As FAFIF’s 2009 Mets Fantasy Camp correspondent, he’s hit, he’s run, he’s fielded, he’s thrown and he’s blogged with power, so in our book, that makes Jeff Hysen a five-tool blogger. We appreciate his taking time out from his week of a lifetime to share his experiences with all of us here and are honored to bring you his final St. Lucie report.

Anthony Young struck out 245 batters in his major league career, so that means that I am in good company. The final day of camp was wonderful in all respects. I couldn’t sleep, partially in anticipation of playing against the pros at Tradition Field, and partially because my hand hurt after getting jammed during Friday’s championship game (lineout to first). It shouldn’t surprise you that I was one of the first campers to get to the field, but there were more pros there than campers. I noticed that the pros were throwing and taking BP as the week went on to prepare for the game. I think that once a game, any game, even one in a fantasy camp, is at hand, a competitive streak kicks in for them. It’s what differentiates them as pros.

I didn’t have to tell Anthony Young to “bring the s**t” (not that I would have, I couldn’t hit the s**t of a 50-year-old CPA) but he brought it anyway. He was throwing at about 80 and he easily mowed us down en route to a 4-0 win (three-inning game, pros are home, pros have a two-run limit per inning). I played second base and it was great being on the same field that the Mets will play on in one month. Pete Schourek hit an inside-the-park homer to dead center. (This probably won’t surpass what he said was his biggest career thrill: hitting a home run off Curt Schilling.)

After one last trip to the clubhouse, it was back to the field for the farewell lunch. I was glad that my parents were able to meet some of the pros featured in these columns, including Joe Pignatano, Lenny Randle, John Stearns and Pat Zachry, who didn’t mention to them anything about my always [friggin’] smiling.

I had three goals for the week (other than to have a good time):

1) To get two hits; one would have been a fluke. I hit .179, with 4 hits and 3 RBI. Laugh if you want, but that’s fine with me. Of course I wish I did better but, as my son Dylan told me, I’ve never faced a curveball before. Plus, all the BP in the world can’t match hitting in a game.

2) To make a great play in the field. Nope. I made some routine plays at second, caught a flyball in right and made a few errors at both positions.

3) Not to get hurt. It turns out that this is impossible, as every camper absorbed some sort of injury. My quads tightened, I got a blister, I have a big black and blue mark on my left bicep, and, as mentioned above, I hurt my hand. Yet I’m definitely not complaining.

The pros really believe that it’s a simple game. As Willie Montañez told me last night, “see the ball, hit the ball.” Yeah. Ballplayers don’t believe in “clutch” or “choke”. They believe that sometimes the other guy beats you.

It’s fun to go out for drinks with a plastic surgeon (cheers, Ira and Howie). If, however, Pete Schourek wants to make a bar bet with you, decline.

I talked with Randy Niemann Friday night and he is excited to be with the big club this year. Since he’s the bullpen coach, I’m not sure how that translates into winning more games but he’s somebody who has won multiple titles (seven, he told me, including the 1986 World Series).

At dinner last night, we sat together as a team and I said to “Sully,” one of my teammates, how special this felt. He said that guys like us haven’t been on too many teams (that’s not true for all campers but it is in my case) and this camp gave us the chance to see what it was like, albeit for five days.

Please indulge the following closing sentiments…

To Alan, Vinny, Allan, Ed, Victor, Fred, Rich, Dwight and John: thank you being my teammates.

To Buzz Capra, Willie Montañez and John Shoemaker: I wish I could have played as well as you coached.

To my parents: thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

To my colleagues: the Mets don’t want me — I’ll be in on Monday.

To my friends: my apologies in advance as I will undoubtedly be telling you stories about camp until you’re sick of them.

To Greg and Jason: thank you for allowing me to share my thoughts on this great blog. (I feel like Billy Preston.)

To the pros and staff at Mets Fantasy Camp: you put on a helluva show.

To my fellow campers: it’s been a blast.

To you, for reading: wow — thank you very much.

It was an honor wearing the uniform of the New York Mets. I hope that the real New York Mets feel the same way.

Finally: some things, probably most things in life don’t meet let alone exceed expectations.

This did.

The final day of Mets Fantasy Camp is at hand and FAFIF correspondent Jeff Hysen doesn’t sound quite ready to leave the big league life behind for the drudgery of Lean Cuisines, but that, one supposes, is why they call the week he’s been living in a fantasy. But there’s still the little matter of the final game Saturday, and what it will be like to face big league pitching, so the fantasy ain’t over yet. And what’s this about an infiltrator in the midst of Met paradise? Jeff has the St. Lucie scoop from Friday.

When I talk about the “big league experience,” I mean everything here is big league. The grounds crew rakes and manicures the fields. The batting helmets are organized for us by size. The kitchen staff is feeding us like pros. Each meal has been excellent and I will miss it on Monday when I put a Lean Cuisine in the microwave for lunch.

After breakfast and a final lesson with Mickey Brantley (this guy knows so much about hitting — I can’t believe that he doesn’t have a major league job), we had our final morning meeting. We have apparently mastered the laundry loop, or it doesn’t matter anymore, because we didn’t receive any further instruction. John Stearns gave out the Brown Rope and Golden Rope awards for the day and I was nominated for both: brown for screwing up two fly balls in right and looking particularly bad in the process, and gold for my perfectly executed bunt that helped us win a game.

After stretching, it was onto the semis. I set a few modest goals for myself, and one was to get two hits. I had three going into the semifinal game but I wanted to know what it would be like to hit one hard and in my third AB, I did.

When you hit a ball on the screws, it makes a very loud sound…loud and glorious. It was an RBI double that helped us defeat Kevin Baez’s team and move onto the finals. I wish it happened more than once.

Stearns said that it was one of the best championship games in camp history. Sadly, the final was very Metlike for us as Millan’s Nine Lives scored four in the bottom of the seventh to win 7-6. The guys on our team were great and it has been a pleasure meeting them and playing ball with them. The coaches really got into it to; the game even featured a mild argument (in Spanish) between Felix Millan and Willie Montañez.

As I’ve mentioned, many of the guys came with friends. There are some fathers and sons, some brothers, some cousins and some guys whose wives and kids are hanging around, but most guys are on their own. Yet, it doesn’t matter because after a day, you become friends with your teammates and the guys around your locker. There is great camaraderie in camp. However, sadly, I must report, that there is one guy who has upset many of us. He’s not a bad guy, and he’s a good ballplayer, but he’s a fan of the MFYs (you know, the other team in New York). He’s part of a group of ten pals and the word has gone around camp about this guy. I would never-EVER wear an MFY uniform but this guy is wearing a Mets uniform…and to make it worse, he’s wearing 9, not in honor of J.C. Martin but for Graig Nettles.

To respond to two comments:

1) Sorry, but I can’t break the sanctity of Kangaroo Court. I will tell you that you shouldn’t be talking to your wife when it’s your turn at bat.

2) To the poster who asked where my “boo-boo” is from being hit by a pitch, it’s on my left bicep which is massive so it didn’t hurt. However, a black and blue mark has appeared which I am wearing as a badge of honor.

Friday night was the closing banquet. We mingled with the coaches and got autographs and pictures. They were friendly and accommodating and it was fun talking with them one last time. Even though we’re almost finished, they continue to be regular guys. Randy Niemann seemed very psyched to be with the Mets staff this season. Awards were given out to the championship team and individual awards were given out as well for various categories, including the Cleon Jones Award for highest average and the Gary Carter Award for best defensive catcher.

Tomorrow is the big day as the campers play the pros at Tradition Field. Pete Schourek and Anthony Young are two of the pitchers. I’m told that if you want one of the pro pitchers to show you what it’s like to face a major league fastball, you tell them to “bring the s**t.”

We’ll see.

FAFIF Fantasy Camp Correspondent Jeff Hysen is rounding third and sprinting toward his final full day in St. Lucie. Are his pockets lighter? Did he prepare his laundry correctly? Is it possible one former Met is a stickler for grammar? Here’s the dope from Thursday.

One piece of advice that I would give someone going to a baseball fantasy camp is to do sprints. I took up jogging and that’s helped me lose weight and gain stamina but it doesn’t help you when you have to drop the bat and run or run around the bases or move to track a fly ball. As a result, my quads hurt. I’m not complaining, though. It’s part of the Fantasy Camp experience. The trainers are fantastic — they are from the Mets minor league system — and they treat us great. There are a lot of campers with injuries far worse than mine but nobody is going home or missing a game.

Having regular Mets staffers here is one of the ways that they treat each of us like a major leaguer. Our bus driver is used during Spring Training, and he drives the Port St. Lucie Mets during their season. The clubhouse guys are regular staffers. They’ve welcomed us like we’re part of the team.

Thursday officially began with the daily meeting. First, we received our third talk about the laundry loop. Then, Commissioner John Stearns gave out the Golden Rope and Brown Rope. The Golden Rope is for play the previous day. They have multiple nominees (and were generous enough to make me one) and wound up giving the rope to a guy who pitched a complete game despite having a broken bone in his pitching hand. The Brown Rope goes to players and coaches for misdeeds like forgetting to wear your helmet; wearing your chest protector inside out; or for making a bad managerial move. Everybody applauds and it gets the day going on a fun note.

A lot of credit for that goes to Stearns who has nonstop enthusiasm. The four games are on adjacent fields and he goes from field to field cheering us on.

To amend the original coaches list — not here: Eric Hillman, Rodney McCray, Rafael Santana, Guy Conti; here: Ed Kranepool (for two days but two days of seeing Kranepool was special); Bernard Gilkey; and, as of Thursday, Tim Teufel.

The weather finally turned warm as the day went on. We won our final “regular season” game. Bunting is not encouraged because guys usually want to swing the bat, but with the game on the line, I bunted with the score tied in the bottom of the sixth (we play seven innings) and runners on first and second, nobody out. I managed to beat it out and we scored 4 runs. Later, we won our first playoff game in extra innings to advance to the semis.

Pat Zachry update: he said that I seemed sinister because I smile so much. Zachry is one of many good guys among the coaching staff. Wine, Brantley, Randle, Schourek, Gaspar, Millan, Capra, Montañez…I really could name them all.

Thursday night was the Kangaroo Court. As it was a “closed session,” I will not tell you exactly what transpired, but I can tell you that I managed largely to escape its wrath. I was told that I would be fined for wearing jeans in the batting cage — it was 7:30 in the morning, at least I was in the cage! — but there were other transgressions worse than mine.

From there, it was back to Duffy’s. I’ll just say that the coaches don’t mind hanging out with the players and the players are thrilled to hang out with the coaches. Turns out one of them claims to have been reading my reports here and believes I end too many sentences with prepositions.

Nevertheless, he’s still a good guy to hang out with.

FAFIF Fantasy Camp correspondent Jeff Hysen is not letting the laundry loop hamper his [friggin’] good time in St. Lucie, but he may be a little lighter in the pockets once the kangaroo court gavels into session. What’s said in the bull session mostly stays in the bull session, but Jeff has a few other things to tell us.

I knew that I would have to learn to hit and throw and run but I didn’t know that I would have to learn about the laundry loop. This is a big deal at camp. We’ve been lectured on it twice and the clubhouse guys come around to see if we’re doing it right. For a proper loop, you put a sock in the loop on the end, tighten the loop, do the same at the other end with your other sock, then put everything else (other than uniform and towels) in the middle, belt the two ends, and throw it in the bin. Apparently some aren’t doing it correctly, which prompted a repeat lecture.

It was really cold this morning. I don’t expect sympathy, given the weather “up north,” but when you come to Florida, you don’t expect to hear the phrases “dress in layers” and “wind chill advisory.” After another hitting session with Mickey Brantley, I went for a run on the campus. I passed Gil Hodges Way and Tom Seaver Curve en route to Tradition Field. I ran around the warning track until the automatic sprinklers went on. It made me think of Pedro.

It was picture day so after a group picture, a picture with the coaching staff, individual pictures and team pictures (all available for a price), it was onto our first game. One of our guys hit a shot that I thought was out but it struck the fence (on a fly!). I thought that the fence was very high and it was. The field was configured to the specifications of Citi Field. Once this season starts, we’re going to be bemoaning the heights of the fences…well, at least in the bottom halves of innings.

Just so you know about these games, we play seven innings, a pitcher has to be pulled after giving up six runs, there is no stealing, no running on the pitch (unless it’s a 3-2 count with two outs), the leads are only to the edge of the grass, and there are no wild pitches or passed balls. The lineup begins where it ended at the previous game to help ensure equal playing time. When I saw that each team had between nine and eleven guys, I said that this meant a lot of action. I was told that we’d miss the extra players and this has already come true — guys get hurt and you need the extra players. The team we played in the afternoon needed coaches to play in center and right.

I was surprised at how annoyed/upset I was with myself for hitting poorly Tuesday. I haven’t faced a pitcher throwing a hardball in about 38 years so I shouldn’t have been surprised, yet I was. There are many guys here who are really into the games and, to an extent, that’s rubbed off on me. I thought that the games would be relaxed and fun, but they are serious (despite the modified rules). One repeat camper said that he was only here because he did so poorly last year. Another said he was here to “redeem himself” for last year. One guy said that he’s not even a Mets fan and is only here to play ball (making the fantasy part irrelevant for him).

I’m happy to report that things went better Wednesday. In the first game, I had the game winning RBI when I was hit by a pitch with the bases loaded. In the second game, I had two hits. More importantly, Capra’s Cyclones won twice. We have some excellent players on the team. Coach Capra — Buzz — was very happy.

From there, it was time for a Bull Session in which the coaches answered our questions. I will not relay most of what was said; not that it was controversial, but they weren’t speaking for attribution (only for us). We heard stories about 1969, Yogi and Gil. One thing that I think you will be interested in: when a question was asked about the last two Septembers, new bullpen coach Randy Niemann stood up and said, slowly, “That will not happen again.”

Pat Zachry update: he saw me at photos and yelled “stop [friggin’] smiling!” As I walked into the Bull Session, he simply scowled and made a motion across his lips.

Capra’s Cyclones had a team bonding dinner at Duffy’s. Buzz joined us and told some great stories. Two more games tomorrow and then the Kangaroo Court. I’ve already been told that I will be fined. More on that tomorrow.

FAFIF Fantasy Camp correspondent Jeff Hysen spent Inauguration Day not so solemnly swearing while, to the best of his ability, attempting to execute fundamentals and defend against fly balls. Now that he’s iced his chest, Jeff files his dispatch from Tuesday.

The next time that I hear about a player being late for practice during spring training, I will think of this morning. Events didn’t start until 8:45 but at least half the camp was at the field by 7:00.

I saw Pat Zachry again and he again said to me “You’re [friggin’] smiling. People are gonna think you’re having a good time!” I said “I am having a good time.” He said, “What?” and I answered, “I am having a [friggin’] good time!”

He laughed.

After a nice breakfast, which included grits, we went to the hitting cages. I had a lesson with Mickey Brantley, who is an excellent teacher. After stretching, we were divided into groups for evaluation. First was outfield play. Ron Swoboda told us that he learned a lot by watching Curt Flood. Lenny Randle stressed the importance of not colliding with anybody — he said that when a fly ball was hit his way, he would yell “get the [frig] out of the way!” It was very windy and tough to catch the flies. After I did, Randle chest bumped me.

At pitching and catching, Zachry saw me and yelled “you’re still smiling!” Anthony Young tried to teach me to pitch, without success. Then Zachry came over, said “you don’t suck as much as you think you do” and switched me to a stretch position — which sort of worked. From there, we had a hitting lesson with former Mets minor league coach Al LeBeouf (“the bat is not an automatic weapon…it is manually operated”). After that, it was infield, with Doug Flynn and Bobby Wine. Wine didn’t like me missing a grounder and got on my case. It is all in fun, I think. We then hit and broke for the morning.

Yes, we watched the inauguration. Lenny Randle was almost in tears.

The coaches picked their teams and I was put on Buzz Capra’s team, the Cyclones. Willie Montañez is one of our coaches. We lost our game 6-5 to a team coached by Pete Schourek and Felix Millan. Let’s just say that I didn’t contribute much to the effort (if you’re reading this and expecting me to tell you stories of my diamond exploits, I fear that you will be disappointed). The camp staff wisely includes trainers from the Mets minor league system and, after the game, the line was out the door. The Mets are big on icing our wounds — too bad that they can’t treat our wounds from the last two Septembers.

Note to my friend Bob: free beer in the locker room.

If you’re wondering about the makeup of the campers, there are about 80 guys (and it’s only guys, although there have been women in other years), mostly white and from New York, New Jersey or Connecticut. Almost everyone is friendly and enjoying the experience. About half are camp veterans, with one guy in his eighth year. Several received this as a birthday present (like me) and many are with their brothers, fathers, or other relatives (if so, they are placed on the same team).

A large group went to dinner at Duffy’s, the same Duffy’s that the sports writers tell us in Spring Training is the only good place in town and where John Maine always goes to bowl. It has about 50 flat screens and good food. We talked a lot about how sore we are. We’ll be in worse shape tomorrow after two games.

One sort of-news item to pass on: Duaner Sanchez is here. I watched him play catch with a clubhouse attendant. Afterwards, I asked the attendant how Duaner looked and he said “real good.”