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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 29 September 2006 9:10 am Welcome to Flashback Friday, a weekly feature devoted to the 20th anniversary of the 1986 World Champion New York Mets.
Twenty years. Forty-three Fridays. This is one of them.
The regular season ended as it began, with the Mets conquering the Pirates. From Lenny Dykstra drawing a walk off Rick Reuschel on April 8 in Pittsburgh to Sid Fernandez striking out Bobby Bonilla on October 5 at Shea, it was everything Mr. Johnson in the dugout promised. It was dominance.
It was as close to perfect as one could hope to get. 162-0 being out of the question, 108-54 sounded just right. Two wins for every loss, over and over and over and over again.
There was an 18-1 stretch. And a 22-7. And a 14-4. And a 14-3. And, to finish things off, another 14-4.
The Mets led the National League in batting average, slugging average, walks, runs batted in and at-bats. That last one seems pretty remarkable considering how many bases on balls they received and how often they were able to skip the bottom of the ninth.
No N.L. pitching staff registered a lower ERA or walked fewer batters intentionally. Intuitive reasoning says our pitchers weren’t afraid of any hitters.
The phrase “career year” was in vogue in the mid-’80s. The Mets lost to the Cubs in ’84 because Ryne Sandberg enjoyed a career year. The Mets lost to the Cards in ’85 because Tommy Herr put up a career year. In ’86, no single Met could claim a career year on the level those theretofore middling infielders achieved, but none had to. As a franchise, the 1986 Mets had a career year.
So it was a very definitive moment when El Sid retired Bobby Bo to seal the 108th win. Even the final score was absolutely apropos: 9-0. That’s the score they assign forfeits, and as good as the Mets were 20 years ago, it felt like the National League flat out surrendered to their majesty. Laid down their bats, their gloves, their will to compete.
108-54 was something to behold on October 5. And you know what it meant on October 8, the night the Mets faced the Western Division champion Astros in the first game of the 1986 National League Championship Series?
Not a damn thing.
For as much as we were sure it was our year, Astros fans were certain of the same thing. In Boston, Red Sox fans had that same feeling. In Anaheim and environs, Angel acolytes would have said, no, we’re the ones.
Only one of us four could be right. If it wasn’t us, what would those 108 wins mean? What if we didn’t win the World Series? Geez, what if we didn’t get past those nasty Astro pitchers? How would we remember 1986? Would Mookie Wilson conjure vague images of a speedy fellow who didn’t get on base enough to merit batting leadoff? Would Jesse Orosco be recalled as a reliever whose last solid season was 1984? Ray Knight had a good April, didn’t he? And who was that runt who played in the outfield sometimes…Benny, Kenny, Lenny…?
Yeah, it was a spectacular season. But its coda — the postseason — would determine its meaning. On October 5, 1986, we could be happy. But we couldn’t be satisfied. You don’t wait all your life for a season like that to end it with a division title. In 1986, the Mets had to…had to win the World Series, just like in 1969.
And you know what? So do you.
You have to win the 1986 World Series. And the 1969 World Series. Right now.
What the hell am I talking about? I’m talking about a chance for you to set an example for your 2006 New York Mets. I’m talking about an opportunity to be victorious in the name of Mookie and Jesse and Sugar Ray and Lenny as well as Tommie and Cleon and Kooz and Little Al Weis.
With an assist from A&E Home Video, we have a copy of The New York Mets Vintage World Series Films DVD. It is a restored, digital rendering of the official MLB 1969 and 1986 Fall Classic retrospectives. These are the flicks that used to fill the rain delays on Channel 9 and SportsChannel. You’ve seen them. You’re dying to see them again.
I’ve just seen them again. They’re gorgeous in every sense of the word. Vin Scully narrates ’86, Curt Gowdy ’69. The ’86er, to tell you the truth, is a bit cheesy with the oversized graphics and the synth score (if you’re a fan of the UK version of The Office, it will remind you of the “Training” episode), but why quibble? It’s the 1986 World Series. And the ’69er is a remarkable curio of that strange space in time that the 1969 Mets occupy, that moment when the past was inevitably meeting the present (watch for tons of product placement; it’s adorable).
You’ll want this disc in your baseball library. And I want you to have it. You may have seen other blogs give this or other A&E releases away. They all have their own rules, some easier than others. I want you to have this so bad, I’m going to make it very simple.
I’m going to administer an open-blog quiz. It will be a breeze for you, the faithful Flashback Friday reader. Every answer is sitting ripe for the plucking in a Flashback Friday entry from this year. All you have to do to find them — if you haven’t committed them to memory — is look them up. And all you have to do to find previous Flashbacks is go to the first paragraph of each post and click.
What’s that? That sounds like hard work? Dude, we’re talking about 1969 and 1986! The least you can do for your two championships to date is a little clicking and scrolling and maybe some rereading. But if you are feeling put out, let me sweeten the pot. I will include, at my own personal expense, a copy of the current smash CD, Eye to the Telescope by British singing sensation KT Tunstall. It features her catchy hit single “Black Horse and the Cherry Tree”. Its connection to 1986? While the Mets vamped on 1986 reunion night, killing time between the ceremonies and the game, they played the video for this song on DiamondVision.
Also, Stephanie and I each recently bought the CD on the very same day and she opened hers first and I’m too lazy to return mine. Hence, you’re the beneficiary of our miscommunication and my sloth.
The rules: Twenty years, twenty questions. First to e-mail me (faithandfear@gmail.com) twenty correct answers wins. Should nobody come through with a 1969 regular season win total score of 100 by 11:59 PM, Thursday October 5, the first entry containing the most correct answers of all received will be declared the winner. All judges’ decisions are final. (I don’t know what that last part means, I just wanted to make it sound official.)
Enough talk. Win the World Series.
1. What did my mother refer to Danny Heep as?
2. Where did Joel and I go for lunch when Opening Day II was rained out?
3. What did Mr. Jarvis at the hobby shop trade Geoff Hayton for a ball autographed by the ’86 Mets?
4. Who didn’t expect her husband to take his shoes off after a game?
5. What was the theme of the 1986 Old Timers Day?
6. When the ticker-tape parade crowd began booing Mayor Koch, who did he start to introduce?
7. What distracted Larry Russo from witnessing Ray Knight’s walkoff hit off of Tim Burke?
8. Who referred to Keith Hernandez as “dark, reflective, analytical, urban”?
9. What movie did Fred and I want to see instead of Stand By Me?
10. To what tune did I compose my own idiotic Super Bowl XXI song parody, “Giant Steps to Pasadena”?
11. What pitcher’s name did I invoke to shut up Danny the Yankee fan in Tampa?
12. Who spiked Jason’s foot in St. Petersburg?
13. What was Dwight Gooden’s ERA in the 50 starts that preceded his first loss of 1986?
14. In what 2006 film does the main character declare, “I hate the Mets”?
15. By what nickname did I refer to Rick Aguilera in my journal entry of July 23, 1986?
16. What brand of gasoline did Gary Carter endorse?
17. Why did my friend Chuck tell me he rooted for the Mets?
18. What was the Newsday back page headline that captured the essence of the age in June of ’86?
19. What was the front page headline of El Diario on September 18, 1986?
20. Which six seasons attempted to haunt me on one particular Friday?
EDITOR’S NOTE: The contest ended early Friday afternoon, 9/29, when we received the winning entry. The idenity of the winner and the answers are here. Please do not send in your answers, but feel free to play along at home for fun.
Incidentally, all contestants and non-contestants remain eligible to buy a shirt.
by Jason Fry on 29 September 2006 4:01 am Well, at least now we know.
John Maine, your time is now. You're only stepping in for one of the most-dominant pitchers of his era, the man whose arrival was a Piazzaesque sign that the Mets mattered again, one of the figures so vital to his sport that you say his first name and everybody knows who you mean. So no pressure or anything.
Our commentors have supplied the stats: We were 11-12 in Pedro starts this year, as an electric April gave way to a frustrating May and then a mostly doleful rest of the season. Yes, Pedro pitched his guts out in May with nary a W to show for it, but the mere fact that you have to dig deep into the stats to defend him tells the story — as many predicted, this was the year that the body (helped along by the floors of the Marlins' vile, OSHA-violation-encrusted, Soilmaster-infested stadium) thoroughly betrayed the artist that is Pedro J. Martinez, creating a deficit that even his legendary brains, grit and guile couldn't make up.
Summing up Pedro through cold empty stats has always been a fool's errand — if there's ever been a pitcher whose intangibles and unquantifiables must be spoken of, it's him. Which is one of the reasons this isn't another invitation to cannonball into the East River. Lead the Mets? He already has. We'll never know how many tete-a-tetes on the dugout bench helped the rest of the staff, or how many clubhouse or team-bus antics helped the young players realize they belonged. Here's devoutly hoping he'll drag his protective boot to Shea next week and then to St. Louis or Los Angeles or San Diego or Houston and then (we even more devoutly hope) to destinations unknown, so that wise counsel can be given or a joke cracked when it really matters to some member of the 2006 postseason squad. 26th man, sixth starter, second pitching coach — as long as I see him there, I'll feel better about things. He taught a lot of his current teammates the things they needed to learn to come this far. Those lessons won't evaporate along with his roster spot.
And, honestly, it's a relief to have a little clarity. There's no arguing with a torn tendon. Anything less definitive, and Pedro would have tried — which is in no way a knock on him, but a tribute to his lionhearted self. He would have tried, and it wouldn't have worked — that did-it-with-mirrors ride to the rescue in Cleveland was seven years and a lot of miles ago. I think we all sensed last night that he had no magic left in the 2006 hat, even if we were reluctant to admit it. I'm not sure Pedro would have admitted it — you don't climb to the pinnacle of sports from where Pedro started without superhuman confidence in your own abilities, without a certainty that you're invulnerable. Unfortunately, there's no off switch — the ineffable, enviable mix of belief and defiance is what makes an athlete the first to believe, but it's the same thing that makes him or her the last to know.
And that would have left Willie and Omar and the Jacket with a terrible dilemma, one that would have had us fretting and fighting and moaning: Should Pedro start Game 4? Pitch in relief? It's a later round, can he give it a go? Now, it's academic. The MRI has spoken, the verdict is in, and it's time to get on with it.
Oh yes, the game: It was like a documentary about a World War I battle, wasn't it? Grim and sloppy and endless, with the sole levity provided by the loopy announcers and David Wright's hasty retreat (with a mouthed “Wow!”) as Country Joe West instructed Brian McCann to take his opinions about the strike zone to the shower.
Anyway, we won. We even hit a little. It doesn't feel like the relief we'd hoped for, not with this news to absorb, but perhaps when we get to Washington we'll win a couple more and hit a bunch more, and remember that, hey, we really are going to the postseason. Now, please tell me we're going there with Pedro, that he'll brandish his toy bat and flash his elfin grin and whisper a word or two. I wish we could have more from him than that. We all do. But if we can bring his intangibles and unquantifiables, let's remember they're Hall of Fameworthy too.
(By the way, did anybody else hide behind the couch when El Duque reached for that ball with his bare hand? Between that, Pedro and Reyes's kamikaze slide I felt vaguely like throwing up all night.)
(Oh yeah — if you want a Faith and Fear shirt, holler.)
by Jason Fry on 29 September 2006 4:01 am Well, at least now we know.
John Maine, your time is now. You're only stepping in for one of the most-dominant pitchers of his era, the man whose arrival was a Piazzaesque sign that the Mets mattered again, one of the figures so vital to his sport that you say his first name and everybody knows who you mean. So no pressure or anything.
Our commentors have supplied the stats: We were 11-12 in Pedro starts this year, as an electric April gave way to a frustrating May and then a mostly doleful rest of the season. Yes, Pedro pitched his guts out in May with nary a W to show for it, but the mere fact that you have to dig deep into the stats to defend him tells the story — as many predicted, this was the year that the body (helped along by the floors of the Marlins' vile, OSHA-violation-encrusted, Soilmaster-infested stadium) thoroughly betrayed the artist that is Pedro J. Martinez, creating a deficit that even his legendary brains, grit and guile couldn't make up.
Summing up Pedro through cold empty stats has always been a fool's errand — if there's ever been a pitcher whose intangibles and unquantifiables must be spoken of, it's him. Which is one of the reasons this isn't another invitation to cannonball into the East River. Lead the Mets? He already has. We'll never know how many tete-a-tetes on the dugout bench helped the rest of the staff, or how many clubhouse or team-bus antics helped the young players realize they belonged. Here's devoutly hoping he'll drag his protective boot to Shea next week and then to St. Louis or Los Angeles or San Diego or Houston and then (we even more devoutly hope) to destinations unknown, so that wise counsel can be given or a joke cracked when it really matters to some member of the 2006 postseason squad. 26th man, sixth starter, second pitching coach — as long as I see him there, I'll feel better about things. He taught a lot of his current teammates the things they needed to learn to come this far. Those lessons won't evaporate along with his roster spot.
And, honestly, it's a relief to have a little clarity. There's no arguing with a torn tendon. Anything less definitive, and Pedro would have tried — which is in no way a knock on him, but a tribute to his lionhearted self. He would have tried, and it wouldn't have worked — that did-it-with-mirrors ride to the rescue in Cleveland was seven years and a lot of miles ago. I think we all sensed last night that he had no magic left in the 2006 hat, even if we were reluctant to admit it. I'm not sure Pedro would have admitted it — you don't climb to the pinnacle of sports from where Pedro started without superhuman confidence in your own abilities, without a certainty that you're invulnerable. Unfortunately, there's no off switch — the ineffable, enviable mix of belief and defiance is what makes an athlete the first to believe, but it's the same thing that makes him or her the last to know.
And that would have left Willie and Omar and the Jacket with a terrible dilemma, one that would have had us fretting and fighting and moaning: Should Pedro start Game 4? Pitch in relief? It's a later round, can he give it a go? Now, it's academic. The MRI has spoken, the verdict is in, and it's time to get on with it.
Oh yes, the game: It was like a documentary about a World War I battle, wasn't it? Grim and sloppy and endless, with the sole levity provided by the loopy announcers and David Wright's hasty retreat (with a mouthed “Wow!”) as Country Joe West instructed Brian McCann to take his opinions about the strike zone to the shower.
Anyway, we won. We even hit a little. It doesn't feel like the relief we'd hoped for, not with this news to absorb, but perhaps when we get to Washington we'll win a couple more and hit a bunch more, and remember that, hey, we really are going to the postseason. Now, please tell me we're going there with Pedro, that he'll brandish his toy bat and flash his elfin grin and whisper a word or two. I wish we could have more from him than that. We all do. But if we can bring his intangibles and unquantifiables, let's remember they're Hall of Fameworthy too.
(By the way, did anybody else hide behind the couch when El Duque reached for that ball with his bare hand? Between that, Pedro and Reyes's kamikaze slide I felt vaguely like throwing up all night.)
(Oh yeah — if you want a Faith and Fear shirt, holler.)
by Greg Prince on 28 September 2006 7:32 pm This just in: Gary Cohen's coming back to radio.
Not forever, just for the postseason, not for entire games, just for a couple of innings. He'll work with Howie in the fifth and the other guy in the sixth.
Gary Cohen and Howie Rose back together doing New York Mets baseball for an inning a game. That settles it: We're gonna need to play at least three series in October.
First the shirts, now the voice. If the Mets didn't suck so much, there'd be a lot to get excited about.
by Greg Prince on 28 September 2006 7:32 pm This just in: Gary Cohen's coming back to radio.
Not forever, just for the postseason, not for entire games, just for a couple of innings. He'll work with Howie in the fifth and the other guy in the sixth.
Gary Cohen and Howie Rose back together doing New York Mets baseball for an inning a game. That settles it: We're gonna need to play at least three series in October.
First the shirts, now the voice. If the Mets didn't suck so much, there'd be a lot to get excited about.
by Jason Fry on 28 September 2006 6:35 am 
Here it is, our first-ever Faith and Fear in Flushing t-shirt. Be the envy of your block — or think of something to say when somebody asks you what that weird URL on your back is.
Want one? Here’s how to get one. And bless you.
by Jason Fry on 28 September 2006 6:10 am After 18+ months of this blog thing, we've finally decided to do it: We're offering Faith and Fear in Flushing t-shirts.
See a photo here. This is just a rendering, but I used this particular t-shirt company (CustomInk) for some Mookie Wilson t-shirts I made a couple of years back, and the finished product was slick.
Here's the deal: CustomInk can do any size from Youth Extra Small to XXXL. The shirts are Met blue, with orange and red numbers on the front (we don't have to explain the significance of this set of digits, do we?) and www.faithandfearinflushing.com on the back. Amaze your friends! Baffle the uninitiated! Have something to wear while painting or feeding livestock!
(Credit where credit's due: The guys at ace Padres blog Gaslamp Ball thought of the retired-numbers idea, and were kind enough not to abuse me when I asked if I could, um, totally rip it off.)
What will the shirts cost? Depends on how big our order is. If we don't get many orders, they could cost as much as $25 delivered. If we get lots of orders, they might cost as little as $15 delivered. Oh, we're selling them at cost — or at least as close as my feeble math skills can get to cost. We ain't in it for the money.
Anyway, if you think you want one, shoot us an email and let us know how many and what sizes. When we know how many people are interested, we'll let you know how much they'll cost, and you can give us a final yea or nay — no pressure. Delivery within two or three weeks. Maybe in time for you to wear yours triumphantly through a rain of ticker tape. On the other hand, if the Mets keep playing the way they are right now these babies can probably be fashioned into serviceable nooses.
by Jason Fry on 28 September 2006 6:10 am After 18+ months of this blog thing, we've finally decided to do it: We're offering Faith and Fear in Flushing t-shirts.
See a photo here. This is just a rendering, but I used this particular t-shirt company (CustomInk) for some Mookie Wilson t-shirts I made a couple of years back, and the finished product was slick.
Here's the deal: CustomInk can do any size from Youth Extra Small to XXXL. The shirts are Met blue, with orange and red numbers on the front (we don't have to explain the significance of this set of digits, do we?) and www.faithandfearinflushing.com on the back. Amaze your friends! Baffle the uninitiated! Have something to wear while painting or feeding livestock!
(Credit where credit's due: The guys at ace Padres blog Gaslamp Ball thought of the retired-numbers idea, and were kind enough not to abuse me when I asked if I could, um, totally rip it off.)
What will the shirts cost? Depends on how big our order is. If we don't get many orders, they could cost as much as $25 delivered. If we get lots of orders, they might cost as little as $15 delivered. Oh, we're selling them at cost — or at least as close as my feeble math skills can get to cost. We ain't in it for the money.
Anyway, if you think you want one, shoot us an email and let us know how many and what sizes. When we know how many people are interested, we'll let you know how much they'll cost, and you can give us a final yea or nay — no pressure. Delivery within two or three weeks. Maybe in time for you to wear yours triumphantly through a rain of ticker tape. On the other hand, if the Mets keep playing the way they are right now these babies can probably be fashioned into serviceable nooses.
by Jason Fry on 28 September 2006 12:32 am I live about a quarter of a mile from the Brooklyn Bridge. Which is handy, because I'm heading out to jump off of it.
I mean…crap. Are we sure the Phillies can't catch us?
Oh yeah: Greg, you can have my stuff.
by Jason Fry on 28 September 2006 12:32 am I live about a quarter of a mile from the Brooklyn Bridge. Which is handy, because I'm heading out to jump off of it.
I mean…crap. Are we sure the Phillies can't catch us?
Oh yeah: Greg, you can have my stuff.
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