No Fights (Or Fight) On Picture Day

You want the Mets to acknowledge their history? Then we should have had Keith Hernandez and Darryl Strawberry go at it on picture day. Not like they haven't done it before, right? It's the 20th anniversary, for heaven's sake! They could have worn big oversized boxing gloves or something, or they could have played Wii Resort or something.

Instead, we live in a kinder, gentler time where Keith is preparing for a broadcast with Ron Darling and without Gary Cohen. And the only consternation happening on picture day these days is Jose Reyes complaining about people who think he's dogging it in his rehab. You know, they don't make photo day controversies like they did twenty years ago.

They also don't make first basemen like they did 20 years ago. With Keith in the broadcast booth, it was up to Daniel Murphy to man the area. He didn't fight anybody, but he also didn't catch David Wright's questionable throw to complete a double play and end the first inning. Instead, a 1-0 deficit turned into a 4-0 hole as Cody Ross hit a three run jack to make Wright, Murphy, and Pat Misch all pay for their individual indiscretions.

And since then, the baseball was kinda flat as the Mets slept through a 6-3 loss to the Marlins, which probably caused more indigestion than the free hot dogs that the Mets gave out on Wednesday. Bobby Ojeda wondered after the game why the Mets weren't motivated to beat the Marlins who knocked them out of the playoffs the last two seasons? The answer is probably the same as the one to the question "Why weren't the Mets motivated to beat the Marlins and keep them from knocking the Mets out of the playoffs?" That answer being, "How the &%$# do I know?" Hell, if I knew that I'd be the GM of this nonsense. Yeah, some of the players have returned from those last two collapses, but a lot of the players weren't even around for '07 and '08. If the players that were around aren't going to be that motivated, how can we expect Elmer Dessens to be motivated?

Funny thing is, Dessens has been the fantastic one this series, saving a run on a botched throw home by backing up the plate, and he pitched two scoreless innings. Maybe he is the motivated one.

(Editor's note: Keith and Ron minus Gary was very good tonight. I'm kinda diggin' these new combinations they're trying out while they continue to give us reasons to hold our interest. Keith and Ron without Gary is like having peanut butter and jelly without the bread. You can eat peanut butter and jelly with your fingers, and it will still taste very good. The bread holds the two together and makes the eating experience not only tasty, but neat. But I kinda like eating with my fingers too.)

Maybe they'll try some new things in the booth going forward this season. They've tried all their existing combinations. Perhaps next they can have me team with Gary Cohen for a broadcast ... Oh, sorry. The object is to hold their interest, not drive them away. If me talking about the Mets seems like a good idea to you, then you should seek help. But also, come to Amazin Tuesday at Two Boots Tavern this coming Tuesday where I'll be part of a star studded panel which will include accomplished authors such as Jon Springer, Greg Prince, and Jeff Pearlman. They'll probably perform readings from their critically acclaimed books. I'll be holding up photoshopped images of Mike Pelfrey as a Peanuts character. Yeah, I'm bringing a lot to the table. But come anyway, because despite my appearance, this event is going to rock the house. And the pizza will be tasty.

(By the way, did you realize that going into Wednesday, which was 09-09-09, that the Mets "tragic number" of losses and Phillies wins which would total elimination was nine? Yeah, very funny, baseball gods.)

Drifting All The Way Home

People have asked me over the offseason if I thought the Mets could win with Daniel Murphy's defense in left field. My response was that if the Phillies could win with Pat Burrell playing left field, then the Mets could win with Murphy.

Murphy's drop which led to the two unearned Marlin runs had nothing to do with an infielder playing outfield. That had nothing to do with range, ability, nothing lying alongside of the UZR road. That was, plainly and simply, dopey. And we'll just have to accept that along with all of the good things Murphy is going to bring to the table, every once in a while he's going to do that. Hopefully, not all of his blunders are going to be the kind of mistakes that turn Johan Santana gems into Josh Johnson gems.

Now, here's the thing about this 2-1 loss which drops the Mets to 3-3: There's no reason for panic because they dropped two of three to Florida. Sure, you don't want to waste Johan Santana starts, and they haven't wasted many since that June day in '08 when women went crazy and Yankee fans were ... well, Yankee fans. You can, however, start panicking if the Mets lose two out of three to the Padres at home. And before you tell me I'm crazy for even suggesting that scenario against a team that Gary Cohen said would have trouble merely competing during a spring broadcast back on March 19th, remember this: Oliver Perez starts on Wednesday. Jake Peavy starts on Thursday. If the Mets somehow lose Monday's opener, then all those pigeons ready to push that panic button could be let loose by Thursday. Remember, this Padre team is 5-2.

(What it probably all means is that the Mets will lose Monday and win the next two. Logic? What's that?)

Hopefully, logic will hold for at least one game, and the Mets will pull out a win for the first real game ever in the new digs. Even with the two games against the Red Sox, even with me having been to one of them, I still don't know how I'm going to react to seeing a Mets home game that counts played somewhere other than Shea. Every opening day I was ever at was played at Shea. I was there for Craig Swan's two run single in 1980, after skipping school. (There were really only 12,000+ at that one?) I was there for Seaver's return in '83 ... again, after skipping school. Strawberry's dinger off of Pascual Perez in 1988? Yup, skipped school again. The Rockies' debut at Shea? I probably skipped some nutty college class for that too. In fact, I was at every home opener between '87-'93. If I hadn't skipped so much school I probably would have made more of my life.

And I have to admit that I was a little emotional after being at Citi Field for the first time, and having it really hit me that Shea is really gone, reduced to a pile of rubble that shrinks every day as if it was a division lead in September of '07. But the past is the past, and the future is upon us. If you're like me, you'll have to remind yourself every once in a while that progress is good.

My only hope is that the vibe from the stands, the atmosphere that made Shea so unique, the one that Mets fans created will make its way across the parking lot. There was always a certain roar that came from Shea that was so recognizable to me that I could close my eyes, have a random game on, and I knew that the game was being played at Shea. Something was always different from the roar after a strikeout at Shea than the roar after a strikeout anywhere else. That was more fans than building, but the building had a little something to do with it.

Who knows if that roar will return ... we're all still feeling our way through this new park, and you know that at least in the beginning, there will be a lot of people visiting more for new architecture and better food than to watch Luis Castillo butcher a ground ball. So that unique atmosphere might not be all there to start. That's to be expected. Hopefully familiarity and a pennant race will bring that atmosphere, along with some home field advantage, to the new digs. Here's hoping.

Happy housewarming.

List Hunt

Answer me this:

Do you really want to know who else is on this "A-Rod list?"

Do you really want to know who tested positive for the juice in '03?

I'd rather not.

They say that nobody who is exposed as a juicer should surprise you anymore. And I thought: "Well, if a good portion of the 2003 Mets were on the juice it would surprise me." Why?

They only won 66 games. And it would really hurt me to think that these guys destroyed the "sanctity of the game" and still couldn't win more than 66 games in the process.

But then I thought, "You know, it really wouldn't surprise me. It can't surprise me. Can it really surprise me that this particular team couldn't even win while cheating?"

So I really don't want to know if Jeff Duncan was on Prednisone.

Or if Orber Moreno was on Deca-Durabolin.

Or if Jay Bell smoked some tainted mushrooms.

I don't want to know. And to be honest, I kinda wish this would all go away. But it isn't going to anytime soon because baseball took it's sweet time dealing with this (while getting every last dollar they could off the fans during the McGwire/Sosa era), and they can't even get an anonymous test right (how exactly does it take six days to destroy evidence?)

Besides: at this point, is anybody on that '03 Met team, or any ballplayer for that matter, is really worried about being outed at this point? Chances are, most of those players have already been outed in the Mitchell report (which everyone has pretty much forgotten about), are not nearly as big as Rodriguez and whom nobody will care about, or is Robby Alomar ... who wouldn't be worried about his name being on that list because, umm ... he has bigger problems right about now.

(Editor's note: Way to go Orlando Sentinel ... "Ex-Met great Roberto Alomar"? Seriously? "Ex-Blue Jay great", maybe. "Ex-Indian great", I'd believe. "Ex-Met awful", that's acceptable. "Ex-Met great?" Are you serious? Does anybody do homework anymore? And would he have been an "Ex-Met great" if the story involved Alomar giving a million dollars to overseas orphans? No, because giving money to overseas orphans doesn't get you in the newspaper.)

(Editor's note, the sequel: The author of this blog long ago mused on Barry Bonds. His thoughts on Alex Rodriguez are largely the same. He doesn't believe in asterisks, he thinks the media ... then and now ... have gotten the focus of the issue all wrong. And he thinks the fact that Rodriguez cares way too much about what people think of him has gotten him in all this trouble. Peer pressure, thy name is A-Rod. So this blog's author will not bore you, fine reader, by repeating himself.)

(Editor's note, the other sequel: How often can you come out with a book about drugs and groupies and not even shock anybody? With all the steroids and lawsuits out there, that's exactly what Darryl Strawberry has done. What could he possibly write that wasn't already talked about or implied in Pearlman's book?)

***

I think Ryan Church has won me over:

"It was [shocking what Francesa said], actually. It was one of those things where it made me pissed off, but the season's over and I think he's a Yankee fan, so he's got nothing else to do, so he might as well pick on somebody. I know I felt like crap [from the second concussion] when I came back but everybody's entitled to their own opinion and stuff like that, but I know what I said and what I didn't say. I'll have to get an 'I [Love] NY' shirt, if that makes anybody feel better."

Well I feel better already.

The Manifesto (New And Improved)

Guess that sabbatical I suggested last year wouldn't have been such a bad option, eh?

There's a saying, you might have heard of it.

"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me."

That's how I feel. Not that this team duped me, but that I let this team dupe me. To a certain extent, we were all fooled by this team ... that this time would have been different. This team, with Daniel Murphy and Argenis Reyes and Nick Evans and an improved Mike Pelfrey and a more focused Oliver Perez and a rejuvenated Carlos Delgado and a revived Jose Reyes and a more honest Snoop Manuel and a less complicated Dan Warthen and Billy Wagner pitching from the windup and all of the moving parts that made the 2008 team less "bored" than their 2007 counterparts and that this team was choke-proof.

We put our blinders on and begged this team to tell us it would be all right. And if it wasn't going to be all right, we begged them to lie to us.

I was fooled. Again. Roger Daltrey, I'm not.

I was looking for the footnote to 2007. Seven games with seventeen to play is a monumental choke job. There were two footnotes that were possible when history was to look back on 2007. One of them was: "The Mets would bounce back from that horrible collapse to make the playoffs the following season." The other was "The Mets would plunge into the abyss after the collapse, missing post season play for the next 25 seasons."

No way did I think of the third option: "The Mets repeated their historic collapse of 2007 in 2008 when they were once again eliminated on the final day of the season by the Florida Marlins." But that's what we're stuck with. Because one choke is a fluke ... two is a trend.

(And three is grounds for contraction.)

Here's what's bothering me already about Collapse Part II: Every time somebody who watches maybe nine innings of baseball all year tell me that this team needs intangible, imaginary concepts like "heart" and "fire" and "guts". I've heard it already. I've used those terms. Sometimes, they apply. This year, they're inconsequential. We don't need "heart" or "fire" or "guts".

We need a bullpen.

Whereas 2007 was one giant choke, 2008 was more like many small chokes encompassed into a big picture that you need to look past the "big picture" to really see. Not that it's any consolation to us, but 2008 was less choke and more suck. If baseball was an eight inning game, the Mets would have had an eight game lead going into the final weekend of the season. Curse you Abner Doubleday for choosing the number 9.

But most of all, curse you Mets bullpen. Curse you Mets bullpen for being the sole ... and I mean the sole reason that the Brewers are going to Philadelphia and not to the golf course where they've been every year since Ben Oglivie roamed County Stadium. And curse you for forcing me to resort to the most simple and the least eloquent to put your accomplishments into a tidy twenty words or less:

You all suck.

When Oliver Perez was slugging through his innings of work on Sunday, I thought of the relief pitchers I would want to keep for '09. The first guy I thought of was Joe Smith. And I'm guessing that Snoop agreed with me. When Perez started slowing down, in came Smith into an impossible situation: bases loaded, one out. He was lucky to escape with only letting one of Ollie's runs to score.

The second guy I thought of? Brian Stokes ... because we need a long man. And he was second in to preserve the tie game that Carlos Beltran created with his two run HR that rocked the house for ... what turned out to be ... the final time. Stokes also didn't disappoint with a scoreless inning.

After that, I really don't trust anybody to come back. But if you had put a gun to my head for a third guy? You guessed it, the third guy in. Scott Schoeneweis.

Um, never mind. I'll stick with two.

But really, if everybody in that bullpen was to depart I wouldn't be heartbroken. Certainly, the only way anybody in that bullpen besides Smith and Stokes attends Opening Day at Corporate Field is either with a ticket or a contract with the Padres. And I'm to the point now ... at this very moment ... if anybody besides Johan Santana were to leave this team, I'd shrug my shoulders in an act of indifference. That includes the Carloses, that includes Jose Reyes, that includes the very handsome David Wright, that includes everyone.

And that's why I'm glad that the current team didn't show their faces at the Shea Goodbye ceremony. Some may disagree, but it took a lot of effort to get the angry crowd (or the portion that didn't leave right after the game like myself) to feel good about anything. And the ceremony actually accomplished that ... seeing this current crop of star-crossed imitators posing as Mets would only send the crowd back to step one of the twelve step program.

We certainly needed one today with the range of emotions the crowd had to go through today. Ticket holders today had just about an hour and a half to go from happy to angry to morose to sullen to nostalgic all at once. After the sixth inning, I'm thinking about changing work schedules so I could get to Game 3 of the Cubs/Mets playoff series on Saturday. By the ninth inning, I'm looking up at the soda stains on the back of the upper deck stands ... trying to take in every nook and cranny that this Stadium had to offer me in the last 32 years of my life, and resigning myself to the fact that "Holy crap, this is it. Once I leave here, that's that."

And that's why I had to stay. Some left, and I can't blame them. Everybody has to deal with these things in their own way. I stayed. I'm glad I did. It started with some reminders as to why we're thought of as second class citizens by the people that provide us with this stupid sport called "baseball", as we were told at 5:23 that the ceremony would start in five minutes. Eight minutes later we were told the ceremony would start in two minutes. This confirmed what we already knew: that this team's only good at counting when they're counting the money they're going to make by selling the dugouts and the championship banners and the NYC parks logos that encase the trees.

Sorry if that comes off as being petulant.

(Some Phillies website referred to my Choke Manifesto from last season as "petulant". I don't necessarily disagree, and there's sure to be more of it in the coming post, and in the coming weeks and months. So if you're expecting anything different, you might be disappointed.)

Then we were reminded that there were very important Mets that had "other things to do" rather than be here for the only closing ceremony that Shea Stadium will ever know. Great, more misery. Not that Nolan Ryan, Hubie Brooks, Mookie Wilson and the like didn't have better things to do. But after what Mets fans had to endure on Sunday, the previous week, and the previous two years, everything felt like a slight.

But then the players who were here came out. And we were excited again for a few minutes. The highlights, of course, were guys like Doc, Darryl, Piazza, and Tom Terrific. But what got me were the guys that helped introduce me to baseball that you don't see anymore. Did anybody really expect to see Dave Kingman come back (or for that matter, show his face in public anywhere?) When was the last time Craig Swan was at Shea Stadium? And my first ever favorite Met, Doug Flynn? They really invited Doug Flynn? Boy, I didn't think this organization had it in 'em to be all-inclusive and recognize players from all eras and not just the good ones. The Mets have been accused of not recognizing their history. Every single criticism in that regard has been well deserved.

But Doug Flynn? Well played, evil geniuses ... well played.

It was all emotional, and it made us forget for a little while that our franchise is once again the joke of the sporting world. But it reminded us that this is it. The old barn is gone forever. No playoff games with the Cubs ... and no next season. It'll be knocked down and made into a parking lot by April.

It's a lot of childhood they're knocking down.

Unfortunately, every time I think about all the good times I've had at Shea, and even the multitude of bad events I've witnessed personally (Pendleton in '87, Gibson in '88, the Yankees clincher in 2000, Scott Speizio in '06), I'll think about the fact that while our bullpen sucks, it was former Met Matt Lindstrom officially closed out Shea Stadium by knocking the Mets out of the playoffs. And that it was the Marlins who were scooping dirt from home plate as a keepsake ... and as a symbol of conquest.

And that the Honeymooners episode that was shown tonight was the one I referenced yesterday: the one with the cornet. Everything was supposed to be louder than everything else. Instead, Shea Stadium exits stage left ... quietly.

The Sun Shines Through

(Editor's note: Please forgive the potential weather metaphors that are possible with this post.)

The weather read like it was going to be more conducive to ducks ... er, I mean ducks and kites with keys on the end of them, than it would have been for baseball. But as I searched for the cell phone number of my game companion today (more on who that is later on) to ask if he was still into making the trek for Cap Day, knowing that we could wind up turning around and going home without seeing any baseball, that's when the sun started to peek through.

The rain that was forecast for pretty much the whole day (and had me anticipating a day/night doubleheader tomorrow) instead stayed away long enough for the Mets to come up with a stirring 3-2 victory at Shea today. The game worked out just like the weather today: cloudy and stormy early (Pelfrey giving up a run right off the bat thanks to his own sub-par stuff, and Jose Reyes ' glove doing an impression of a skillet on a throw from Endy Chavez that would have had Matt Kemp out by ten feet ... instead kicking the ball away and letting a run score), stabilizing in the middle (Pelfrey giving up two runs in seven innings for an outing that was more more laborious than his line would indicate ... yet probably saved his job) and very sunny late.

(Cue dream sequence music)

This is now starting to get about time where I start getting nostalgic about Shea Stadium. The first game I went to was more like "hey, it's the first game at Shea for me this year" (and I had no real time to sit and be nostalgic that game since I was too busy getting pissed off at the no run support for Pelfrey and trying to catch t-shirts shot out of a cannon ... and yes, I got one that day), so this second game was the one where it started to kick in. I sat in the right field mezzanine today, right near the seats that I spent so much time in during the late 80's, early 90's ... and when Carlos Beltran was up in the eighth as the tying run, I started to get some Darryl Strawberry flashbacks.

Strawberry's stats tell you that in close and late situations, he stunk. So maybe it was the idiocy of youth, or maybe it was the lack of the Internet to look up his numbers on the Baseball Reference website. But every time Straw came up, I had that feeling that something good was going to happen ... he always had the ability to jack one off the scoreboard. If I wasn't longing for Straw's close and late numbers instead of Beltran's (not terrible for his career, but awful for '07 and '08), I certainly longed for that good feeling to come back ... not like the feeling I get when Beltran's up. Damn, why can't Beltran hit one off the scoreboard every once in a while and send Shea rockin' like we always knew Straw could. I mean, things aren't as good now as they were then and back when I was young I had to walk uphill to school in the snow without any shoes or socks and I still believed Darryl Strawberry could hit the scoreboard mere minutes after rolling out of bed and ...

(The fwack of Carlos Beltran's bat brings me back to reality and ends the dream sequence music)

Holy crap! He hit one off of Jonathan Broxton! We never hit that guy. And Carlos Beltran roughed him up!

Broxton, as you know, is as big as a forest ... never mind the tree. So when Fernando Tatis came up, and we know that Tatis sometimes comes up to the theme from Superman, it was like a comic book battle between The Man of Steel and The Incredible Hulk. And with a bouncer up the middle, Superman won.

(Editor's note: Apparently this was a battle that actually happened in an actual comic book ... and Superman won that one too.)

And with that (and a one-two-three inning from Country Time in the ninth), the game was over, and the sun went away, knowing it was now needed more somewhere else.

***

There's a big milestone that happened today that I want to acknowledge.

No, I'm not talking about Manny Ramirez's 500th home run. (Although, that's worth acknowledging too ... not only because Manny is Manny, but also a beast of a hitter who's going to the Hall of Fame ... but because it came off our old friend Chad Bradford. And since former Mets have been muscling in on some milestone hits lately, I fully expect Ken Griffey Jr. to hit home run number 600 on Sunday against Royce Ring.)

Saturday's Mets victory was the 200th regular season win witnessed by my companion today: blogging buddy Greg Prince over at Faith and Fear in Flushing (a blogfest if there ever was one, especially with Mark from Mets Walkoffs stopping by as well). He even mentioned Manny Ramirez to me today in terms of having been through four losses before getting this victory, just as Manny waited a decent amount of time for number 500. Certainly, as Manny is going to the Hall of Fame five years after he retires, Greg deserves a place in the Hall of Fans if there was one. I'm happy to have been the Chad Bradford to Greg's Manny Ramirez.

***

Weirdest jersey of the day: The guy who came to Shea today wearing the Don Mattingly jersey.

The Don Mattingly Dodgers jersey. The one with the number 8 on it.

Dude, you topped my Todd Zeile jersey.

All Over October

Because having a Met free October has really given me nothing to do, and because I can't help but think that either Kaz Matsui or Tony Clark may...quite possibly...exit this 2007 baseball season with a ring, I did some research.

You wouldn't believe what I found.

And you wouldn't believe I found it because:

• somebody else didn't think of this first, or...
• Metstradamus has no life.

I wanted to find the last World Series Champion whose roster had been completely devoid, throughout their entire championship season, of a player who had previously spent time with the Mets. I figured it would be easy enough to find this out through the incomparable Baseball Reference website. You could have done this yourself, but you've most likely found better things to do than to wonder about such things.

Last season, we all bemoaned the fact that Braden Looper got himself a World Series ring.

In 2005, the White Sox featured Carl Everett and Timo Perez.

Yes, that Timo Perez.

The curse-breaking 2004 Red Sox had Pedro Astacio on their roster at some point...along with Jersey Bobby Jones for three games.

Surely, there had to be a recent team not to have an ex-Met on it, right?

2003 featured the Florida Marlins, with Lenny "Pork Chop" Harris.

The 2002 Rally Monkeys had Donne Wall in their bullpen.

All right, the 2001 Diamondbacks. They couldn't have had an ex-Met on their roster, right? Wrong...they had Armando Reynoso.

(Mind you, we're not talking about future Mets like Jay Bell and Mike DiFelice...only players who had already spent time in Flushing when they were on a team that went on to win the World Series.)

Uh-oh. Now I'm starting to get worried, because those Yankee teams featured plenty of ex-Mets, much to our chagrin...as Jose Vizcaino killed the Mets in the 2000 Series, 1999 featured David Cone, and 1998 had Darryl Strawberry. Even the '97 Marlins had Bobby Bonilla.

I think I'm starting to get sick.

The 1996 Yankees had Dwight Gooden along with Strawberry, which at the time was bad enough.

All right, the 1995 Braves...there's a team that couldn't have possibly had a former Met on it, right?

Oh damn, their back-up catcher was Charlie O'Brien. And they also had Alejandro Pena. (Yeesh!)

The 1993 Blue Jays had plenty of future Mets like Al Leiter, Shawn Green, and Carlos Delgado. But former Mets? Just one...Dick Schofield (yet one is enough).

The '92 Jays had our friend David Cone.

The Twins in 1991 were loaded with them, partly thanks to the Frank Viola trade, between Kevin Tapani and David West. They also had Tom Edens and Junior Ortiz. Remember those two? Edens pitched one game for the Mets, and I believe it was in Los Angeles...and he wore number 32. Why must God curse me with a memory full of useless things while I lose my house keys five times a day?

(Actually, he pitched two games for the Mets, so I don't feel too bad. But I was right about the Dodgers.)

The Reds in 1990 had Randy Myers and Herm Winningham.

The 1989 Athletics...and believe me, this is a stretch...but they did have ,for 79 very mediocre at bats, a guy named Billy Beane.

Don't remind me about 1988 and Dodger reliever Jesse Orosco.

The Twins in 1987? Would you believe Beane again? (Along with a guy named Jeff Reardon.)

And that brings us to 1986, our last title.

And wouldn't you know it, the 1985 Kansas City Royals featured nobody who had previously worn the Mets uniform.

So besides the fact that I have absolutely nothing to do with my time thanks to the collapse, it should tell you that the Red Sox shouldn't measure their fingers for rings just yet (the Red Sox are devoid of former Mets on their roster, while Cleveland features Chip Caray's favorite pitcher: Paul Byrd).

It should tell you that when the 2007 Mets' roster turns over, at least one of the jettisoned players will win a ring in '08 and make us sigh. (And it gives Tampa Bay some hope...Thanks again, Jim Duquette.)

And it tells us that the only way to break this cycle is for the Mets to win the series their own selves. Or else, the curse continues.

Metsography: The Encounters

As I'm sure you all have known, especially as a young person, that when the world of a Joe Schmo intersects with the world of someone who by association is the friend (or enemy? Frenemy?) of everyone in America, the emotions range anywhere from butterflies in your stomach to a perverse sense of accomplishment. Even if it's something everyone can do or attend like say, an autograph signing, don't you always go back to your friends to show them the autograph or the picture taken of the two of you thinking to yourself "yeah, you're all impressed aren't you...I did this, not you."

The world of Metstradamus has intersected, albeit breifly, with the world of some of your favorite New York Mets. My regret is that I wish I had really cool stories for you like the one that would go something like this:

So I'm in this bar drowning my sorrows, and in walks Armando Benitez, and he tries to dance with my date...so I punch him out! And the next day, he blows a save for the Yankees!

Nope, never happened. But now you all have something to shoot for.

My stories are of the low standard, slightly bizarre variety. Getting Clint Hurdle and Randy Myers to wave at me from the bullpen in 1987 was a huge accomplishment for me. An even bigger accomplishment was yelling to Darryl Strawberry that he could move from his "Strawberry Patch"; the small, worn patch of grass at Shea where Strawberry played every hitter...sluggers and slappers alike; because the opposing pitcher was up. And you know what? He did. And you can't tell me that it wasn't because of my gentle reminder.

The best enounter of the long range variety involved another outfielder named Daryl, but it wasn't Straw, it was Boston. Daryl Boston, otherwise known as D-Bo, roamed the Shea outfield in the early 90's...and one night while in right field, our ticket plan crew gave him the warmed over "Daaaaaaar-yyyyyyl" chant during a particularly ugly game during the top of the inning. One of the smart ones in our group reasoned: "No no no, he's not going to respond to that, he hears that all the time...watch this!" And with that, in a half empty Shea Stadium, he yells:

"HEY MR. BOSTON!"

He turns and faces us between pitches, and sees about ten of us yahoos waving at him. Class act that D-Bo was, he waved back.

Now that made our entire night...especially since this was the early nineties, which means the Mets were probably losing by about oh, fifty runs or so. But the same man who came up with the brilliant attention getter, almost took it too far.

"Hey, you're going to meet us at Scores after the game, right?"

What does D-Bo do besides laugh his butt off? He turns back to us and gives us the finger to the mouth in the universal sign for "sssssshhhhhhhh."

Daryl Boston: Metstradamus legend.

***

Autographs are things I wish I kept better track of. My first ever autograph was on a slip of paper barely bigger than one of those out white out strips that us older folk used on a manual typwriter. It was Neil Allen, acquired down the first base line before an afternoon game where I went with a friend of the family. That piece of paper, unfortunately, is long gone. So too, I fear, might be the program signed by four of the World Champion Dodgers of 1988 down the third base line at Shea. One was '86 champ Danny Heep, one was Jay Howell; known to Met fans as the pitcher ejected from game three for too much pine tar in the glove. (Phil Garner was the third, and I always got Tracy Woodson and Jeff Hamilton mixed up but one of them was the fourth.)

I don't have an autograph story as cool as a friend of mine does: Not only did he catch a batting practice ball at Fenway Park, but got Lee Smith to sign it before the same game!

But an autograph signing almost caused John Franco to go blind...courtesy of yours truly.

It was one of those "get to know you" signings during the winter of 1990, just after Franco joined the Mets after the Randy Myers trade. This took place in the well known pantheon of baseball history known as Pergament hardware store. There was a long line and for time purposes, Franco was only interested in having the memorabilia shoved under him so he can sign it without ever looking up. Now a picture of the top of John Franco's blue cap wouldn't have been very impressive. So the only thing for me to do was to call out Johnny's name and hoped he would look up and say cheese. Only after I tried to get his attention about 15 times did he look up. Realizing I probably only had a second before he buried his head again to resume his assembly line style of memorabilia signing, I didn't ask...I just clicked.

If looks could kill.

And let me take this opportunity to say: sorry Johnny. I was young and stupid. What else can I say?

***

Some baseball fan I am. I was chatting with a key member of baseball history...a former Met at that. And didn't even know it.

Not even after I met him!

A colleague at a former place of business of mine was entertaining an associate, and as I passed them in the hallways, I was introduced to the visitor by name. I shook his hand with and gave him the generic "how ya doin'"? The man was very polite in return as we parted ways. Now mind you...I knew his name! And still had no freakin' idea.

Luckily for me, our paths crossed again, and I think he wanted to make sure I knew who he was. That's when he handed me a picture and asked "does this look familiar?":

Oh my freakin' goodness...you're that Mike Torrez?

Boy did I feel like a lummox. I had to come up with something:

"You know of course Mike that he sold his soul to the devil to hit that home run, don't you?"

And there it was...my own home run off of Torrez.

After Mike's good laugh, we chatted for a few minutes about the seminal moment and about baseball, most of that conversation being a blur. But what is crystal clear in my mind is that this was a man at peace...at peace with being on the wrong end of history. It's a place not everyone is comfortable with. Yet here's a man who, when presented the opportunity to escape an introduction to a nobody like myself without ever having to acknowledge what took place in October of 1978 at Fenway Park, made a conscious decision to point a flaw in his professional life. It's not something I'm sure I would have done. But Mike Torrez, the same Mike Torrez who I once thought was a bum when he pitched for the Mets but was actually a good pitcher who called Shea home at the wrong time in his career, did it.