Flushing Express

For one night, when you hear "Nolan Ryan" 'round these parts, it's not followed by the seven no-hitters he pitched somewhere else. It's not followed by echoes of one of the worst trades ever. It's not followed by the pangs of wonder of what might have been if management had been a little more patient with his inconsistencies, his blisters doused in pickle brine, and his maniacal fastball with wrecking ball control.

On August 22nd, 2009, "Nolan Ryan" was only followed by the wild cheers of 38,049 strong.

The last time Ryan wore a Mets uniform was on September 28th, 1971, which was personally witnessed by 3,338 not so strong fans who were anticipating the end of a disappointing season. Ryan lasted zero innings, walked four, gave up a hit, and he was yanked by Gil Hodges. In 2008, an outing like that would have gotten him a 36 million dollar contract en route to a rehab stint in Buffalo. But in 1971, it got him traded for Jim Fregosi en route to the Hall of Fame. Boy, inflation's a bitch.

But Ryan eventually returned to help celebrate the past as a peripheral pawn in the moment where the future was blown to bits. After all, the Ryan Express only reached the pinnacle at one stop: Flushing. It's where the miracle of all baseball miracles occurred forty seasons ago. He couldn't come back for 20, he was still pitching. He had just retired by the time 25 came, but after pitching for 27 seasons, who wants to go on an airplane for a reunion? That's just one more unnecessary road trip. Besides, the Mets in 1994 probably would have tried to sign him as a better alternative to Pete Smith. Who could blame Nolan for not wanting to be tempted? But here he is for the fortieth anniversary, with no reason and really ... no excuse to not show up. His mission to build up the pitch counts of the entire Rangers organization can wait another day.

No word on whether the Mets tried to sign him as a better alternative to Oliver Perez.

1969, much like the rest of Mets' history, belongs to Tom Seaver. He will always be the headline act at these things, will always be the one to speak at the podium, whether he reads his words as if he's a disciple of Evelyn Wood's reading dynamics or not (seriously, he read that speech as if the piano player from the Oscars was cueing him off ... was Jeff Wilpon rushing him?) He deserves the honor for all he's done for the the New York Mets. He is, after all, The Franchise. But Ryan stole the show on Saturday. Much like Doc Gooden stole the show (at least for me) during the final day at Shea on September 28th, 2008 (the 37th anniversary of Nolan Ryan's fateful final day), Ryan returns as probably the final person who can come back from years and years without wearing a Mets uniform and be cheered the way he was (Bobby Bonilla returning to the Mets payroll in 2011 isn't going to count, sorry.) With open arms he is received, and perhaps because of it, the future will be presented to us with at least one less ghost haunting our favorite franchise.

Ryan's final outing as a Met occurred when I was just finishing up my first season on planet earth, where the only thing being blogged was my size in relation to the Thanksgiving turkey (I lost that battle), and that was done with a Polaroid. So you'll forgive me if there's no record of me complaining about that outing, or about the trade that sent him to California. I was one year old ... and the only way I could communicate was by puking all over the living room. Was I possessed? No, probably just pissed about another season down the drain. Before the invention of computers, vomit was the only way I could get my point across.

So as you can imagine, I wasn't even a twinkle in anybody's eye in 1969 ... which means that I'm not the best guy to wax poetic about the season of miracles. Yup, I missed it. I'm just not that old. You want to talk about 1986? I'm your guy. Hell you want to talk about 1979? At least then I was nine and counting down the winding days of that season celebrating that they actually avoided 100 losses. The '69 Mets? I can only rehash and mimic what I've seen in the old video clips.

Not that I'm not all too happy to do that for you. It's what I was doing for a friend of mine when I was a senior in high school during a late night school function that involved singing for a rock and roll band (wrap that one around your collective head). I couldn't tell you what notes I missed, what lyrics I tried to sing, or how rockin' the place was, but I could tell you about the girl who asked me who Tommie Agee was.

Who's Tommie Agee? You've gotta be kidding. Of course, this was before the understanding that not everybody in my high school followed baseball. "Who's Tommie Agee? Really? Okay, if you've gotta know, Tommie Agee is the guy who made the two greatest catches in World Series history. Here, let me demonstrate for you on this filthy cafeteria floor. No matter that I'm about to be the front man in my best rock singer outfit ... I need to educate a poor young soul as to who Tommie Agee was. That takes precedence!"

I should mention the reason why this girl bothered to ask me who Agee was ... he was in the room at the time.

I have no idea why a World Series hero was in my high school at a late night carnival. But here I was diving on the floor to my left, and crashing into the school wall to my right ... because how else could one really explain who Tommie Agee was. My demonstration must have been the universal sign for 1969 ... I might have butchered it, but the guy who brought Agee to the event recognized it well enough that he came up to me and asked me if I wanted to meet him.

Crap, I'm about to sing in front of a crowd of people, and I could care less. I'm about to meet Tommie Agee!!! And at that moment, it really didn't matter that I wasn't alive for the original version of those catches. Because I was about to shake hands with 1969. That was good enough for me.

The rest of the meeting was a blur. It all happened so fast. I know I shook his hand. I know it had a World Series ring on it. And I know that he signed an 8X10 black and white to "my very good friend", which I still have to this day. And like I said, I don't remember the rest. The one thing I regretted was not rushing out after the carnival to Shea to see the end of the Met game that I had missed to be at this carnival. Not that I regret it ... I freakin' met Tommie Agee for crying out loud! And heck, it was a good omen that I took with me to the television to catch the final pitch of that night's game.

You could probably guess at this point that when Agee died in 2001, a childhood memory of mine shed a few tears. Thankfully, the scrambled memory neither died nor even faded all that much. When you hear the latest outcry as to why the Mets need to honor their history, that's why. Saturday night was for all the people who lived through '69, and for all of us who grabbed ourselves a memory of a 1969 hero almost twenty years after the fact. These memories need to be honored, re-honored, then honored some more. We need to see Jerry Koosman around more. We need to see more photos of Wayne Garrett and Al Weis. We need to have more celebration of one of the iconic teams in baseball history without having to wait until the 50th anniversary.

My hope is that instead of looking back at Saturday night in the "boy we made it through a hectic day that was really a lot of work", Mets management will look back on it and understand the many connections between fans and Tom Seaver ... and Nolan Ryan ... and Jim McAndrew ... and yes, Tommie Agee. They'll understand the roar that they heard when Seaver, Koosman, and Ryan reunited to throw first pitches to Jerry Grote, Duffy Dyer, and Yogi Berra ... and that finally, they'll get it. They'll have it seep through their brains and that it'll finally hit 'em why we scream bloody murder when they want to erase a Dwight Gooden autograph on a concrete wall.

Am I holding out hope? Well, seeing as if they totally forgot to pencil Kenny Boswell's name into the script, no I'm not. Boswell, as Bob Murphy liked to point out, wanted to be out there "each and every day". Ironically, this is the one they failed to mention ... the one that wanted to be out there every day, but couldn't make it out there on this day. What, you expected a Mets arranged notation of history to go perfect?

So they almost got it right for the fortieth anniversary party. Maybe they'll get it 100% right in 2019. Maybe the fiftieth anniversary will be even better. Maybe they'll mention everyone. Maybe, just maybe, the 2019 Mets will win the game instead of flood the disabled list ... and maybe the team will wear some '69 replicas this time around.

Or perhaps we're not going to have to wait that long for the next nod to the past. But we waited 38 years for Ryan to come back. What's ten more, right?

It's So Big ...

Johan Santana: You know Nelson, this big chipotle cheesesteak sandwich from Subway restaurant is so big ...

Nelson Figueroa: Yeah, it's playing in the majors big.

Johan: No no no, it's winning the Cy Young big.

Nelson: No, it's pitching a no-hitter big.

Nolan Ryan: No no Nelson, it's pitching seven no-hitters after you leave the Mets big.

Angel Pagan: No Nolan, it's constantly holding at third base on singles to the outfield big.

Luis Castillo: No Angel, it's falling down the dugout steps and spraining your ankle big.

Hospital for Special Surgery: No Luis, it's diagnosing your injury and having people who know nothing about medicine prescribe a cortisone shot big.

Snoop Manuel: No doctors, it's not needing tendons to play baseball big.

Jose Reyes: No coach, it's not being able to run because of that tendon that I supposedly don't need big.

K-Rod: No Jose, it's blowing a 7-5 lead in the ninth big.

Johan: Wait a minute Frankie, it's not that big.

Sean Green: No Frankie, it's hitting the first batter you see in a tie game with the bases loaded with your first pitch big.

Albert Pujols: No Sean, it's hitting a grand slam to put the game away while playing lion to your christian big.

Johan Santana: Come on guys ...

David Wright: No Albert, it's having your season end in August big.

Carlos Beltran: No David, it's having your season end when all of your stars eventually land on the disabled list big.

Oliver Perez: No Carlos, it's having your season end when you let Derek Lowe go to Atlanta to sign a mediocre lefty to an overpriced contract big.

Fred Wilpon: No Oliver, it's having your season end when you get taken for $700 million on a ponzi scheme big.

Johan Santana: Yeah, I guess you're right.

Johan Santana: Hey, who took my f***ing chipotle cheesesteak sandwich from Subway restaurant???

Angel Berroa: (Mumbles with mouth full of sandwich) What?

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.