Yeah, winter is without use. Evaluating every milepost along its dreary way, from Halloween through April Fool's — it's all winter until Opening Day — only serves to remind us that there's no new baseball immediately en route. How anybody can invest anticipation toward anything that doesn't start with a first pitch is beyond me.
Good news is the Mets have assured us of a shorter winter than that to which we've become accustomed. When was the final out of 2006? Too soon is the correct answer, but technically somewhere around 11:45 PM, October 19. Thanks to the irony cops, we open in St. Louis on April 2 at, I'm guessing, 4:05 PM Eastern (the Cardinals will probably have some unsavory, self-congratulatory rituals to muddle through). So if I've calculated correctly, the Baseball Equinox will occur in Metsopotamia on Wednesday, January 10 at around 7:55 AM. That will represent the approximate midpoint between the last curve broken off by Adam Wainwright and the first fastball fired by Chris Carpenter.
Progress? You bet. Last year's Baseball Equinox arrived in the wee hours eight days earlier, indicative that the 2005 regular season closed without playoff ado. This year we were granted 18 extra days of summer. That's something to keep in mind as the sun begins to regularly drop from the sky at two every afternoon. And on that frigid second Wednesday morning of January, as you scrape that newest layer of frost from your windshield, just remember that the worst has melted.
Until then, until next year, there is what is suddenly last year. It's not going anywhere…not if I have anything to say about it.
Y'know what I ran across in my mess of stuff a little while back? A requiem, if you will, for the 1988 season that I wrote the night the Dodgers shut the Mets out in that year's distressing Game Seven. I wrote down all the things that were worth remembering, including the Pedro Guerrero incident…Lenny's hand in the air…HoJo's shot off Gott…Kevin + Darryl: 5 RBIs apiece in Philly…Elster's two off Leary…
If I strain really hard, I kind of think I remember what the hell most of those things were, but I'm not altogether positive. 1988 had been a fantastic season. Its postseason left a little to be desired, but we won a hundred games and a division title by 15 lengths. Today that's an afterthought. Today that's a shame. How many runaway romps do we have in our scrapbook anyway? 1988's was, at most, our third. The one we just witnessed was our fourth. I'm hangin' on to this one for now.
Lest you think me the neighbor who won't take down the Christmas lights, allow me to elaborate on the shortsightedness of relentlessly adhering to the long view.
On Opening Day 1987, the Mets threw themselves a lovely ceremony to distribute jewelry and raise a flag. My mother offered to videotape it for me. Nah, I said, that's about last year. I want to focus on this year.
It was a popular theme that spring. With Darryl having been accused of this and Doc having been caught doing that, the Mets made a lot of noise about leaving this and that in the past and moving full steam ahead. George Vecsey suggested the team's slogan be something along the lines of “The 1987 Mets: We're Putting It Behind Us.”
The Mets wouldn't be in a World Series for 14 more years. That one, 2000, didn't go as swimmingly as '86's. Several changes were made. Those Mets who were new for 2001 weren't part of the National League champs. Those Mets who remained were guys who lost the World Series. The Daily News slapped a conventional wisdom headline, “Mets make World go away,” over a thoughtful Lisa Olson column in which she reported the mood in St. Lucie had morphed over the winter from “what ifs?” to “what nows?”.
2001 was, essentially, as successful as 1987. The Mets had moved on from their predecessor seasons with only another year of age to show for it. 2000, like 1986, faded because it was time to move on.
We're always waiting 'til next year, even immediately after years when we were completely fulfilled or darn close to it. Next year looks awfully good every year when this year has lapsed into last year, but I'm not about next year. Not just yet. I'm not done with this/last year. In fact, I'm bringing it out for a curtain call.
Besides, I couldn't tell you a damn thing about 2007 even if I wanted to, save maybe that unless it goes wonderfully well, I'll be spending a good bit of it missing 2006. No reason to start doing that at this early stage.
I ask those of you who are already burying what we just lived through in the closet of your subconscious because a) it's over and b) it didn't end exactly the way you wanted it to, what's your hurry? What's your rush? Why move on so soon? Before you know it, you'll have forgotten more of 2006 than you realized you remembered. And that, too, will be a shame.
Don't let one disappointing series get the best of you. Don't let the sting of four games at extended-summer's end — really just two ninth innings, Games Two and Seven — wreck the otherwise beautiful greensward on which we danced 'neath the cover of October skies. Don't think this wasn't terrific, stupendous or, in the most overused word in sports these days, tremendous. Don't sink deep into the sofa of denial when somebody wants to talk about 2006. Don't mope that it's too depressing or grumble that it's too infuriating or insist that it's too frustrating. Don't be like that.
It wasn't. It isn't.
Sure, we missed out on the totally, totally awesome experience. We've only had two of those in 45 seasons (batting .044 in the ultimate prize department). It wasn't even as good as getting to the final plateau. No world championship or pennant. In stark terms, it means 2006 was undeniably not as good as 1986, 1969, 2000 or 1973. It couldn't be. It didn't go as far.
But that's it. In my judgment, this year beat all others in franchise annals. I give 2006 fifth place on points over 1999 (a little closer to the World Series plus a division title) and 1988 (one playoff series win more, albeit in a form unavailable 18 autumns ago). Even if you don't buy that edge, even if you hold out for '99 (greater drama) and '88 (stronger pitching) as a wee bit better for some reason, then this was no worse than the seventh-best season in Mets history.
However you slice it, it's upper-tier material, the top 16th-percentile. We didn't get definitively fitted for the brass ring nor did we get to remain on Fox for an extra week, but we did everything else. We did more than we did the year before and the year before that and more than 27 of 29 other teams in captivity did this year.
Good stuff. Very good stuff. Excellent stuff. Extraordinary stuff.
So don't get over it. Because with one or two glaring exceptions, there's nothing to get over.
I'm going to dwell on 2006 this week. I don't think it's unreasonable. I just dwelled on 1986 over 43 consecutive Fridays. I spent several days on 2005 in October 2005 and we won 83 games in 2005. I took two days in December 2005 to dwell on 1979 and we won 63 games in 1979. There's a lot to be said for living in the present and for the future, but face it: baseball means something to us because of the past. The past — what happened 30 years ago, 20 years ago, 10 years ago, two weeks ago — is what made us who we are and fuels us toward what we will become.
All my agos keep growing wider. When April 2 rolls around, the Mets' last league championship will be seven years ago, the Mets' last world championship will be 21 years ago and the day I first fondled a baseball card and was intrigued by that four-letter word under Ed Kranepool's picture will be 40 (!) years ago. I suppose I should be dismayed that time is doing a number on me.
But piling up all these agos also means I've witnessed more history to this juncture in my life than I ever had before. More baseball history, more Mets history, a library of recollection whose latest bulging volume is marked 2006. Let's recall it and revel in it before the hazy Shea of winter plows its most vivid details hard to the side of the road.

Yeah, winter is without use. Evaluating every milepost along its dreary way, from Halloween through April Fool's — it's all winter until Opening Day — only serves to remind us that there's no new baseball immediately en route. How anybody can invest anticipation toward anything that doesn't start with a first pitch is beyond me.

Good news is the Mets have assured us of a shorter winter than that to which we've become accustomed. When was the final out of 2006? Too soon is the correct answer, but technically somewhere around 11:45 PM, October 19. Thanks to the irony cops, we open in St. Louis on April 2 at, I'm guessing, 4:05 PM Eastern (the Cardinals will probably have some unsavory, self-congratulatory rituals to muddle through). So if I've calculated correctly, the Baseball Equinox will occur in Metsopotamia on Wednesday, January 10 at around 7:55 AM. That will represent the approximate midpoint between the last curve broken off by Adam Wainwright and the first fastball fired by Chris Carpenter.

Progress? You bet. Last year's Baseball Equinox arrived in the wee hours eight days earlier, indicative that the 2005 regular season closed without playoff ado. This year we were granted 18 extra days of summer. That's something to keep in mind as the sun begins to regularly drop from the sky at two every afternoon. And on that frigid second Wednesday morning of January, as you scrape that newest layer of frost from your windshield, just remember that the worst has melted.

Until then, until next year, there is what is suddenly last year. It's not going anywhere…not if I have anything to say about it.

Y'know what I ran across in my mess of stuff a little while back? A requiem, if you will, for the 1988 season that I wrote the night the Dodgers shut the Mets out in that year's distressing Game Seven. I wrote down all the things that were worth remembering, including the Pedro Guerrero incident…Lenny's hand in the air…HoJo's shot off Gott…Kevin + Darryl: 5 RBIs apiece in Philly…Elster's two off Leary…

If I strain really hard, I kind of think I remember what the hell most of those things were, but I'm not altogether positive. 1988 had been a fantastic season. Its postseason left a little to be desired, but we won a hundred games and a division title by 15 lengths. Today that's an afterthought. Today that's a shame. How many runaway romps do we have in our scrapbook anyway? 1988's was, at most, our third. The one we just witnessed was our fourth. I'm hangin' on to this one for now.

Lest you think me the neighbor who won't take down the Christmas lights, allow me to elaborate on the shortsightedness of relentlessly adhering to the long view.

On Opening Day 1987, the Mets threw themselves a lovely ceremony to distribute jewelry and raise a flag. My mother offered to videotape it for me. Nah, I said, that's about last year. I want to focus on this year.

It was a popular theme that spring. With Darryl having been accused of this and Doc having been caught doing that, the Mets made a lot of noise about leaving this and that in the past and moving full steam ahead. George Vecsey suggested the team's slogan be something along the lines of “The 1987 Mets: We're Putting It Behind Us.”

The Mets wouldn't be in a World Series for 14 more years. That one, 2000, didn't go as swimmingly as '86's. Several changes were made. Those Mets who were new for 2001 weren't part of the National League champs. Those Mets who remained were guys who lost the World Series. The Daily News slapped a conventional wisdom headline, “Mets make World go away,” over a thoughtful Lisa Olson column in which she reported the mood in St. Lucie had morphed over the winter from “what ifs?” to “what nows?”.

2001 was, essentially, as successful as 1987. The Mets had moved on from their predecessor seasons with only another year of age to show for it. 2000, like 1986, faded because it was time to move on.

We're always waiting 'til next year, even immediately after years when we were completely fulfilled or darn close to it. Next year looks awfully good every year when this year has lapsed into last year, but I'm not about next year. Not just yet. I'm not done with this/last year. In fact, I'm bringing it out for a curtain call.

Besides, I couldn't tell you a damn thing about 2007 even if I wanted to, save maybe that unless it goes wonderfully well, I'll be spending a good bit of it missing 2006. No reason to start doing that at this early stage.

I ask those of you who are already burying what we just lived through in the closet of your subconscious because a) it's over and b) it didn't end exactly the way you wanted it to, what's your hurry? What's your rush? Why move on so soon? Before you know it, you'll have forgotten more of 2006 than you realized you remembered. And that, too, will be a shame.

Don't let one disappointing series get the best of you. Don't let the sting of four games at extended-summer's end — really just two ninth innings, Games Two and Seven — wreck the otherwise beautiful greensward on which we danced 'neath the cover of October skies. Don't think this wasn't terrific, stupendous or, in the most overused word in sports these days, tremendous. Don't sink deep into the sofa of denial when somebody wants to talk about 2006. Don't mope that it's too depressing or grumble that it's too infuriating or insist that it's too frustrating. Don't be like that.

It wasn't. It isn't.

Sure, we missed out on the totally, totally awesome experience. We've only had two of those in 45 seasons (batting .044 in the ultimate prize department). It wasn't even as good as getting to the final plateau. No world championship or pennant. In stark terms, it means 2006 was undeniably not as good as 1986, 1969, 2000 or 1973. It couldn't be. It didn't go as far.

But that's it. In my judgment, this year beat all others in franchise annals. I give 2006 fifth place on points over 1999 (a little closer to the World Series plus a division title) and 1988 (one playoff series win more, albeit in a form unavailable 18 autumns ago). Even if you don't buy that edge, even if you hold out for '99 (greater drama) and '88 (stronger pitching) as a wee bit better for some reason, then this was no worse than the seventh-best season in Mets history.

However you slice it, it's upper-tier material, the top 16th-percentile. We didn't get definitively fitted for the brass ring nor did we get to remain on Fox for an extra week, but we did everything else. We did more than we did the year before and the year before that and more than 27 of 29 other teams in captivity did this year.

Good stuff. Very good stuff. Excellent stuff. Extraordinary stuff.

So don't get over it. Because with one or two glaring exceptions, there's nothing to get over.

I'm going to dwell on 2006 this week. I don't think it's unreasonable. I just dwelled on 1986 over 43 consecutive Fridays. I spent several days on 2005 in October 2005 and we won 83 games in 2005. I took two days in December 2005 to dwell on 1979 and we won 63 games in 1979. There's a lot to be said for living in the present and for the future, but face it: baseball means something to us because of the past. The past — what happened 30 years ago, 20 years ago, 10 years ago, two weeks ago — is what made us who we are and fuels us toward what we will become.

All my agos keep growing wider. When April 2 rolls around, the Mets' last league championship will be seven years ago, the Mets' last world championship will be 21 years ago and the day I first fondled a baseball card and was intrigued by that four-letter word under Ed Kranepool's picture will be 40 (!) years ago. I suppose I should be dismayed that time is doing a number on me.

But piling up all these agos also means I've witnessed more history to this juncture in my life than I ever had before. More baseball history, more Mets history, a library of recollection whose latest bulging volume is marked 2006. Let's recall it and revel in it before the hazy Shea of winter plows its most vivid details hard to the side of the road.

Tonight, around 6ish: We're getting ready to carve a pumpkin when Joshua looks up and asks, “Is there baseball tonight?”
One of my happiest nights as a father was the first night Joshua asked that. Emily and I coached him through the end of the season, and then through the playoffs. I explained that there were eight teams left, then that there were four and we were trying to be one of the last two. For Game 6 Emily coaxed him to wear his Mets pajamas to bring the team luck. He agreed and announced that “they will see me and know they have to win!” (The next night he, of course, went back into those PJs; told the morning after that they'd lost and the season was over, he asked: “Do you and mommy still love me?” That was not my happiest moment as a father.)
Is there baseball tonight? No, sweetie. There isn't. I explained that the season was done, but that there'd be baseball again in March. (Joshua isn't going to be pacified with pitchers and catchers doing wind sprints. After the first week or so, I won't be either.)
It didn't comfort him. It didn't comfort me. March? The kid is about to turn four. March may as well be 2100. And I feel the same way.
For a while after Carlos Beltran stood up in disbelief, I was OK. We'd given it all we could and come up short. I had other, long-neglected things to attend to. And there was still baseball. (Even if I couldn't work up much bother about it.) Now and then there were still little traces of us. Carlos Delgado on the field. Willie Randolph in the newspapers. I read about David Wright talking of Japan as if it were the end of the season, and felt a pang, but it was mild. Reyes and Maine would be there with him. Another pang, but I could handle it. Mike Pelfrey was in the Arizona Fall League. Eh. It would be interesting for a few minutes, but the season was over. A new champion crowned, free agents declaring, Halloween and November looming. Over. Wait til next year.
But then, the question my son got used to asking as summer crawled by, and I had to answer that no, there wasn't any baseball. And wouldn't be, not until long after he'd stopped asking.
I got on the treadmill a little while ago and flipped around for something to look at. A Mets game would have fit the bill admirably. Braves-Reds would have done the trick. Yankees-Rangers would have been acceptable. Columbus-Richmond? I could try it. There was nothing. Sitcoms and college football and reality shows and…wait, what was that?
It was Fever Pitch.
I flipped by it irritably — I don't hate Fever Pitch or anything, though the scene of Drew Barrymore not being dragged off by security guards is ridiculous and the fact that she and Jimmy Fallon were on the field at the end of Game 4 is an atrocity. But OK, if you can get by that, it's got some nice touches and it's harmless enough. Still, I wouldn't give it a second glance, normally.
This isn't normally. The sight of a groundout, of a baseball stadium under the lights at night, was piercing.
April. March. February. Whatever date you want to set for next year, it seems infinitely far off. What on earth am I supposed to do with myself until then?

Tonight, around 6ish: We're getting ready to carve a pumpkin when Joshua looks up and asks, “Is there baseball tonight?”

One of my happiest nights as a father was the first night Joshua asked that. Emily and I coached him through the end of the season, and then through the playoffs. I explained that there were eight teams left, then that there were four and we were trying to be one of the last two. For Game 6 Emily coaxed him to wear his Mets pajamas to bring the team luck. He agreed and announced that “they will see me and know they have to win!” (The next night he, of course, went back into those PJs; told the morning after that they'd lost and the season was over, he asked: “Do you and mommy still love me?” That was not my happiest moment as a father.)

Is there baseball tonight? No, sweetie. There isn't. I explained that the season was done, but that there'd be baseball again in March. (Joshua isn't going to be pacified with pitchers and catchers doing wind sprints. After the first week or so, I won't be either.)

It didn't comfort him. It didn't comfort me. March? The kid is about to turn four. March may as well be 2100. And I feel the same way.

For a while after Carlos Beltran stood up in disbelief, I was OK. We'd given it all we could and come up short. I had other, long-neglected things to attend to. And there was still baseball. (Even if I couldn't work up much bother about it.) Now and then there were still little traces of us. Carlos Delgado on the field. Willie Randolph in the newspapers. I read about David Wright talking of Japan as if it were the end of the season, and felt a pang, but it was mild. Reyes and Maine would be there with him. Another pang, but I could handle it. Mike Pelfrey was in the Arizona Fall League. Eh. It would be interesting for a few minutes, but the season was over. A new champion crowned, free agents declaring, Halloween and November looming. Over. Wait til next year.

But then, the question my son got used to asking as summer crawled by, and I had to answer that no, there wasn't any baseball. And wouldn't be, not until long after he'd stopped asking.

I got on the treadmill a little while ago and flipped around for something to look at. A Mets game would have fit the bill admirably. Braves-Reds would have done the trick. Yankees-Rangers would have been acceptable. Columbus-Richmond? I could try it. There was nothing. Sitcoms and college football and reality shows and…wait, what was that?

It was Fever Pitch.

I flipped by it irritably — I don't hate Fever Pitch or anything, though the scene of Drew Barrymore not being dragged off by security guards is ridiculous and the fact that she and Jimmy Fallon were on the field at the end of Game 4 is an atrocity. But OK, if you can get by that, it's got some nice touches and it's harmless enough. Still, I wouldn't give it a second glance, normally.

This isn't normally. The sight of a groundout, of a baseball stadium under the lights at night, was piercing.

April. March. February. Whatever date you want to set for next year, it seems infinitely far off. What on earth am I supposed to do with myself until then?

I'll never know if she saw me. Probably not. But in that moment, all the bad memories, all the things I'd ever wanted to say to her, it all came flooding back.
My first impulse was to run over there, pound on her window and demand that she admit she tore down those posters and lied and cheated her way into winning that election. Instead I just stood there. And I suddenly realized I wasn't angry at her anymore. I just felt sorry for her.
I mean when I think about my new life and all the exciting things I'm doing. And then I think about what her life must be like, probably still getting up at 5 in the morning to pursue her pathetic little dreams. It just makes me sad.
I mean where is really trying to get to anyway? What is she doing in that limo? Who the FUCK does she think she is?
[Throws large Pepsi at limo.]
But that's all ancient history now. I've got a whole new life.
—Mets fan Matthew Broderick as disgraced ex-teacher Jim McAllister in Election

“Skateboard wheels my ass!”
Once I saw that subject line, I knew who was writing. It was Ray Stilwell, Metphistopheles himself. He was, in the parlance of Sportsphone, fast and first in September with almost all the answers to our first DVD quiz.
Almost. He answered “skateboard” when the right reply was “skateboard wheels,” a detail captured correctly by another contestant who was awarded last month's prize. I felt really bad that Ray slipped on that particular ramp given that he's been not just a loyal reader and commenter, but has credited us for sparking his own excellent blog. I felt even worse when a storm left him in the dark for several days during the playoffs and hoped he would see the light and be able to give this quiz a crack.
Well, Ray was fast and first again but this time tripped on nothing. Though I'd be happy for anybody who earned it, it is with a smidge of blolleague pride and mutual redemption that I announce Ray Stilwell of somewhere near Buffalo the winner of the musical version of the Flashback Friday quiz. He gets The New York Mets Vintage World Series Films DVD from A&E Home Video, which contains the remastered highlights of the '69 and '86 World Series, along with a collector's pin from the 2006 NLCS (fondle it as you recall Games One, Four and Six plus a couple of moments from Seven) and an actual scrap of paper with Faith and Fear history written all over it.
We received several entries, for which I thank all contestants. Everybody came fairly close and I applaud you for either your Googling skills or your relatively scary recall of the musical scene in 1986. It's almost as scary as mine, and I scare myself sometimes with what I retain.
Flashback Friday was a lot of fun to produce. Some scaled-down, more intermittent version will likely reappear in this space in 2007. As ever, stay tuned. Until then, haunt the Greatest Hits of 1986 on the sidebar to your left to relive our most recent world championship at your leisure.
Oh yeah…the answers. All chart positions referred to are from the Billboard Hot 100.
1. To this day, TALKING HEADS and any number of musical acts from the 1980s make more sense than many of the talking heads on sports radio. In '86, their “Wild, Wild Life” peaked at No. 25.
2. I guess Mike Francesa and Chris Russo are smart for themselves, and if you find yourselves listening to them for very long, you're the ones with SIMPLE MINDS. In '86, the uplifting “Sanctify Yourself” rose to No. 14.
3. Though two readers thought Eurythmics met the description of a duo that was more like a soloist plus one, Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart formed what appeared to be a true partnership (my bad for not phrasing the question more clearly). The same couldn't be said for WHAM!, which was essentially George Michael. He was once asked to explain what his sidekick Andrew Ridgeley did. Plays rhythm guitar and adds to the image of the group, he said. No wonder George dropped the pretense and went solo in '87. In '86, their final Top 10 hit, “The Edge Of Heaven,” climbed to No. 10.
4. MTV began showing old MONKEES episodes in the spring of '86 and by summer, the prefab four was reunited (minus Michael Nesmith). Their return hit was “That Was Then, This Is Now,” which made it as high as No. 20.
5. I bought the 45 and probably put it on a mix tape. I hope I didn't send it to whom it was intended. In any event, HONEYMOON SUITE was, like my fleeting crushes back in the day, here and gone pretty quickly, but not before “Feel It Again” peaked at No. 34.
6. Former Stray Cat Brian Setzer's solo career stalled in 1986 when “The Knife Feels Like Justice” missed the Hot 100. The same could be said for his old buddies Slim Jim Phantom and Lee Rocker. They teamed up with Earl Slick to form PHANTOM, ROCKER & SLICK and, though “Men Without Shame” also failed to break on Billboard, it got its share of airplay on WLIR Garden City plus a few rotations on MTV in early '86. I have the single to prove they existed. Setzer would take off with a swing band more than ten years later. PR&S…still men without hits (not unlike the Mets versus Scott).
7. The rest of the N.L. East were PRETENDERS, same as the group with a No. 10 hit in '86, “Don't Get Me Wrong”.
8. She was a Go-Go who dated a Dodger. Eventually BELINDA CARLISLE broke up with Mike Marshall and went solo in a more substantive way, scoring a No. 3 smash in '86 with “Mad About You”. Marshall didn't last the 1990 season with the Mets, but that's another tune altogether.
9. Every woman, every man join “The Caravan Of Love,” an inspirational No. 51 hit for ISLEY, JASPER, ISLEY in '86. Their family act was known earlier, later and better as the Isley Brothers, whose path to stardom began in 1959 with “Shout,” the eventual touchdown anthem of the Buffalo Bills. I think I heard it after Game 4 of the 2006 World Series at Busch Stadium as well (a little bit softer now).
10. A group better known for catchy technopop went all the way to No. 1 with a ballad of regret. The song was “Human” and they were the HUMAN LEAGUE.
11. Met legends left Shea that summer and fall but the ROLLING STONES rolled into Flushing in October 1989 to play some shows, including one I had a ticket for before giving it up in deference to a business trip. Three years earlier “One Hit (To The Body)” slammed its way to No. 28.
12. MADONNA remains in the news to this day by adopting young African boys and making pretty good dance albums. Who'd have thought she'd last that long when she first broke through in 1984? By '86, when “Live To Tell” topped the charts, we might have had an inkling. (Somebody guessed Whitney Houston, but Whitney didn't really break until '85…and she's no Madonna when it comes to generating pub on her own terms.)
13. We became familiar anew with NEIL DIAMOND when the Mets either exhibited excellent musical judgment or completely ripped off the Red Sox by playing “Sweet Caroline” every night down the stretch and into the playoffs this year. Alas, his 1986 hit, “Headed For The Future,” stretched only as far as No. 53 — his last Hot 100 single to date.
14. Pete Rose and Eric Davis were probably simply red in the face when Howard Johnson blasted that 14th-inning homer in Cincinnati on July 22, 1986. SIMPLY RED, on the other hand, had to have been satisfied that “Holding Back The Years” shot to No. 1 in '86.
15. Sort of as GEICO did in 2006, the movie soundtrack Down and Out in Beverly Hills catapulted the voice of LITTLE RICHARD back into our ears in 1986, the same year he was inducted into the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame (its first class). “Great Gosh A'Mighty!” was a throwback to “Tutti-Frutti,” but a) it peaked at only No. 42 and b) it wasn't, to the best of my knowledge, covered by Pat Boone.
16. We lost ROBERT PALMER in 2003, but not before he left us with a couple of indelible video images, starting with him and his all-girl band strumming “Addicted To Love,” his No. 1 smash from '86.
17. One of the great “gotcha!” songs of all-time was “The Rain,” the only pop hit for Def Jam artist ORAN “JUICE” JONES. He caught “you…and him” doing something tawdry amid precipitation and took that information all the way to No. 9.
18. When my family was auditioning Long Island-based bands for my sister's Valley Stream wedding in 1982, one combo's manager excitedly told us that his was the very same group that launched the career of Lindenhurst-raised New Wave queen PAT BENATAR. My mother had no idea who this was, but in 1986, she still had enough of a following to send “Le Bel Age” to No. 54.
19. DAVID LEE ROTH is no Howard Stern. In 1986, he didn't have to be. “Yankee Rose” boogied its way to No. 16. Of course Van Halen/Hagar zoomed to No. 3 with “Why Can't This Be Love?” And nobody's listening to Roth these mornings.
20. I don't know if the MOODY BLUES were nearly as big as they were in the plotline for the video of “Your Wildest Dreams,” specifically the part where groupies and hangers-on are carrying lead singer Justin Hayward away from the sad Mod girl who has missed him for twenty long years. Quite a lot of fuss for a song that peaked at No. 9 in 1986.
TIEBREAKER: “True Colors” by Queens' own Cyndi Lauper was the No. 1 song in America for the weeks ending October 25 and November 1, 1986, encompassing October 27, 1986, the night the Mets won their last World Series. It topped the chart, it topped the page that had the questions we just answered and it is played over a montage of highlights on the 1986 portion of the DVD Ray Stilwell has won.

“Skateboard wheels my ass!”

Once I saw that subject line, I knew who was writing. It was Ray Stilwell, Metphistopheles himself. He was, in the parlance of Sportsphone, fast and first in September with almost all the answers to our first DVD quiz.

Almost. He answered “skateboard” when the right reply was “skateboard wheels,” a detail captured correctly by another contestant who was awarded last month's prize. I felt really bad that Ray slipped on that particular ramp given that he's been not just a loyal reader and commenter, but has credited us for sparking his own excellent blog. I felt even worse when a storm left him in the dark for several days during the playoffs and hoped he would see the light and be able to give this quiz a crack.

Well, Ray was fast and first again but this time tripped on nothing. Though I'd be happy for anybody who earned it, it is with a smidge of blolleague pride and mutual redemption that I announce Ray Stilwell of somewhere near Buffalo the winner of the musical version of the Flashback Friday quiz. He gets The New York Mets Vintage World Series Films DVD from A&E Home Video, which contains the remastered highlights of the '69 and '86 World Series, along with a collector's pin from the 2006 NLCS (fondle it as you recall Games One, Four and Six plus a couple of moments from Seven) and an actual scrap of paper with Faith and Fear history written all over it.

We received several entries, for which I thank all contestants. Everybody came fairly close and I applaud you for either your Googling skills or your relatively scary recall of the musical scene in 1986. It's almost as scary as mine, and I scare myself sometimes with what I retain.

Flashback Friday was a lot of fun to produce. Some scaled-down, more intermittent version will likely reappear in this space in 2007. As ever, stay tuned. Until then, haunt the Greatest Hits of 1986 on the sidebar to your left to relive our most recent world championship at your leisure.

Oh yeah…the answers. All chart positions referred to are from the Billboard Hot 100.

1. To this day, TALKING HEADS and any number of musical acts from the 1980s make more sense than many of the talking heads on sports radio. In '86, their “Wild, Wild Life” peaked at No. 25.

2. I guess Mike Francesa and Chris Russo are smart for themselves, and if you find yourselves listening to them for very long, you're the ones with SIMPLE MINDS. In '86, the uplifting “Sanctify Yourself” rose to No. 14.

3. Though two readers thought Eurythmics met the description of a duo that was more like a soloist plus one, Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart formed what appeared to be a true partnership (my bad for not phrasing the question more clearly). The same couldn't be said for WHAM!, which was essentially George Michael. He was once asked to explain what his sidekick Andrew Ridgeley did. Plays rhythm guitar and adds to the image of the group, he said. No wonder George dropped the pretense and went solo in '87. In '86, their final Top 10 hit, “The Edge Of Heaven,” climbed to No. 10.

4. MTV began showing old MONKEES episodes in the spring of '86 and by summer, the prefab four was reunited (minus Michael Nesmith). Their return hit was “That Was Then, This Is Now,” which made it as high as No. 20.

5. I bought the 45 and probably put it on a mix tape. I hope I didn't send it to whom it was intended. In any event, HONEYMOON SUITE was, like my fleeting crushes back in the day, here and gone pretty quickly, but not before “Feel It Again” peaked at No. 34.

6. Former Stray Cat Brian Setzer's solo career stalled in 1986 when “The Knife Feels Like Justice” missed the Hot 100. The same could be said for his old buddies Slim Jim Phantom and Lee Rocker. They teamed up with Earl Slick to form PHANTOM, ROCKER & SLICK and, though “Men Without Shame” also failed to break on Billboard, it got its share of airplay on WLIR Garden City plus a few rotations on MTV in early '86. I have the single to prove they existed. Setzer would take off with a swing band more than ten years later. PR&S…still men without hits (not unlike the Mets versus Scott).

7. The rest of the N.L. East were PRETENDERS, same as the group with a No. 10 hit in '86, “Don't Get Me Wrong”.

8. She was a Go-Go who dated a Dodger. Eventually BELINDA CARLISLE broke up with Mike Marshall and went solo in a more substantive way, scoring a No. 3 smash in '86 with “Mad About You”. Marshall didn't last the 1990 season with the Mets, but that's another tune altogether.

9. Every woman, every man join “The Caravan Of Love,” an inspirational No. 51 hit for ISLEY, JASPER, ISLEY in '86. Their family act was known earlier, later and better as the Isley Brothers, whose path to stardom began in 1959 with “Shout,” the eventual touchdown anthem of the Buffalo Bills. I think I heard it after Game 4 of the 2006 World Series at Busch Stadium as well (a little bit softer now).

10. A group better known for catchy technopop went all the way to No. 1 with a ballad of regret. The song was “Human” and they were the HUMAN LEAGUE.

11. Met legends left Shea that summer and fall but the ROLLING STONES rolled into Flushing in October 1989 to play some shows, including one I had a ticket for before giving it up in deference to a business trip. Three years earlier “One Hit (To The Body)” slammed its way to No. 28.

12. MADONNA remains in the news to this day by adopting young African boys and making pretty good dance albums. Who'd have thought she'd last that long when she first broke through in 1984? By '86, when “Live To Tell” topped the charts, we might have had an inkling. (Somebody guessed Whitney Houston, but Whitney didn't really break until '85…and she's no Madonna when it comes to generating pub on her own terms.)

13. We became familiar anew with NEIL DIAMOND when the Mets either exhibited excellent musical judgment or completely ripped off the Red Sox by playing “Sweet Caroline” every night down the stretch and into the playoffs this year. Alas, his 1986 hit, “Headed For The Future,” stretched only as far as No. 53 — his last Hot 100 single to date.

14. Pete Rose and Eric Davis were probably simply red in the face when Howard Johnson blasted that 14th-inning homer in Cincinnati on July 22, 1986. SIMPLY RED, on the other hand, had to have been satisfied that “Holding Back The Years” shot to No. 1 in '86.

15. Sort of as GEICO did in 2006, the movie soundtrack Down and Out in Beverly Hills catapulted the voice of LITTLE RICHARD back into our ears in 1986, the same year he was inducted into the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame (its first class). “Great Gosh A'Mighty!” was a throwback to “Tutti-Frutti,” but a) it peaked at only No. 42 and b) it wasn't, to the best of my knowledge, covered by Pat Boone.

16. We lost ROBERT PALMER in 2003, but not before he left us with a couple of indelible video images, starting with him and his all-girl band strumming “Addicted To Love,” his No. 1 smash from '86.

17. One of the great “gotcha!” songs of all-time was “The Rain,” the only pop hit for Def Jam artist ORAN “JUICE” JONES. He caught “you…and him” doing something tawdry amid precipitation and took that information all the way to No. 9.

18. When my family was auditioning Long Island-based bands for my sister's Valley Stream wedding in 1982, one combo's manager excitedly told us that his was the very same group that launched the career of Lindenhurst-raised New Wave queen PAT BENATAR. My mother had no idea who this was, but in 1986, she still had enough of a following to send “Le Bel Age” to No. 54.

19. DAVID LEE ROTH is no Howard Stern. In 1986, he didn't have to be. “Yankee Rose” boogied its way to No. 16. Of course Van Halen/Hagar zoomed to No. 3 with “Why Can't This Be Love?” And nobody's listening to Roth these mornings.

20. I don't know if the MOODY BLUES were nearly as big as they were in the plotline for the video of “Your Wildest Dreams,” specifically the part where groupies and hangers-on are carrying lead singer Justin Hayward away from the sad Mod girl who has missed him for twenty long years. Quite a lot of fuss for a song that peaked at No. 9 in 1986.

TIEBREAKER: “True Colors” by Queens' own Cyndi Lauper was the No. 1 song in America for the weeks ending October 25 and November 1, 1986, encompassing October 27, 1986, the night the Mets won their last World Series. It topped the chart, it topped the page that had the questions we just answered and it is played over a montage of highlights on the 1986 portion of the DVD Ray Stilwell has won.