trip selected by Club prior to each season.”

So…if I’ve been a bad $20 million investor, I either go to Houston — or get nothing and like it? And if I prefer the trip to, say, San Francisco, the traveling secretary won’t return my texts? Then what would I do? Make other arrangements as someone of my theoretical means would be quite capable of doing?

Also, I get a “food and drink allowance” in my Empire Suite. At what point am I handed a bill for exceeding my allowance? If I’m giving you $20 million, you bring me all the damn burgers I want — and not from some Shake Shack, but from a frigging Shake Castle.

Listen, if you’re going to hand me an “Owner” card, I’m going to walk around Citi Field like I own the place.

The caveat to this very fun document is it was probably lawyered to death (“What if they want unlimited Blue Smoke? I mean sure, we’re experts at blowing smoke…better make that ‘food and drink allowance’.”) and, as Sandomir points out, it was likely intended as a starting point. Maybe someone who suddenly wants to give the Mets $20 million in exchange for no real say over anything doesn’t realize all the neato Met stuff being a minority owner entails. And while “discounts on all MLB-licensed merchandise” sounds like a pretty half-assed come-on…no, it is pretty half-assed. But it is essentially the same perk they offer the Fan Club kids.

And to think — they could have offered Much More!

• Relocation of Spring Training facility from Port St. Lucie to Port St. Your Name Here.

• R.A. Dickey will invoke three multisyllabic words per homestand to perfectly capture your essence.

• Complimentary Fanwalk brick (brick not included).

• You won’t broadcast any fewer innings on WFAN than will Wayne Hagin in 2012.

• Your bright red “Owner” windbreaker allows you to grope “Security” personnel in the same fashion “Security” personnel is allowed to under the auspices of wearing dark red “Security” windbreakers.

• None of the liquidity pertaining to your ownership share will be directed toward the compensation of Jason Bay.

• Pick a number between 15 and 36, and consider it retired in your honor.

• Citi Field concession personnel will be specially trained to make eye contact with you and cease conversations with coworkers as you order (they may still ignore you).

• Paper mâché head bearing your likeness replaces Home Run Apple on alternate Thursdays.

• D.J. Carrasco will D.J. the sweet sixteen, Bat Mitzvah or quinceañera of your choice.

• Team store personnel must show you their receipt as you leave store.

• Bring your kiddies, bring your wife, we’re legally obligated to guarantee the time of your life (legal obligation limited to minority share owner’s life on earth and does not extend to any form of you which is reincarnated; management not liable for minority share owner’s spiritual beliefs).

• Subsequent to one lefty-righty pitching change per series, Terry Collins will mix and serve you a Tom Collins.

• You may travel on your own personal “7 Train” (defined as your being carried aloft by Ed Kranepool, Hubie Brooks, Todd Pratt and Kevin Mitchell; Jeff McKnight may be substituted for any and all of the aforementioned).

• Throw out the first pitch of a Mets game, then maybe the next eighty if you don’t mind.

• You are the answer to the Acela Club trivia question; you present the prize to the surprised recipient; you are the surprised prize-recipient; you must use your prize in the Acela Club no later than the fifth inning.

• Mike Nickeas will serve as your “personal catcher” — no judgments.

• Have Section 538 all to yourself. Intentionally.

• Mike Pelfrey will lick your hand instead of his (may be considered a balk dependent upon the discretion of the first base umpire).

The Mirabelle Mets

An unnamed spokesman for my favorite baseball team referred to a friend of mine as conducting a “desperate self-promotional campaign for relevance,” which is a shame. That’s no way for my favorite baseball team to act.

As for my friend, Howard Megdal, I will echo his sentiments regarding his new e-book, Wilpon’s Folly, and suggest the reader judge his work — and its relevance regarding the long-term fate of the New York Mets — by reading it. The “desperate self-promotional” charge is just ill-conceived noise on the part of the Mets. You’ve got a specific gripe, spell it out. Otherwise, declining to comment on a book whose findings and/or assertions bug you is a perfectly reasonable response.

I root for the Mets and I root for Howard, so with that conflict of interest stated, I will add that I trust one party more than the other where the best interests of the ballclub are concerned, and it’s not the people who own the Mets. Howard and I became friends because we both love the Mets. I’ve watched him write, report and, yes, campaign for the better part of two years motivated by that love.

It’s an important distinction to note Howard is a Mets fan who is a journalist, and not a journalist who stuffs his personal baseball affection in a blind trust while wearing a media credential. He is what they used to call an advocacy journalist. He has a cause. His cause is Met-promotion more than it’s Megdal-promotion. Howard wouldn’t be chasing this story if it weren’t crucial to him that the root cause of the current Met morass be resolved. If the Mets aren’t working properly, that’s his business as much as it’s anybody’s — the franchise-owners included.

I can’t consider anything Howard’s writing about Madoff-Wilpon without thinking about his prior book, Taking The Field, which is ostensibly about Howard’s tongue-brushing-cheek campaign to be voted general manager of your New York Mets in the summer of 2010. He made like Teddy White and gave us a perfectly lovely time capsule by which to remember his clever Quixotic effort to be elected to a non-elective office across what proved to be The Last Days of Omar Minaya. It’s all very charming — and his theories on franchise-building are all perfectly worthy of debate — but that’s not why you’ll want to read Taking The Field as preface to Wilpon’s Folly.

You’ll want to read Taking The Field for Mirabelle Megdal, the designated heiress to the Megdal rooting passion. The book is woven tightly with Howard’s heartachingly sincere desire to pass along to his baby daughter a franchise worthy of the fandom he is intent on cultivating in her. He played play-by-play tapes (Scully, not Healy) for her while she was in her mother’s womb; he rocked her to sleep with bedtime stories downloaded from MLB Trade Rumors; he immersed her in Citi Field culture well before she would be able to crawl let alone stand in the Shake Shack line.

Howard wouldn’t and won’t wait to guide his child in the ways of Mets fandom. Mirabelle’s not nearly old enough to pay a convenience fee, yet I imagine she already has an opinion on who should play second next year.

Give or take the accelerated timetable, Howard is like any Met-loving parent in that he hates the idea of subjecting a beloved offspring to multiple decades of championship-free baseball, but is going to take that chance anyway. More than anybody else I know, however, Howard is determined to figure out how to make the Mets less of a risky proposition for his kid.

Which is where Wilpon’s Folly comes into play. Though Howard plies his investigative skills and honest curiosity in an attempt to unravel the root of the financial mess the Mets have become, I don’t think this is any more the work of a crack reporter and writer (even if he is both) than it is a dad and Mets fan who wants a better long-term baseball situation for his daughter. To put it in the context of one of the stingingest political one-liners of the last century, he wants Mets fans to be better off tomorrow than they’ve been in the past four or so years.

Howard Megdal’s loyalty isn’t to the story for the story’s sake. It’s to helping to craft understanding and forge solutions on a topic that means a ton to him personally, never mind professionally. It’s to trying to ascertain where the money went and whose fingerprints are on what moves. It’s to ultimately positioning the Mets of Mirabelle Megdal’s rooting years — and all of ours — as something with a fighting chance to be a consistently winning proposition.

If that’s a desperate quest, then so be it.

The Kid I Snuck Into the Party

So I’m walking across Mets Plaza in front of Citi Field the other day, quietest place you’d ever encounter late on a Tuesday morning in December. Nobody around for miles as far as I could tell. What a shame, I thought. I’m going to the holiday party the team holds for kids inside. To me it’s just another thing to cover. It should feel bigger, somehow.

A Mets fan’s view of December.

But then the silence was broken. There was this “thwack!” sound. Over and over again: “Thwack! … Thwack! … Thwack!” I figured it was coming from somewhere deep inside the chop shops. I sure didn’t see anybody or anything out of the ordinary until I looked down at my feet and saw a pink rubber ball rolled to a dead stop. It was a Spaldeen, as Pete Hamill would be quick to remind you.

Out of nowhere there’s a kid with a Mets cap, maybe 11 going on 12. It was his Spaldeen.

“Hey mister,” he said. “Can I have my ball?”
“This is yours?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”

He took the ball and returned to his business of bouncing it against the side of the stadium and catching it. Bouncing it and catching it. Bouncing it and catching it. It was almost hypnotic.

The ball got away from him again. He’s not really that good at this, I thought, but I admire his persistence. As it was rolling, I grabbed it and tossed it to him.

“Hey kid,” I say. “What are you doing out here? They don’t let people bounce balls off the side of Citi Field. Do they?”
“I dunno,” he said, though I got the feeling he did.
“Well, you should be careful. There’s security and stuff.” But there wasn’t any security. There wasn’t anybody. “Besides, it’s a Tuesday morning and it isn’t summer. You should be in school…shouldn’t you?”

“I dunno,” he said again.

I shrugged and let him be and started walking toward my appointment. I heard two more “thwack!”s and then his voice.

“Hey mister,” he says. “You going in there?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I go with you?”
“Go with me?”
“See, I’m like the biggest Mets fan I know, and I’m here ’cause I heard something was going on today. I thought maybe I’d see some ballplayers or something, but I haven’t seen anybody.”
“Well, yeah, they’re in there. At this party.”
“So can you take me inside?”

I started to explain that I was here in the role of quasi-media, that my job today is to be a dispassionate observer, maybe ask a few professional questions and not make a big deal out of it. He didn’t seem to be listening, though.

“So can you take me inside?”
“Well, I don’t know if the rules would allow that. I mean this is a kids’ thing…” I thought about how odd it sounded telling a kid that. “I don’t know if you can just walk in and get a present.”
“I don’t care about any of that stuff,” he insisted. “I just want to see the ballplayers. I just want to be around baseball in the middle of December.”

“Let’s go,” I said.

I thought I’d have to make my case for him at media check-in, but nobody asked me anything about the kid I brought with me. The guard inside didn’t say anything, either. Same thing when they opened the door to the Acela Club. It was like nobody saw this kid except me. Still, I figured I’d lay low on his account.

“Sorry I can’t let you line up for a present or a picture with Santa Claus or anything,” I told him. “I’m just worried they’ll see you and throw both of us out.”
“I told you I don’t care about presents or Christmas,” he reassured me.
“Do you celebrate some other holiday?” I asked so as to cover my multicultural bases.
“The only holiday I like is Opening Day,” he said. “The quicker Christmas is over, the sooner baseball season gets here.”

I liked the way this kid thought.

“What are you doing here again?” he asked me.
“Well, I write about the Mets and sometimes the Mets do these things they let me get a close-up look at. It’s mostly a bunch of PR jazz designed to help make the team seem more appealing when you get right down to it. Like last month, they had this thing where I got to talk to David Wright and Ike Davis…”
“YOU TALKED TO DAVID WRIGHT AND IKE DAVIS?”

When the kid said it like that, it sounded a lot more amazing than I thought it was at first.

“Yeah. See, I’m a blogger, which is kind of like a reporter or a columnist. So I have to maintain a veneer of professionalism and objectivity…”
“YOU TALKED TO DAVID WRIGHT AND IKE DAVIS?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How much money is involved for something like that?”
“Well, I don’t get paid. The blog is something my friend and I started because we like the Mets and all…”
“No. I mean how much do you have to pay to get to talk to Mets players?”
“Oh. Um, nothing. It doesn’t work that way.”
“THEY LET YOU TALK TO DAVID WRIGHT AND IKE DAVIS FOR FREE?”

Again, it sounded way cooler when he said it.

“So,” he asked, “what’s gonna happen here today?”
“Assuming I don’t get caught for letting some kid sneak in here with me, I’m going to stand behind a curtain with a bunch of other bloggers and writers and reporters and at some point, after the Santa stuff, the PR people will shuttle a few Mets in.”
“You’re going to talk to MORE Mets?”
“Uh-huh. Daniel Murphy, Justin Turner and Jon Niese, I think.”
“Murphy, Turner and Niese?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess they couldn’t get any bigger names up here for this.”
“THOSE ARE THREE OF MY FAVORITE PLAYERS!”
“They are?”

The kid looked at me like I was on the wrong planet.

“Of course! They’re on the Mets! The Mets are my favorite players! Murphy! Turner! Niese! They play for my favorite team! And you get to talk to them?”
“I guess. I don’t expect to learn a whole lot. They’re not much older than you and, besides, they aren’t going to say anything substantive to a dozen bloggers all pointing tape recorders in their face for five minutes. It’s all a big dog and pony show, to be honest.”
“WOW! YOU GET TO TALK TO DANIEL MURPHY AND JUSTIN TURNER AND JON NIESE!”

Maybe this kid should go into PR when he grows up, I thought. He has a real talent for spinning.

I told him we have to play it cool for a few minutes until they’re ready for us. We followed the media crowd behind a black curtain while the players, dressed as Santa (Murphy) and elves (Turner, Niese), handed out presents to Queens schoolchildren who got into the building by more legitimate means. After I nodded hello to a few acquaintances — none of whom noticed the kid who was with me — we wandered to the back of the room and looked out on the still and empty field.

“I see they’re working on bringing the fences in,” I said. “About time. What a badly conceived dimensional nightmare Citi Field has been.”
“WOW!” the kid answered. “THERE’S THE FIELD THE METS PLAY ON! IT’S RIGHT THERE BELOW US!”
“Yeah. It was too deep and high in left and that silly notch in right was too artificial to be taken seriously.”
“WOW! THAT’S WHERE JASON BAY IS GONNA BE! AND ANDRES TORRES WILL BE OVER THERE! AND LUCAS DUDA!”
“Of course maybe if you have a seat over there in the Left Field Landing, maybe you’ll get a better view of fly balls if the wall isn’t so far back. What a missed opportunity this whole place has been.”
“THIS IS WHERE THE METS PLAY AND I GET TO STAND HERE IN THE OFFSEASON AND JUST STARE AT IT! THIS IS THE GREATEST FEELING I CAN IMAGINE IN DECEMBER!”

Eventually the sanctioned festivities on the other side of the curtain broke up and the PR people began to bring the players in for the group interviews. I told the kid to stay quiet and out of the picture. I had work — or something like it — to do.

First they gave us Turner. Bubbly sort. Taking nothing for granted after several years in the minors.

Then Murphy. More of a firecracker than I would have guessed. I asked him about being one of the de facto veterans on this ever younger ballclub, at least in terms of Met tenure: he’s fourth, by my reckoning, behind Wright, Pelfrey and Santana. Murph said he didn’t know he was so far up the food chain. “That’s bold,” he proclaimed, which I found charming.

Niese…didn’t have much to say. Maybe he was tired.

All in all, a pleasant enough round of exchanges, most of it rather predictable. They’re all gonna work hard, they all want to win, they all said the kind of stuff they’ve probably been saying since people started asking them questions based on their athletic ability. Perfectly decent but nothing groundbreaking.

When we were done and back outside, and he was sure nobody would see or hear him, the kid with me all but squealed.

“THAT WAS FANTASTIC! JUSTIN TURNER TALKED TO YOU!”
“I wouldn’t say he talked to me. I was just one of a dozen faces, just another part of his job.”
“AND DANIEL MURPHY ANSWERED YOUR QUESTION! HE LOOKED AT YOU AND ANSWERED YOUR QUESTION! HE EVEN PATTED YOU ON THE BACK AS HE WALKED AWAY!”
“Well, he’s supposed to answer my question. As for the back-patting, I wasn’t expecting that, but it’s not that big a deal.”
“A MET TOUCHED YOU!”
“I’m in the communications business. I can’t make a big deal out of anything like that.”

The kid seemed confused by my nonchalance.

“But didn’t you say you’re a Mets fan?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So how can you not be excited by getting to talk, even a little bit, to guys who are on the Mets?”
“I am. I just have to, you know, keep it in check.”
“Really? Why?”
“I dunno. I just have to.”
“So you don’t cheer at the games or yell at the TV when they’re playing?”
“No, I do. That’s different.”
“It is?”
“It is…I guess.”

The kid didn’t seem any less confused by my lack of clarity, but he forgot about it soon enough. I told him that I should have asked somebody about bridge loans or other important issues — I did come face to face with one of the owners of the team for the fleetingest of moments — and that the goodwill of the party didn’t mean the Mets were actually going to be any better this season. But he wasn’t listening to me as I droned on cynically. The kid who was with me but who nobody else saw had his own agenda.

“Wow,” he said. “Turner and Murphy and Niese all up close. Just being inside Citi Field for an hour was great enough, but players, too? Hey mister, how did that happen?”

“I’m not sure, kid. But I guess I’m glad it did.”

My Favorite Things, 1962-2002

In observance of today’s Mets kids’ holiday party at Citi Field (an on-the-scene report from which will be coming later), I thought I’d dig out of the archives a little ditty I penned on Christmas Day 2002 and first published on Faith and Fear just prior to Christmas 2005. Many of the contemporary 2002 references are as dated as a good Jung Bong joke, but the overall vibe feels appropriate here in 2011 given that nine years ago I was trying to convince myself how much I still liked the Mets despite the Mets in those dreary days doing so many things I didn’t like.

After a spell of writing, I noticed I was no longer convincing myself, but celebrating all the things — the good, the bad, the Huskey — that made the Mets the Mets in my eyes and, really, all our eyes. Plenty more verses could have been added since to reflect the follies and foibles of the intervening decade (and, boy, do they keep on comin’), but I think the point is made pretty well by having mined the first forty-one years of Mets baseball.

So with that introduction, and requisite apologies to Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein, ladies and gentlemen, I give you a Metsopotamian take on the old chestnut, “My Favorite Things”.

***

Apples in top hats
That rise to occasion
Fran Healy announcing
A summer vacation

Steve Phillips’ cell phone
When it doesn’t ring
These are a few of my favorite things

Extra Dry Rheingold
And Carvel in helmets
Four-fifty pretzels
And three-dollar peanuts

Durocher’s black cat
And the dogs we let out
These are the things that I sing about

Eleven-game win streaks
And two ten-run innings
A happy recap
Born of humble beginnings

High fives and low fives
And Steve Henderson
These are what bring me back time and again

When Fred Wilpon
Pays T#m Gl@v!ne
While Fonzie goes unsigned
I simply remember I root for the Mets
And it’s much too late
For me to resign

Field level boxes
From corporate connections
Changing at Woodside
And catching the Seven

Liza Minnelli
And Jay Payton hug
These are the things that I dig and I’ve dug

Shipping Puleo
And retrieving Seaver
Since Seventy-Three
Saying I’m a believer

Olerud’s hard hat
And Shinjo’s wrist bands
These are some reasons I’m one of the fans

Serenading Chipper
By given name Larry
Exchanging Harry Chiti
For Chiti, yes, Harry

Takeoffs and landings
O’er everyone’s head
These must be why I’m loyal ’til I’m dead

When the GM
Gets Matt Lawton
And casts off Rick Reed
I simply remember the Mets are my team
That must be all I need

‘Rock and Roll Part Two’
As Mike circles bases
Shock and dismay
On the Rocket’s two faces

David Mlicki
Picking his spot
Makes me glad the Mets won and the Yankees did not

Len-ee! and Ben-ee!
And that Theodore stork
The National League
Returns to New York

Alex Ochoa
Hits for the cycle
These are the things that still make me smile

Banners and placards
And the original sign man
Agee making catches
That nobody else can

Swoboda’s dive
Cleon’s shoe polish
Miracles Orioles had to acknowledge

When Ordoñez
Learns some English
And calls us all stupid
I simply remember I’ve been a Mets fan
Ever since I was a kid

Throneberry, Strawberry
Koosman comma Jerry
A Todd Worrell fastball
For HoJo to bury

Corners of K’s
And Ojeda’s dead fish
Make summer’s arrival my next birthday wish

Davey’s short in the outfield
So uses Orosco
Joe Orsulak’s swing
Which was sweeter than Bosco

Hernandez on bunts
And Kranepool in a pinch
When it comes to the Mets, I won’t give an inch

Not sitting in front of
A loud, drunken yeller
Wes Westrum proclaiming
Another cliffdweller

Lindsey tells me
Shamsky’s around in right
These are what I recall by day and by night

When Grant Roberts
Is caught toking
In
Newsday or the News
I simply remember that nobody’s perfect
And don’t let the Mets give me the blues

Ventura’s grand
But Tank stops him from scoring
Bobby V wore disguises
But never was boring

Mora crossed home on a pitch
That was wild
Things that make me cry like some kind of child

Grote going back
And grabbing a pop-up
Sisk coming in
But, relax, just to mop up

Mookie Wilson’s nubber
Trickling fair down the line
What happened next will always blow my mind

Not yet a no-hitter
But anticipation
Gregg Jefferies for five weeks
A rookie sensation

Knight against Davis
And Buddy v. Pete
These are the things, I admit, I find neat

When Armando
Blows his next save
As he inevitably will
I simply remember the leads he held onto
And then I don’t feel so ill

Number twenty-four
Staying mostly retired
Thanking the Good Lord
When Torborg got fired

Kingman’s second stay
When he handed out pens
Ralph breaking it down right after the end

‘Lazy Mary’ plays
And we keep on stretching
Mel Rojas would pitch
And he’d get us all kvetching

Mettle the Mule, DeRoulet
Richie Hebner
Seventy-Nine I can’t help but remember

Gary Carter’s knees
All wrapped up like a mummy
DiPoto made butterflies
Float in my tummy

Thinking we’re set
Because we’ve got Mike Vail
Yet I stick with the Mets, succeed or fail

When Burnitz and
Alomar crash
When Cedeño and Mo go down
I simply remember they all had bad luck
And convince myself they’ll turn it around

Calvin Schiraldi
Preceding Bob Stanley
A superstar catcher
Explains that he’s manly

Franco plays Santa
And Rusty serves ribs
The Mets speak to me in my second language

M. Donald Grant
Burning in hell
Knowing AY
Can’t be charged with an L

Clearing the clubhouse
Of sparklers and bleach
And knowing the Wild Card’s still within reach

A general manager
Who knows what he’s doing
Every position
Manned by McEwing

Best infield ever
Or so said SI
They’re all gone now, though I don’t know why

When the Mets are
Labeled quitters
And demand apologies
I simply remember they’re sensitive people
And then I don’t go, ‘oh geez’

Casey could choose from
A pair of Bob Miller
Al Jackson, pre-Michael
Original Thriller

¡Yo la tengo! Ashburn
Called out to Chacon
With the Mets on the West Coast, I don’t sleep alone

Part of ‘Men In Black’
And a scene from ‘Odd Couple’
Scrappy platoons
Like Backman and Teufel

Staiger, Mankowski
A parade of third basemen
When the Cubs finished sixth, we stayed out of the basement

Shea in the daytime
Enjoying it all
Gil Hodges eventually
Making the Hall

Clendenon and Brogna
And even Todd Zeile
Glad tidings to Mets is the feeling I feel

When Steve Trachsel’s
Paid by the hour
Or works as if that’s his deal
I simply remember his good Earned Run Average
And he’s practically a steal

Al Leiter’s cutter
And buddy Mike Bloomberg
A mayor to whom our team
Is more than a rumor

Dave Magadan speeds to
A deliberate crawl
Gosh I hope that the Mets are around in the fall

Prospects from Norfolk
And before that Visalia
Jane Jarvis’s organ
Would never assail ya

Chief Noc-A-Homa
Taking knocks from The Dude
If only Mets ushers weren’t nearly as rude

Old Timers Day inspiring
Terry Cashman
A less uptight version
Of bowtied Frank Cashen

Pretending Nolan Ryan
Had stayed his career
Wishing Sojo had been kicked in the rear

When the Mets win
None in August
And I’m there for every loss
I simply remember things can only get better
And then my cookies don’t go for a toss

Brent as in Mayne
Not the Maine of Ed Muskie
Schofield who’s skinny
And Butch who is Huskey

Piling on Rocker
A surfeit of malice
Sunny Frank Howard, the tart tongue of Dallas

Dependable backstops
The Gonders, the Dyers
The weight-lifting antics
Of Randall K. Myers

‘Bring on Ron Gaspar’
A gaffe of F. Robby
Waiting for Reyes becoming a hobby

Clipping coupons
From a Dairylea carton
The serendipitous wrist
Of the great J.C. Martin

McCarver says triples
Are better than sex
Just call Five Oh Seven T-I-X-X

When team meetings
Are more frequent
Than team victories
I simply remember when they’d shut up and play
And then I don’t feel unease

Bring your kids to see our kids
Said with a straight face
Beating the Expos
And entering first place

It not being over
When it hadn’t expired
Trading Bonilla when his act grew tired

McReynolds bolting
To beat city traffic
Rickey drawing walks
And then wreaking havoc

Debating Gerry Moses’s
Lifetime Met status
Responding when Bill Hands was throwing right at us

Don Bosch and Don Hahn
And good old Don Cardwell
Suddenly recalling
The right fielder’s Gus Bell

Topps, Upper Deck
Pinnacle, Fleer
Each pack should include at least two Bruce Boisclair

When one player
Accosts another
About his rookie card
I simply remember we’re talking grown men here
And then I don’t take it nearly as hard

Revising the yearbook
To include Lenny Randle
A roller toward Schmidt
And Schmidt losing the handle

Removing the tarp
To scattered applause
A call to the bullpen, back after this pause

Hypothetical swaps
Causing Howie to go nuts
A roster of players
Not twenty-five robots

The grass all torn up
Irritating Pete Flynn
Who cares if he’s angry, so long as we win?

A fortunate bounce
From a top-of-the-fence shot
Overcoming the scuffwork
Of devious Mike Scott

Dave Liddell disappearing
After one plate appearance
Not losing an out on lame interference

When Tarasco
And Mark Corey
Are found dabbling in drugs
I simply decide that it’s none of my business
And then I don’t blame those lugs

Carl Everett’s slam
Off of Uggie Urbina
Tomatoes by Piggy
And not Contadina

An unlikely dinger
By speedy Esix
Shortstops like Elster not committing e-six

Darryl Hamilton
Is served his release
Rich Rodriguez
Packs his valise

Counting on phenoms
Like Pulse and Tim Leary
Forgiving Hank Webb, he must’ve been weary

Happy birthday to dads
Kiner’s Father’s Day greeting
The occasional smart move
At some winter meeting

Nineteen-inning games
Won by dawn’s early light
Followed by fireworks, oh what a sight!

When our rivals
From across town
Win on our own field
I simply remember to turn off the TV
And then my venom might yield

Applauding old heroes
When they first come back
A Baltimore fly ball
That’s caught at the track

Bobby Jones beats the Giants
A Fresno one-hitter
Making Baker and Jeff Kent both act kinda bitter

Rain delay anecdotes
That never grow moldy
The Polo Grounds forever
A goody if oldie

Greg Goossen projected
To someday turn thirty
Finding no cork when Whitey played dirty

Game Three leadoff batters
Each hitting one out
Scoring twenty-three runs
En route to a rout

Two-dozen straight games
With hits by Hubie Brooks
The rosin was Wendell’s, the tantrums were Cook’s

When the playoffs
Elude the Mets
Thanks to five straight defeats
I simply remember to wait ’til next year
And then I go buy my seats

Bass and Barrett strike out
Sending gloves in the air
Our new stadium
Outdraws the World’s Fair

During those first years
No hint of a rise
Then by Eckert’s lot, we draw The Franchise

Simons and Walter
And southpaws of woe
They didn’t get saves
But at least were let go

Payson seemed generous
Doubleday dotty
Mazzilli’s a traitor but once was a hottie

Pitchers who’d battle
Throughout a run dearth
Decreeing D’Amico’d
Inherit the earth

Shawn Estes took aim
No way he could miss
All he hit was a homer, but that blast was bliss

When Mike Scioscia
Got to Gooden
And turned Game Four around
I simply remember results two years prior
And my mental state’s more sound

Hampton before
He worried ’bout schools
Escobar when the hype
Said he had tools

Dan Norman’s aborted
Switch-hitting trial
After Montañez tailed off, he still had style

With nobody out
Taking a pitch
Learning to spell
Gary Rajsich

Rally caps topping noggins
When contests get tight
That arm-twirling lady, her hex worked all right

Spahn and the Duke
And surly Eddie Murray
Immortals perhaps
Gone from here in a hurry

Four pennants waving
From the outfield flag pole
Terry Leach coming through in almost any role

When Pendleton
Hit that home run
And stopped us in that race
I simply remember something else would’ve gone wrong
And then I don’t feel disgrace

Promotional items
Handed to adults
Jumping on Nen
And on Hoffman and Smoltz

Picking up the FAN
In any location
Our runners not running from station to station

Gary and Murph
Broadcasting in sync
Sweeping the Pirates
When pushed to the brink

Sasser’s throw to the mound
Arrives on the fly
Twelve years of Ron Hodges, that seems rather high

A lineup that featured
Youngblood and Taveras
Showing Oil Can Boyd
That he didn’t scare us

A new media guide
Its cover so glossy
Ends with Don Zimmer, begins with Don Aase

When Atlanta
Beats the Mets out
Every time it counts
I simply ignore their stellar track record
And cheer for our boys in greater amounts

Sadecki, McAndrew
And every fifth starter
Timo except when
He could’ve run harder

Roger McDowell
Wearing mask after mask
The answer’s the Mets, you don’t have to ask

Salty and Cubbage
And interim skippers
Todd Hundley’s record
For receiver round-trippers

Lance Johnson never
Getting thrown out at third
Never mind ‘Grease,’ the Mets are the word

Teddy Martinez
Waved home by Eddie Yost
St. Lucie datelines
In the Times and the Post

The Magic Is Back
‘Ball Like It Oughta Be
Printing World Series tickets in Two Thousand Three

When they make bad trades
And guys lose their skills here
Amazing but it’s true
I simply remember the phrase, ‘Let’s Go Mets!’
And there’s not much more that I can tell you

He's Still 'Jose' (not 'Reyes') to Me

A friend and I were discussing recent Met developments over the weekend. He referred to “Gil and Reyes,” as in he perceives an anti-New York bias inherent in Gil Hodges not making the generally worthless National Baseball Hall of Fame and Jose Reyes not finishing in the Top Ten of the National League MVP voting. What struck me in his communiqué was Gil was dependably “Gil” yet Jose had been relegated to last-name status.

No way, I said.

Yeah, he retorted. Jose’s a Miamian now, thus he’s Reyes.

Nah, I fired back. Argenis Reyes, if he’s around anywhere in 2012, he can be Reyes. Jose is Jose. Jose will always be Jose to me.

I didn’t high-hat Fonzie into Alfonzo. Darryl didn’t become Strawberry. Doc in his darkest pinstriped hours never became Gooden. Rico was always Rico. Melvin was always Melvin. And Tom Seaver never stopped being my favorite Met.

I’ll allow Jose a little latitude when the Marlins come to Citi Field for the first of their forty or fifty annual games against the Mets on April 24. He’s granted a leadoff base hit; what’s one more night without a no-hitter? He’s permitted to steal second and take third on the throw. I’m undecided on whether he may score.

Then he can go into a six-year slump against Met pitching. He can tear up the rest of the National League the rest of the time as long as it doesn’t do the Marlins much good. The Marlins can beat the Phillies, Braves and Nationals just as the Phillies, Braves and Nationals can beat the Marlins. They can all beat each other up while the Mets sweep the whole lot of them into oblivion.

That’s the plan, though I suspect it doesn’t have much fiber to it.

I also suspect that the longer Jose Reyes is an actively competitive ex-Met — not just a West Coast rumor along the lines of John Olerud in Seattle — I’ll decrease my simmering sentimentality bit by bit. Forty or fifty games a year against the same team will do that. But unlike Olerud (another free agent whose departure left me groping for my December bearings), Jose grew up on my watch. It’s one thing to wave goodbye to the professionals when you previously knew them as something else. Gary Carter the Dodger or Rusty Staub the Tiger were essentially returns to form from when they were Expos. But the guys I never knew as anything but Mets…that’s tough. Rico Brogna morphed into a Phillie and a Brave yet I never didn’t applaud him when he swung by Shea. He was always a Met to me.

Tug McGraw was always a Met before he was traded, thus his Phillie incarnation — a pretty significant phase of his career and their history — never really seemed demonic in my eyes. Same for Lenny Dykstra when he wore a Phillie uniform instead of an orange jumpsuit. I wanted the Mets who faced them as rivals to prevail against them but I couldn’t root against them in any substantive “enemy” sense. Same for Wally Backman as a Pirate/Phillie when both identities were rather nauseating to a Mets fan of that era.

I’d have preferred some Met who broke in as a Met and blossomed as a Met had remained a Met for an entire enjoyable career and then tipped his cap on his last day as a Met. But that’s never happened. I mean never — neither Ed Kranepool nor Ron Hodges went out on their own terms, and they’re the only Mets of length to not sign somewhere else at some point.

Why I expected homegrown multitime All-Star Jose Reyes would be that Met I’m not sure. Cap-tipping lifetime one-franchise players are pretty rare to begin with these days. The best I can hope for is the Mets won’t pretend for years on end that Jose Reyes didn’t exist as an essential part of them for nine seasons; that his image won’t be erased from every 50th anniversary montage; that his pictures aren’t all shoved in storage; that bloggers of 2023 or whenever aren’t forced to demand to know when he’ll be inducted into the club’s Hall of Fame. The Mets can be chillingly Soviet that way.

Meanwhile, the Marlins of Miami are no more tenable as a taste than the Marlins of Florida, and a pox on Loria and the lot of them, but Jose is going to be Jose to me for a very long time. That much I know. When the Mets and Marlins are playing for low stakes, I’ll veer toward the Met on the mound, but a tiny bit of me won’t ever be not at least a smidgen happy when Jose gets the better of an isolated confrontation. Should they play for high stakes — meaningful games in September or a no-hitter on the line — that will almost certainly be a different story.

Right now, it’s all speculative and rather unknown. I’ve had to deal with beloved ex-Mets regularly but not at this level in a very long time. Not at the “he’s my favorite” tier. That’s a tough tier to negotiate. I regularly rooted for Fonzie to take the measure of the Gl@v!nes and Trachsels when he was a Giant and they were boring.

If you could convince me all this was part of a master strategic plan to improve the franchise, OK. Sometimes players have to go so as to bring in better or different players. I was in mad love with Melvin Mora in 2000 yet understood the need for a dependable defensive shortstop (even if what we got was Mike Bordick). If someday a champagne-soaked Sandy Alderson can trace a championship to the meeting he had with his braintrust in the fall of 2011 when they knew letting Jose Reyes go would be painful but ultimately baseball-beneficial, I’ll gather all the hindsight at my disposal and retroactively praise the thought process to the high heavens.

But this is about ownership not having the money to keep their best player in his prime because they figured out a way to lose it. It’s not about roster maximization and I don’t believe it’s about not giving six years to a dicey hamstring risk. No way Jose would have gone had Bernie Madoff not come along. This used to be a large-market, big-league operation. For the time being, we’re condemned to Bisonmania.

You’re welcome to your spin. Mine is our franchise, the one to which we pledge our fealty, has been diminished. Jose Reyes’s departure isn’t the cause of that but a symptom of it. I don’t have any idea when this trend will be reversed. I hope it won’t be too long.

I do a lot of hoping as a Mets fan.