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ABOUT US
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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by Greg Prince on 2 April 2009 7:40 pm If you somehow can't make it tonight's meeting of the Mets History Miniature Bobblehead Year at Citi Field committee…I mean to seeing Jason and me at Varsity Letters (for real), here a few other things you can be doing with your Thursday evening.
• You can listen, if you haven't yet, to NY Baseball Digest's Mike Silva and I discuss Faith and Fear in Flushing: An Intense Personal History of the New York Mets here. The freewheeling hour of book talk, Mets talk, media talk and, well, me talk flies by. You can get a shorter but still substantive spin from this Q&A with Gelf Magazine.
• You can read the latest in the whirlwind of FAFIF: AIPHOTNYM reviews, each of them wonderfully considered and immensely appreciated: Mets2Moon at The Ballclub; Coop at My Summer Family; Long Island Mets Fan at 24 Hours From Suicide; and, as a movie pitch I know I'd snap up, Jon at the grandsite of 'em all, Mets By The Numbers. Thanks to everybody who has weighed in on behalf of this book via blog, e-mail, message board and subway whisper campaign. I can express what it means to me, but you still couldn't guess how much it does.
• You can make yourself hungry by perusing the Citi Field offerings as inspected by NYC Food Guy. I've already done so, and there's mouth water everywhere. Don't tell my gastroenterologist. Or my accountant.
• You can by all means order your copy of FAFIF, or even a copy for somebody else, at Amazon or Barnes & Noble, and then you can join the ongoing discussion at Facebook.
• You can wait for the season to start. But you were going to do that anyway.
• Or you could make a late dash for Varsity Letters at the Happy Ending Lounge. We'd love to see you there, tonight at 8:00.
by Greg Prince on 1 April 2009 1:50 pm Thanks to Jason for issuing such a warm invitation to Varsity Letters (Thursday night, 8 PM, details and directions here) as well as for offering a relatively objective review. Thanks to all, really, who have made these first few weeks as a published Mets author so inviting. Your support is as uplifting as it is touching.
Especially from one corner I wasn’t expecting.
Because of the book’s publication, I find myself being taken more seriously by some people who weren’t all that interested in what I had to say before. I won’t mention any names, but I think it’s fair to say that a certain organization in Queens suddenly noticed someone who had been watching them relentlessly for forty seasons might have a few notes to share. This group asked me (after I’d been railing at them online for almost four years) what do you want? You’re an author now, we kind of have to consider your ideas, what do you think we should do?
I told them. And they listened. God help me, the Mets listened to me. And if you’re going to a game this year, there’s a good chance you’re going to be the beneficiary.
It’s not listed on the promotional schedule yet, but I’ve gotten the go-ahead to announce here today that 2009 will be Mets History Miniature Bobblehead Year at Citi Field. It’s an initiative envisioned and coordinated by…well, me.
I don’t dream big, but it’s kind of a dream come true.
A little background is in order. Late in the 2005 season, I’m sitting at Shea with a friend of mine who’s a big bobblehead collector. It was Willie Randolph Bobblehead Day and we each got our flexible little statue and we were happy, but we got to talking about how the Mets could do more, much more in this realm. Maybe they could create a bobblehead not just for the current players (and manager) but do historical figures as well. They had done Tom Terrific the first year of bobbles, in 2000, and Mookie Magnificent (a coach at the time), but after that, it was all about promoting whoever was on the roster right now.
Wouldn’t it be great, we asked each other, if the Mets were to take the time to think about a given season and a given player or person who impacted them and made a big bobbleheaded deal of it? And, for the love of Mike Bruhert, not just give them to kids who don’t know enough about Mets history to appreciate it. (In 2000, the aforementioned Seaver and Wilson dolls were for the 14-and-under set, even if it was burgeoning codgers like me who salivated over them).
I put the idea away for a while, but then Stephanie and I visited Miller Park in 2007 on a Friday night and discovered every Friday night was 1982 Brewer Bobblehead Night. We were each given a miniature Pete Vukovich. Not just smaller than Pete Vukovich himself, but smaller than your average bobblehead by about two inches. (Actually, we got one Vuk in a home uni and one in a road; call it a bratwurst bonus.) By the end of the season, Brewers fans — adults and kids — all over the greater Milwaukee area could trot out an entire lineup of their last pennant-winning team.
Why, I asked Stephanie, can’t the Mets do something like this? Why do we always have to look like the small-market team when compared to somebody like the Brewers? I was going to post about it, but this was September 2007, and I got distracted by more pressing, collapsing matters. But I never let the idea go, so when the Mets contacted me and asked for one slam-bang suggestion, one way to make Citi Field feel more like the home of the Mets and less like some sterile corporate playpen right off the bat, I laid out the parameters:
• Give out 47 mini bobbleheads through the course of the year, one for each season the Mets have played.
• Each should represent a different figure in Mets history.
• They should be given out in chronological order.
• They should be given out to everybody: not restricted by age or by how quickly you had the ticket you paid for scanned.
• Each player/person chosen to be depicted had to be tied into the particular season he was representing, and couldn’t show up again.
• The bobblehead had to resemble who it was supposed to be in the course of that year, so if you’re talking about so-and-so in this season, he couldn’t look like so-and-so in that season.
• All uniform details would have to be exact to period specifications.
• To stimulate the local economy, previously unknown Queens ceramicists should be hired to craft the bobbleheads — no ordering crap from some underpaid overseas factory.
• Finally, a crack committee of Mets historians, overseen by yours truly, would have (within reason) final say over who would be honored with the bobbleheads.
And you know what? They went for it. Had to tweak a little along the way, and there was the inevitable corporate politicking, but the Mets were largely cooperative and gracious. Thus, while completing the book and beginning to promote it, I’ve been working feverishly with some very dedicated artists and a number of similarly minded Mets fans/writers (they know who they are) to make sure 2009 will really be Mets History Miniature Bobblehead Year at Citi Field.
I see nothing of monetary compensation from this, by the way. This was the proverbial labor of love. Everybody on the committee volunteered his or her time and efforts. The artists and craftspeople couldn’t be paid a lot, but they will get exposure. And the Mets aren’t handing these out only at ritzily priced weekend games. They’re spreading them around. They see it as a premium to all who are investing in the future of this team by paying for the generally higher seat prices (though Promenade-sitters won’t be left out of the fun). The past, I convinced them, helps pay for the future. The adults will love it because this is their history. The kids will become intrigued and informed (each bobblehead comes with a lengthy bio and stat package, put together by the committee).
FYI, none of this affects the already-announced Frankie Rodriguez Bobblehead Day planned for September 6, presented by Gold’s Horseradish. The Mets have that relationship locked in place, so that will be a standard, taller bobble, but at least it won’t be age-restricted. I hope K-Rod, or whatever he wants to be called, makes history, but he’s the present. We’re honoring the past for now.
Without further ado, it gives me great pleasure to announce the roster for Mets History Miniature Bobblehead Year at Citi Field. I’ll add a little explanation of why who was chosen, but can’t reveal all of the committee’s machinations.
***
1962 Casey Stengel — This was a unanimous choice, for pretty obvious reasons.
1963 Roger Craig — I argued for at least one Polo Grounds Met player of distinction (as opposed to somebody who was simply symbolically terrible), and who better than the titular ace who had to be good enough to lose twenty games twice?
1964 Ron Hunt — First Mets starting All-Star the year Shea opened and the year Shea hosted its only All-Star Game. As closely associated with that year as LBJ and the Beatles.
1965 Ron Swoboda — It begins to get tricky here because the players we tend to associate with ’69 start coming onto the scene, and because nobody who isn’t around later really peaks. We went with Rocky because this was his rookie year when Swoboda’s whole “Stronger Than Dirt” persona began to take hold.
1966 Cleon Jones — Not his best season, of course, but the season he became a regular. Expect a much younger-looking Cleon model than the one to whom you might be accustomed.
1967 Tom Seaver — Immediately the best pitcher the Mets ever had. The best player, too. Rookie of the Year choice. We could wait to do Seaver, but Mets fans had waited long enough for someone like him to come along.
1968 Jerry Grote — All-Star selection, came into his own as the Mets’ best defensive catcher and the key to what would become an incredible pitching staff. I imagine his bobblehead will carry a bit of a snarl.
1969 Gil Hodges — Not a no-brainer, considering what kind of year 1969 was, but it was agreed with little dissent that Gil and ’69 are synonymous.
***
1970 Tommie Agee — His best year for speed and power, one of the few Mets who shone in ’69 and sparkled a little brighter in ’70.
1971 Bud Harrelson — All-Star starter, Gold Glove winner. I was very adamant with the committee that we should generally avoid lifetime achievement awards, but I couldn’t picture doing this without Buddy. And ’71 was the pinnacle of his career in terms of recognition.
1972 Willie Mays — The year he came home from his extended leave in San Francisco and belted that homer against the Giants. If you weren’t around, you have no idea what a big deal that was (though you will when you read the bio/stat package I compiled to go with Willie’s bobblehead, I don’t mind telling you).
1973 Tug McGraw — You Gotta Believe this was one of our easiest selections. Of course the glove meets the thigh.
1974 Ed Kranepool — A dispiriting post-pennant season, but this happened to be the moment when Krane found himself as the “pinch-hitter deluxe” who won the fans over. Hit .486 off the bench that year.
1975 Rusty Staub — The end of his first term in New York, the first time a Met drove in 100+ runs. This bobblehead will be Grande.
1976 Jerry Koosman — His twenty-win season. No way was Kooz going to go unbobbled after the Met career he (and we) enjoyed.
1977 Lenny Randle — The worst of times, except for one fluky pickup who had one quirky year. I understand the artist who does Lenny is going to try to capture his face as it appeared when the blackout hit (though no such pictures exist).
1978 John Stearns — Oddly, the Dude made the All-Stars four times, but one of those seasons when he didn’t, this one, was clearly his best in terms of speed and power. (Not included: an opponent bobblehead player or mascot on which bobble Stearns could take out his frustrations.)
1979 Lee Mazzilli — The choice wasn’t much cause for debate, but there was a pretty heated argument as to whether we wanted him in a road uniform to represent what he accomplished in Seattle at that year’s midsummer classic. The Mets wouldn’t budge on home togs, however. As we used to say in 1979, can’t win ’em all.
***
1980 Steve Henderson — If you’ve read the book, you know my fingerprints were all over this one given the memories he gave me with his walkoff swing of June 14. Fortunately, everybody else on the committee could relate.
1981 Dave Kingman — How’s this for attention to detail? The sketches I’ve seen have SkyKing, in his ’81 incarnation, holding a pen, recalling the peace offerings he gave beat writers upon his return. He told them to write only good things.
1982 Mookie Wilson — Another one of those seasons where there wasn’t a lot of good going on, yet we didn’t want to accentuate too much negative (sorry, George Foster). As you know, there’s nothing negative about Mookie. This was the year he truly established himself as a starter and set the longtime team stolen base record, so this is his bobblehead year.
1983 Jesse Orosco — It might have been fun to have had Jesse represent ’86 (sans glove), but this was truly his best season and, not irrelevantly, nobody else had a particularly great year around here.
1984 Keith Hernandez — As you can guess, this is where we start getting to the heart of the order of Mets history’s second great span. Mex became the Mets’ most significant position player ever in this epic turnaround season, so he gets the bobble nod.
1985 Dwight Gooden — I brought up Doc’s name, asked if there were any other suggestions, and the committee just laughed.
1986 Gary Carter — Kid will like this, and I think it’s appropriate he gets to hoist the bobble banner for the Mets’ most rousing championship season. I asked the artist if it was possible to have a glint of camera flash on Gary’s face. Not sure how it will come out.
1987 Darryl Strawberry — Kind of a sad season, but Darryl really broke out (30-30, 104 RBI), so it’s his season. He’ll be portrayed in uniform, not in a studio recording “Chocolate Strawberry“.
1988 Davey Johnson — In recognition of his five consecutive seasons of 90+ wins. Too bad we didn’t win more in the postseason in ’88. Too bad he had already shaved his mustache.
1989 Howard Johnson — Running wild, hitting ’em far, otherwise keeping his own counsel. I would expect his mouth won’t be open on his bobblehead.
***
1990 John Franco — Brooklyn’s own returns to Queens. Funny, but doesn’t it seem he came up with the Mets? Prepare to see him in a racing stripe uni, which you might forget was still in effect clear through ’92.
1991 David Cone — In a year when only HoJo really stood out (he had a habit of coming through when everyone else was in the tank), Coney gets the bobble nod for striking out nineteen Phillies while the cops waited to have a word with him on the final day of the season. That he tied the N.L. record for K’s while in that dreadful block-letter road jersey? That was the real crime. (But he’s in home Mets gear here.)
1992 Bobby Bonilla — We really don’t want to accentuate the negative, but this is 1992 we’re talking about, and once you assign certain players to certain seasons…let’s just say Bonilla’s bobblehead fits 1992 like a glove. But here’s a twist to make it all go down a little smoother. Bobby Bo’s biggest moment that season, once we understood who he was, was his walkoff homer in late August against Rob Dibble on Turn Back The Clock Night. Thus, the Bobby Bo you get in bobblehead will be wearing a 1962-era Mets uniform. Anything to blot out ’92 is welcome.
1993 Anthony Young — The record losing streak made AY indelible in the story of ’93. But the grace with which he conducted himself under immense pressure makes this bobblehead a story of redemption. Can’t help you with that tail on the Mets on the uniform, however. That’s what they wore back then.
1994 Rico Brogna — The committee was composed of about as savvy a bunch of Mets historians as there are, but I got blank stares when I brought up 1994. Nobody shot down my suggestion of Rico Brogna as that strike-shortened season’s temporary savior because nobody had a better one.
1995 Jason Isringhausen — I have to hand it to the Mets for not wanting to completely obscure the existence of Generation K. I think they’re pretty proud of their scouting. Izzy was and is a talent, evidence by his trying to hang on in Tampa Bay. For a few months in ’95, he was ours. So were Pulse and Paul, but just one bobble per star-crossed trio.
1996 Todd Hundley — The single-season Mets home run champ has laid low since the Mitchell Report surfaced, but he’s still the single-season Mets home run champ, and that season was ’96.
1997 John Olerud — Yes, he will be wearing the hard hat. And for fun, it will be the white, “ice cream” model. (Deal with it.)
1998 Al Leiter — We thought about saving Al for 2000, specifically the game of the World Series, but we didn’t want to have his left arm fall off after 142 pitches. Al was new in ’98 and making quite an impression. First bobble in black, FYI.
1999 Robin Ventura — They’re doing a thing — and don’t ask me how it works — in which raindrops appear visible as bobble Robin swings. He will be upright, not tackled at second.
***
2000 Edgardo Alfonzo — This was the year when the world at large recognized Fonzie as the most underrated player in the game, so if you look closely, you’ll see the artist has incorporated just a bit of a shadow cast by other, more famous teammates.
2001 Bobby Valentine —Bobby V will sport an NYPD cap in recognition of his above & beyond efforts on behalf of the 9/11 families that September and thereafter.
2002 Mike Piazza — Maybe you were wondering if we forgot the big man. Any Met year from 1998 forward could have been Mike’s, but we chose ’02 partly to accommodate other Mets icons from ’98 to ’01, partly because we didn’t want to give into our real feelings about this wretched season by giving it to Roberto Alomar and partly because it was Piazza’s last really productive year as starting catcher. It was also the season Mike had to deal with a particularly nosy press delving into his personal life, so let’s at least give him a bobblehead as a consolation prize.
2003 Bob Murphy — In a year when no player stood out, Murph’s goodbye lives on. Seemed appropriate to recognize his place in Mets history here. Too bad we couldn’t have a little speaker built in so you could hear some of his most memorable calls. He’ll be wearing the uniform that was presented to him on his night on September 25 (No. 42, for all the seasons he talked us through).
2004 David Wright — Rookie David, so young and eager and fresh. Could be easily confused with modern David. Truly the bright spot then, truly the leading light now.
2005 Pedro Martinez — The committee avoided distracting debates about the value of his contract in the long term and quickly agreed that Pedro represented all that was encouraging about that crucial turnaround year in Mets history. This bobble has the best smile in the whole band.
2006 Carlos Beltran — This, on the other hand, was not a smooth selection. Other Mets had their supporters, as it was a team effort to go to Game Seven of the NLCS. Beltran’s all-around excellence and Hundley-tying 41 homers carried the day. And no, he’s not standing and looking at strike three.
2007 Jose Reyes — This is the happy Jose who sped out to the MVP lead for the first four or five months, the one who broke Mookie’s record for steals. It’s not the one who did a reverse-Metamorphosis in September. We don’t bobblefy collapses.
2008 Bill Shea — As you can imagine, the lobbying for Johan Santana was intense. Not that I wouldn’t want to give Johan a lot of ceramic love after last September 27, but I argued that we need to be optimistic and imagine an even better signature season for our ace down the road. As for Mr. Shea…this one was indeed for lifetime achievement. His name will never again be on as many lips as it was in 2008. Bill will look as he did in ’64, but he will be resplendent in last year’s final day closing ceremonies shirt (No. 64 on the front, No. 08 on the back).
***
There you have it: 47 Mets for 47 years. Not perfect, but, I think, fair. Also a great value-added premium when you buy a seat at Citi Field this year. The good news is if you miss out on a given night (there are only 42,000 seats in the new place, after all), the Mets are going to work with local manufacturers to produce more. The idea is to set up permanent Bobble Stands at Citi. Those of you who went to the St. John’s game Sunday noted the presence of what appeared to be some unused or wasted space. I can now reveal that’s what those spaces are going to be devoted to: making every year Mets History Miniature Bobblehead Year at Citi Field. There might be some at-large or Wild Card selections in due time to add to The Original 47 (remember, our 50th anniversary season is practically around the corner), but let’s not get carried away. I think this program I’m announcing today is a helluva start and I applaud the Mets’ promotional minds for getting on board.
There are days as a fan and a blogger and, I suppose, an author, that I’m always going to remember. This is one of those days.
Don’t be fooled into not getting your copy of Faith and Fear in Flushing: An Intense Personal History of the New York Mets, available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or a bookstore near you. Listen to me tonight at 7 with Mike Silva and Howard Megdal on NY Baseball Digest; come see and hear Jason and me at Varsity Letters tomorrow night at 8; keep up with book happenings at Facebook; and maybe look into a shirt. It’s a real bargain.
by Greg Prince on 31 March 2009 11:44 pm 
Sports Illustrated just picked us to win the World Series, yet failed to place David Wright prominently on its cover. Perhaps we should be grateful that the mythic jinx has been averted, though SI granted Diamond Dave an upper right corner snipe (CC Sabathia took up most of the rest of the space…which is a true-to-life portrayal, one supposes). But let’s give it up for The Sporting News, which didn’t pick the Mets to go all the way, but at least understands how to get attention on a newsstand.
by Jason Fry on 31 March 2009 11:14 pm Not that a formal invitation is required, but this Thursday night, April 2, Greg will read from Faith and Fear in Flushing: An Intense Personal History of the New York Mets, at the Happy Ending Lounge, home of Varsity Letters. Here's hoping you'll come out and listen and cheer and maybe buy a copy. (Already got one? FAFIF: AIPHOTNYM also makes a great gift!)
Varsity Letters is a great venue, even when the program isn't properly Metscentric. The Happy Ending Lounge is easy to get to: It's at 302 Broome Street, between Forsyth and Eldridge on the Lower East Side. Near the F train and an easy taxi ride from downtown or midtown. Despite the name, the happy endings are strictly figurative by now — to paraphrase a Castillo-sized rock star, we'll do anything to get readers, but we won't do that. Though speaking of trading money for pleasure, around the corner you can get five awesome dumplings for a measly buck at Dumpling House.
Though I'm admittedly biased, let me join more-objective readers in saying that Faith and Fear is a great book. It's one of those one-more-chapter books that keep you reading until suddenly it's hours after you planned to go to bed. Yes, it's a terrific baseball chronicle. But it's also a superb memoir, told with bracing, unflinching honesty and gentle humor. I knew my favorite team before I read Faith and Fear, but when I finished it I knew them far better and appreciated them far more. The same goes for my friend Greg.
Oh, and it's got pictures! And an afterword with Gary Cohen! And a foreword by some schlubby co-blogger that's not even that bad.
Anyway, I'll have the honor of introducing Greg Thursday night and the greater honor of sitting back and listening to him tell part of his story. I hope you'll join me for that, and come say hi and help celebrate his book.
Speaking of Faith and Fear, you can read a terrific interview with Greg by Jim Chairusmi at Gelf Magazine. And Greg took part in a roundtable with MetsBlog's Matthew Cerrone and Amazin' Avenue's Sam Page today at Bats, the New York Times' baseball blog. All three have wise counsel for the season to come.
The rest of the lineup for Varsity Letters: Matt McCarthy, author of Odd Man Out, a memoir of life in the minors; Mets poet Frank Messina, whom we like already; and Alex Belth, creator of Bronx Banter and the author of a terrific Curt Flood biography. Belth's a Yankee fan — you're not going to let him pull in a bigger crowd than Greg, now are you? (Actually Alex is a great writer and a wonderful guy, inexplicable rooting interests aside.)
Hope we see you there!
* * *
Sartorial Announcement: We now have lots more Numbers shirts available at PrintMojo, so if your size was out in recent weeks, head on over and gear up.
by Jason Fry on 30 March 2009 4:03 am 
Citi Field offered Jason and family a bit of bad and a lot of good, as discussed in these first impressions, but on the good side of the ledger it was hard to top this double helping of Awesome.
by Jason Fry on 30 March 2009 3:21 am (Let's try an experiment — follow along with this travelogue at this album on Facebook. If it doesn't work, holler in the comments and I'll put it on Flickr or something.)
The first thing that I saw at Citi Field and the first thing that happened to me at Citi Field had something in common: They were nice surprises. Neither is a guarantee of anything, but they made for a heartening start.
Joshua and I landed at La Guardia around 11:30, and had made plans to meet Emily at noon in front of the rotunda, which was logical enough given that it's the only Citi Field landmark any of us know. The dispatcher looked at me blankly when I said Citi Field. So did the cabbie. If nothing else, Shea Stadium will live on in the navigational lexicon of New Yorkers for some time. To spare the cabbie a potentially hellish odyssey, I told him to let me and Joshua out where the left-field corner borders whatever road it is that used to serve as the boundary between the parking lot and the chop shops. (We'll learn.) We stepped out of the cab and right in front of us were sepia banners affixed to the side of the new stadium. And there, friezelike, were Tom Seaver, Tug McGraw, Rusty Staub, Keith Hernandez, Jesse Orosco, Gary Carter, Dwight Gooden, Darryl Strawberry, Lenny Dykstra, Mike Piazza and John Franco — along with Carlos Beltran, Jose Reyes, David Wright, Johan Santana and room for some more. Below them, crowning the left-field gate, was a silhouette instantly recognizable as Endy Chavez leaping above the fence. The right-field gate has Ron Swoboda in full dive, making for nice bookends. Oh, and from the sublimely reassuring to the ridiculously reassuring: The looped message that plays outside Citi Field still inveighs against “the irresponsible action of a misbehaving few.” (I think an 's' got dropped somewhere, but that's OK.)
Veteran readers of this blog will know Greg and I were of different minds about the passing of Shea and the arrival of Citi Field. But we agreed that we saw worrisome signs of an organization inclined to downplay, sell or erase its history in moving into Citi — our fear was that the park would evoke Ebbets Field but skip over Shea, as if a shabby park somehow invalidated the scintillating memories that were made in its blameless confines. As we'll see, things aren't as they should be in that department just yet, but the Mets' first steps are absolutely in the right direction. Getting a first sign of that while I still had one foot in a cab did a lot to set my mind at ease.
Joshua and I decided we wouldn't go in just yet, so we could all share first impressions with Emily, arriving via the 7 train. So we started to walk down the left-field facade to the rotunda. I got within about 10 feet of the first bag checkpoint, staffed by Citi Field security guys in maroon jackets and Met caps, and heard something that made me do a double-take: “Welcome to Citi Field — thanks for coming out, and hope you enjoy the game.”
Huh?
Not “that bag is an inch too big, so take it back to your nonexistent car or hide it in a bush.” Not “BAGS OUT!” Not the vacuum created by surly silence. It was a greeting (I paraphrased a bit, as I was shocked), one that sounded genuine. And it wasn't just one guy — everywhere we went in Citi Field, we were treated invariably courteously and often warmly. That was another thing Greg and I had worried about in the interim — that better-angled seats and new amenities would be undermined by transplanting the same surly, inept vendors and ushers and counter people who too often made Shea a lousy experience to the new park. So far, the indications on that score are all very, very positive. There are old faces (and to be fair, some of the Shea staffers were welcome exceptions to an ugly rule), but the attitudes seem very new. It's a completely different experience.
Part of the fun of the St. John's-Georgetown exhibition was seeing 20,000 or so Met fans (the mist/cold/rain seemed like it cut down the crowd considerably) collectively wandering around with craned necks, learning their new home and trying stuff out. (Greetings to Dana Brand and Zoe Rice, online friends finally met in the flesh.) Conditioned by Madison Square Park, Emily and Joshua and I marched immediately to Shake Shack, whose trademark letters rise just below the old skyline that crowned Shea's scoreboard. Those sights together were enough to make me want to jump up and down, and it got better from there. The lines at the Shack were shorter than your average queue for a helping of Congealed Whatever at Shea (“We don't got no more Congealed Whatevah — NEXT!”), the prices were reasonable, and the quality of the Shackburger was indistinguishable from Madison Square Park. OK, the staff didn't have any idea what to do with customers waiting for their orders, which needs to be fixed but falls under the heading of First Day Forgiveable given everything else. I was too busy wolfing down Shackburgers with obscene glee to try the other Danny Meyer offerings, but I'll put that right soon enough. Another welcome sign in the left-field eateries area — staffers emptying trash cans so stuff wasn't overflowing everywhere.
Our seats were in the Promenade level; temporarily sated, I looked down at our tickets and realized I had not the faintest idea how to get there. And what's Promenade level, anyway? That was definitely a strange experience, being utterly lost in one's home park. (The backstairs are the way to travel. And, I suspect, the place people will congregate to smoke. Which would be against the new rules but basically harmless.) Once we got there, we found that the Promenade is the equivalent of the upper deck at Shea, and we were seated under the out-of-town scoreboard down the left-field line. The good news about Citi Field's seats is they're wider, have more legroom, are properly angled to the field of play and much closer to the action. Heck, that all adds up to great news. Basically, take the equivalent level of Shea, subtract one and move about a third forward and you'll have an idea of what kind of view you'll get: Our seats were far down the left-field line, a few rows from the top of the stadium, and they felt like we were in the same spot at Shea but about a third of the way up the mezzanine with a good angle. The bad news? The park's dimensions and overhanging decks suggest to me that there are a fair amount more seats where you'll lose an outfield corner and part of center.
There are many more places to eat — with lines that looked shorter everywhere, I suspect because the infrastructure is much better. There are many more bathrooms, with the whir of automatic towel dispensers replacing the roar of geysering toilets, and no recruiting pitch from the Dallas Police Department just yet. (The ovoid urinals struck me as a bit more Barcelona disco than New York ballpark, but so long as they work….) The left-field and right-field bleacher areas are connected by bridgework that doesn't particularly evoke any New York City landmark (though I'm sure the Mets will claim it's channeling something) but serves surprisingly well to tie those areas together. Generally speaking, the pathways for circulating around the stadium almost invariably take you behind people's seats instead of in front of them, which should cut down on screams of “DOWN IN FRONT!” And unlike Shea, Citi Field has a lot of unique geography — there's a food-court area high behind home plate that will become popular, the rotunda, the overview of the bullpens, the bridges that link the bleacher areas and the main stadium, and a lot of other nooks and quirks that we'll need to learn but I think will come to like, with fans sharing navigational tips and favorite hangouts in ways that weren't possible at Shea. Oh, and the home-run apple is gigantic and has its own lair in center — a Georgetown player hit one out, and the Hoyas were nominally the home team, but we couldn't see if it rose. (Update: It didn't.) Happily, Shea's apple is still there too — it's been saved and is down by the bullpens, where it attracted a long line of folks waiting to have their pictures snapped with it.
Another difference is more subtle: Shea was surrounded by an ocean of parking, and so felt like a suburban park. The back of Citi Field overlooks the maze of Willets Point chop shops, which will lead to thousands of jokes but definitely feels different: At least at that end, Citi Field feels like an urban park. It would be easy to make too much of this: The view is more Albania than Wrigleyville, and between eminent domain, ground pollution and the lack of infrastructure out there it'll be the view for a long, long time. But it's a bigger change than you might think.
Those are scattershot impressions from a single, very odd day with a small crowd and no actual big-leaguers on the field. (The plink of aluminum bats was borderline sacrilege.) I'm going to be lost for a while (what's Empire level, anyway?), and to really start getting to know Citi Field I'm going to need to see it after a Met comeback that leaves the faithful bellowing LET'S GO METS! as we march triumphantly out. And I'm going to need to sit it during some hot-as-hell night when the boys are down 10-2 in the third and the relievers have applied to enter the Witness Protection Program. I'm going to need to see it during close plays and managerial rhubarbs and slow-building rallies and tense extra innings and torpid middle ones. I'm going to need to see National Anthem singers and throwers of first pitches and giveaway days and ceremonies. I'm going to need to build up a backlog of Citi Field knowledge the way I did at Shea, in other words.
Oh, and of course there are things that need to be put right:
* The rotunda is not what it should be. It looks impressive from the outside and does make for a very nice introduction to the stadium. But inside it still looks a long way away from completion — you come in, look up at the ceiling and see not a soaring dome, but a crazy quilt of ductwork and pipes. (To be fair — Citi Field is, in fact, not actually finished. For example, the outfield walls are missing not only retired numbers but also distance markers.) A bigger problem is that the big number 42 detracts from the very nice salute to Jackie Robinson — at least for me, it's unfortunately more evocative of “The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy” than of a ferociously brave ballplayer and human being. I think an actual statue would work much better than a big number.
* The interior hallways are pretty bare. I'm sure this is temporary, but I hope, expect and will soon demand that we get many more banners and posters and nods to Met history to serve as not only reminders but also as landmarks. I hope all those banners at Shea are replicated somehow, and other bits of Met history are unearthed and shared. Again, early indications are very good — there's the scoreboard crown, the sepia banners, the silhouettes of players, and the old apple having not just been saved but presented so you can actually touch it. Much more of this please — for example, inscribe a concourse wall with the name of every Met to wear the uniform. (I'll make an Al Schmelz rubbing just to say I did.) Give us busts for the members of the Met Hall of Fame. Do anything and everything you can think of. Steep and soak the place in Met history.
* The A/V services aren't in place, so Citi Field gets an incomplete there. I hope the radio feed is piped into the bathrooms, and the concourses and concession stands have TVs so you don't miss anything. Again, the early indications are good: There were HDTVs in the right-field seats, and what looked like mountings for many more. And the area around Shake Shack and the kids' wiffle-ball field (another nice touch) has a mini-scoreboard and DiamondVision so parents can keep following the game while keeping a promise to Junior.
* The Danny Meyer area doesn't have anywhere to stop and eat — we kept looking for chest-high counters or somewhere to set down our burgers. This may be intentional, in order to get you back to your seats, and there are tables a bit farther along. But the natural inclination is to stop there, and there's nowhere to do it — so at the very least, fans will have a learning curve figuring out where to go. The food area above and behind home plate (I don't know the name of anything yet) has lots of picnic-style benches, and works a lot better.
* OK, this is ridiculously petty, but it annoyed me: The shade of blue in the bathrooms is closer to the Chicago Bears than to the New York Mets. I know Met blue has wandered around the Pantone scale since 1962, but it should match the team logo. (Oh, like you didn't guess I'd scrutinize the blue in the pissoir.)
I'm sure I'll nitpick more. But I don't want nitpicking to obscure the main point, and that's that my first impressions from a whirlwind tour were that Citi Field delivers: much better views of the game, much better food options, many more concessions and bathrooms, and customer service that feels night-and-day different than Shea's. (None of that is necessarily Shea's fault, but what else are you going to compare the new place to?) And the ballpark doesn't feel generic, which was something else I'd feared — the rotunda, despite its faults/growing pains, feels unique, as does the bridgework in the bleacher areas, the light stands and many other things. You want to explore not just to figure out where to go, but because you actually find interesting places if you do. That's nice.
And hey, Citi Field has Shake Shack and will soon have the Mets. Those are pretty big advantages too.
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You'll also have a big advantage if you pick up Faith and Fear in Flushing: An Intense Personal History of the New York Mets. And don't forget that this Thursday, Greg will be reading from his book at Varsity Letters on the LES. I even get to introduce him! You can get copies of FAFIF: AIHPOTNYM there, or come prepared with your own by visiting Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or a bookstore near you. To keep up on discussion and events related to FAFIF: AIPHOTNYM, join us at Facebook.
by Greg Prince on 28 March 2009 8:04 pm I like this week, the week when Spring Training winds down. It's not next week, the week when the season begins and we forget this week, but I always enjoy the Baseball Eve feeling that breezes in right around now. It's the last ten minutes of eighth period before the bell rings, the Sunrise Highway exit off the Belt from my longer-haul driving days.
This is the week of Jose Valentin, the veteran who isn't making the team in 2009. Will he go to Buffalo to player-coach? Get an offer elsewhere? Decide this would be the summer to try living without baseball? We get caught up in these little veterans' last chance stories every February and March. Most times they don't work out, sometimes they work a little, once in a while they blow your mind and work brilliantly. This time Jose Valentin didn't work out. It was nice to see if it would, though.
This is the week of Marlon Anderson, a veteran with a contract but not a spot. Will Marlon get the benefit of the doubt? Be too expensive to release? Seem not worth the trouble? Will we regret whichever decision we make that involves Marlon Anderson? We won't necessarily know next week or for a couple of months. This week it's compelling to dwell on him.
This is the week for Bobby Kielty and Nick Evans, guys who deserve permanent roster space — as permanent as permanent can be down the personnel food chain — based on their spring work (which is to say that every time I look up, one or the other is doing something helpful). Yet they are the fellows most prone to that phrase you'll hear this week a lot and not much after: the numbers game. The numbers say we can only keep this many bench players, and we had to make a decision and as a result…
This is the week for the fifth starter. Liván Hernandez has clinched it, but he won't be the fifth starter after a fashion. He'll be the starter on the date he starts. His designation matters, at most, in terms of keeping an extra bat (Evans?) around for a few days next week. But once you're around a few days, anything can happen. Liván, if he's around more than five days, will be just one of the five guys doing the same job.
This is the week of Rule 5 draftee Darren O'Day and late pickup Fernando Nieve and ancient Elmer Dessens and the reality that they can't all make the staff. One or two might. Three won't. Maybe one dips down to the Bisons and comes back. Maybe one is claimed by another team or offered as required to the club that let him go. Maybe it won't matter within a couple of weeks if Bullpen Roulette — inevitable, even in bullpens that aren't as suicidal as ours was last year — takes hold early.
This is the week, perhaps, of somebody we haven't yet met. Guys do show up late. It was thirty years ago yesterday, a friend reminded me, that the Mets traded Nino Espinosa for Richie Hebner, making us a little surlier and a lot less hairy in the process. Mark Clark moved into the rotation the day before there was a rotation in 1996. I showed up at the Opener in '93, saw Wayne Housie trot out to the Mets' baseline and wondered, despite having paid close attention all spring long, who the hell is that?
In weeks to come, new names will join the team to, in the words of Terry Cashman, start…or augment…another dream. This week is this week. This week is unique. It's not next week, but it'll do for now.
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Three reviews came in yesterday for Faith and Fear in Flushing: An Intense Personal History of the New York Mets and each was Amazin', more Amazin' and then even more Amazin'. Great thanks to Mr. Healey, Ms. Rose and Mr. Brand for reading closely, thinking deeply and writing beautifully. For your copy of the book described generously as “written just for you”; “full of heart, and full of heartbreak”; and “a gift, from one of us to all of us,” please visit Amazon, Barnes & Noble or a bookstore near you. To keep up on discussion and events related to FAFIF: AIPHOTNYM, join us at Facebook.
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Flashback Friday is going through its dead arm period and is slated to return Friday, April 3. In the meantime, be sure to catch one of the repeat airings of SNY's Mets Weekly between now and then. New host, new look and a lot of Razor Shines.
by Greg Prince on 27 March 2009 11:56 pm 
I loved this patio from the first time I saw it in 2007. It was built by the First Family of Mets Fandom, the Chapmans of Central Jersey, to accommodate Wiffle Ball, the sport of kings and Mets Guys everywhere. The hard infield made Baltimore chops a specialty. The outfield fence marked 69 feet from home plate. Beverages were available right inside that screen door. The only element missing was proper fan seating. The blue chairs were all right, but they had to be scavenged from Veterans Stadium, meaning who knows whose bottoms wallowed in them?
But now the home team can sit properly on the first base side in these just-installed beautiful orange seats from gorgeous Shea Stadium. They’re Mets fan-tested, Mets fan-approved. And you can’t go wrong with orange and blue, even blue that was miscast in the Philadelphia Penal Colony for several seasons.
by Greg Prince on 27 March 2009 12:16 am As someone who grew up subject to my father's AM audio leanings, I can't think of too many things that sound classier than a traditional radio talk show from an outstanding restaurant. No kidding. Puts me in mind of Barry Gray, of Bill Mazer and now of Mark Healey, host of Baseball Digest Live, broadcast out of Foley's NY on W. 33rd St., across from the Empire State Building between Fifth and Sixth middays. This Friday, March 27 at 12:30 PM, Mark has invited me on BDL to discuss Faith and Fear in Flushing: An Intense Personal History of the New York Mets, the first such public forum for the book everybody (and I mean everybody…no, really, everybody) is talking about. (Here's a taste from NY Sports Day if Messrs. Amazin', Loge and Numbers haven't convinced you.)
You can listen to it here, but you can also come down and be a part of it here, where I'll sign your copy of the book or almost anything you'd like (your lunchtime check and my death warrant excepted…actually, let's just stick to the book). We'd love to have you join us somewhere in there as much as this clever site wants David Wright to grow a mustache. I know that's the face on which The Wright Stache is Wrightly focused, but I thank them for shining a hairy spotlight on this guy for what was going on a little south of his often uncooperative cap. Between the Barry Gray reference and the John Pacella homage, I am feeling quite old-school tonight.
Reminder: This is only the beginning of the Faith and Fear media assault. Next stop: On Wednesday, April 1, 7 PM, I join Mike Silva and Howard Megdal on NY Baseball Digest for a full hour of intense personal history. And the next night — Thursday, April 2 at 8 PM — I'll be on the bill at Gelf Magazine's Varsity Letters sports reading series, at the Happy Ending Lounge on the Lower East Side. Jason Fry, who you may remember from Faith and Fear in Flushing: The Blog for Mets Fans Who Like to Read, returns from top-secret assignment to introduce me, having already proven expert at that underrated task.
More FAFIF promotional arrangements are being made as we speak, so keep one eye peeled to this space and one more on the book's page on Facebook, where you can discuss the book with at least 107 individuals who I'd objectively have to say possess exquisite taste. And keep your ears directed toward Baseball Digest Live.
THANKS TO ALL WHO DROPPED BY OR CALLED FRIDAY. IF YOU SOMEHOW MISSED THE SHOW, YOU CAN DOWNLOAD IT HERE (I come in at about the 1:30:00 mark; the audio is slightly weird in the early going but you can hear me).
Your copy of Faith and Fear in Flushing: An Intense Personal History of the New York Mets awaits you via Amazon, Barnes & Noble or a book store near you.
by Greg Prince on 24 March 2009 10:45 pm The phone rang at my desk on May 22, 1998. I didn’t recognize the voice.
“Hi,” someone said. “You’re gonna have Mike Piazza on the Mets, but he might or might not use some substances that aren’t exactly on the up and up to keep his performance at the extraordinary level it’s been since he’s been in the majors. Not saying he’s doing that now, but he might have been. You still want him on the Mets?”
I said yes.
The phone rang in my home on October 19, 1999. Same voice.
“Hi,” someone said. “The Mets are down to the Braves 7-3 right now and if they don’t come back, they’re done for in the NLCS. We’re headed to the seventh. Piazza can hit an absolute laser of a homer off Smoltz and tie it in a few minutes, but he might need a little something to help him, considering how banged up he’s been this month. He might not, but I’m just saying it’s a possibility. You OK with that?”
I said yes.
The phone rang in my pocket at my seat on June 30, 2000. Same voice.
“Hi,” someone said. “Listen, I know this game sucks right now in the middle of the eighth, the Mets losing 8-1, but some baserunners are gonna get on and before you know it, it will be tied 8-8, two will be on and Piazza will be up. He can take one mighty swing and give you the memory of a lifetime here. I mean you’ll be talking about this forever. Thing is the swing might not produce anything unless he’s sort of ‘enhanced’ before coming to bat. Can’t say for sure that he’ll need that extra boost, but if we have to go that route, will you sign off on that decision?”
I said yes.
Every now and then, I’d get a call like that. Same basic proposition: Mike Piazza will perform as no Met before him did, as no Met around him could. Every time he did, it would give me a thrill unsurpassed by any other sensation. But I had to say yes, that however Piazza prepared himself to deliver on my behalf was all right by me.
I always said yes.
It’s years since Mike Piazza played for the Mets. I got one more call from that voice, this afternoon.
“Hi,” someone said. “A book is coming out that alleges Mike Piazza used performance-enhancing substances. There’s no irrefutable evidence, but it’s by a writer you basically trust. And it’s not the first time someone’s mentioned this sort of thing. Anyway, you’ve been a Mets fan your whole life and you never got a rush from any Met the way you did from Piazza hitting those amazing, dramatic homers he had such a knack for. So I’m just wondering, do these revelations — if they’re true, and we don’t know if they are — change any of the way you felt toward Mike Piazza?”
I said no. Not really.
Faith and Fear in Flushing: An Intense Personal History of the New York Mets is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other fine booksellers.
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