Tag: New York Mets

Joy in Mud(Met)ville

Note: The following was written by my husband Gary Bakst, lifelong Met fan, which means 65 years, except the Mets are actually 3 years younger than that. But you get the idea. Anyway, I hope you enjoy his prose as much as I did.

I put Gameday on my laptop as I saw my afternoon patients yesterday.  I was nervous, anxious, worried.  Dan, my son, texted to ask if I was stressed and that is exactly what I was feeling.  The Mets gave up 2 runs in the 3rd inning and another in the 6th and were down by 3-0 going into the eighth inning.  It was looking like yet another of those miserable late season games in Atlanta.  We have been here before.  We have seen this movie.  And we never liked the ending. 

Then, out of nowhere, the Mets erupted for 6 runs in the top of the eighth inning capped by Brandon Nimmo’s two run home run way deep into the right field stands.  Finally, a better ending was coming into view.  All of those demons would be erased.  The Mets were just 6 outs from the postseason.  What could possibly go wrong?

And then came the bottom of the eighth.  Maton came in to pitch it and was ineffective and they brought in Edwin Diaz to try to get a 5 out save coming off a thirty something pitch save Sunday.  Diaz failed to cover first on a ground ball to Pete Alonso and one double later, the Mets were suddenly down by 7-6 heading into the ninth inning.

Of course.  Of course the Mets couldn’t just lose by 3-0.  They couldn’t just fail in an ordinary way in front of the brainless Braves’ fans.  They had to first get our hopes up with an historic eighth inning only to give it away in the bottom of the inning.  They had to take our hearts out.  They couldn’t just let the patient die mercifully.  They had to make it painful, long and heartbreaking. 

This could not be an ordinary loss.  This had to be a Mets fan special.  I was almost sure that blood was coming out of my skin, my pores and slowly spilling onto the floor of the exam room.  The ninth inning would surely be just one, final, painful chapter in a sad, tragic story.

And then.  And then, with one out, Starling Marte got a base hit and suddenly, our guy, our MVP, back from his back, strode to the plate.  Francisco Lindor, batting from the left side, hit a ginormous home run.  Perhaps the second biggest home run in Mets vs Braves history (Piazza, of course).  The ball was well struck and carried deep into the Atlanta late afternoon gloom.  It seemingly broke open a new dimension.  It carried hope and joy and goodness and love and was itself carried by will and determination, by desire and honor and the conviction that, in the end, goodness will triumph over evil.  It was propelled by a force both divine and human and when it landed angels called from the heavens, doves flew overhead and lions lay down with lambs.

And it sailed over the right centerfield fence and suddenly, out of nowhere, the Mets were up by 8-7 and only three outs separated them from the post season, from an opportunity to celebrate right there on the turf of their most arrogant nemesis.  And it left one giant question:  Who was left to get those last three outs?  It couldn’t be Diaz.  He had thrown a ton of pitches on Sunday and a bunch more in the 8th inning.  And yet, the sad reality is that they really don’t trust any other reliever. 

And then.  And then, emerging from the dugout with the look of a man on a mission, came Edwin Diaz.  He was back and he was going to find a way to finish the job.  And somehow, despite the fact that it looked like his right arm came onto the field well after the rest of him, he got it done.  

The Mets were in the playoffs.  A great miracle happened there.  It was not the ending Mets fans have been accustomed to, not the ending we have been trained to expect.  And it was just so sweet and so amazing.  I had to look at the screen on my laptop for a while to make sure that it was real.  Wait, they’re gonna call for some kind of do over, right?  Somehow, they’ll say it can’t be over until the Mets lose.  But it was real.  And it was good. 

The Mets are in Milwaukee today for a 5:30 PM (eastern time) wild card playoff game). 

#LGM

It all started back in Spring Training and we were there.

Seems Like Old Time(r)s

Note: This essay was written by my husband, Gary Bakst. Thank you, Gary!!! I will be sharing my take on this same event tomorrow.

It had been 2 and ½ years since I attended a live sporting event, a concert, a movie in a theater, any sort of in person event.  I surely don’t have to tell any of you why – everybody knows.  We have all made our own decisions about how to deal with the threat of Covid.  Some have been yet more cautious than I have but many more less cautious.  And I accept that there is a range of choices people can make that may fit for them. 

For me, it was time to go to a Mets game.  Linda looked ahead and noticed months ago that Saturday, August 27th, was Old Timers’ Day at Citi Field where my beloved Mets play their home games.  I have been a Mets fan since my father taught me about baseball.  We watched ballgames together, making the occasional pilgrimage to Shea Stadium to see our favorite players win or lose.  I remember one game in which Willie Mays -yes, that Willie Mays – was playing for the Mets.  He was old for a ball player and no longer capable of the elite level of performance that defined his many years with the Giants, but he was still that legend. 

I have fashioned my children into Mets fans, cajoled Linda into supporting them and now my grandchildren are being educated early about the importance of supporting our Mets.  I figure, if I can suffer, so can they.  Most years, being a Met fan does involve quite a bit of suffering.  It makes one tougher,  better able to deal with other disappointments in life. 

This year has been different.  The Mets have had other good years in their history, most notably 1969 and 1986.  But, unlike their crosstown rival Yankees, they are not perennial contenders for a championship.  It is a rare and exciting moment, a meteor streaking through the sky ever so briefly, not an annual expectation.  Perhaps with our new and improved ownership, that could be changing. 

After being away for such a long time, it seemed like the right time to head back to the stadium.  Covid surely remains a risk, but the risk of severe disease has diminished, it is an outdoor event and the special occasion of Old Timers Day combined to convince me to purchase tickets.  I went online and bought 8 tickets for the game.  I was not sure which family members would be able to make it, but the limiting factor was not going to be too few available seats.  

As an aside, the Mets have a policy for getting these online tickets that I found cumbersome and less than straightforward, so I tasked Linda with converting their emails into actual access to the stadium.  She found it easy and quick which did not surprise our children. 

My new-fangled ticket to the Old Timers game

Ultimately, we had a nice group coming to the game.  We had Linda and I, our son Daniel and his wonderful daughter, Linda’s brother Mark, his lovely wife Pam and their very nice son Sam who is also a Mets fan.  And Linda’s good friend Steven who I enjoy talking Mets baseball with over the many years we know each other.  The only person missing was our daughter, Leah, (who I have also successfully indoctrinated into Mets fandom, too) but having just had a baby three months ago, and living in the Boston area, made her attendance impossible.

Linda and I drove down to the city; we took the number 7 subway line to the stadium.  It was filled with orange and blue clad Mets fans.  The vibrations were all positive, the sun was shining and the world was a happy place.  

We all arrived in time for the Old Timers’ game.  They had assembled quite a large number of former Mets from players who were there for the Mets first season in 1962, to the 1969 Mets and the 1986 Mets and more or less every era of their existence.  The introductions themselves were fun and the former players exulted in the attention and adoration which the packed stadium poured out upon them. 

At the end of the introductions, there was a surprise.   The Mets were retiring uniform number 24 which Willie Mays used to wear.  It was a heartwarming moment and surely a signal that current owner Steven A. Cohen was ushering in a different era compared with the Wilpons who are widely despised by Mets fans.  He is doing so many things the right way, and this was just one lovely example of that. 

The Old Timers game itself was so much fun.  Some of those guys can still move pretty well and some really cannot.  Most still retain the amazing hitting and throwing skills that separate them from we ordinary humans.  It was pure joy watching them out on the field again.  We were enjoying the action on the field, the food, the drinks, the opportunity to spend time together chatting.  Baseball is unlike football and basketball.  It is slower.  Many people keep trying to make it faster.  Perhaps that is a good thing but sometimes slower has its merits.  I loved the slowness of the game. 

When the real game with the current crop of Mets began, it was more fun.  They led by 1-0, then 2-0, then 3-0.  It was a low scoring and well-played game.  They made enough good plays to overcome the visiting Colorado Rockies and the crowd exulted as the final out was recorded.

Our granddaughter spent about 4 hours there which is remarkable for a child not yet old enough to have any idea what a ball or strike is.  She was delightful and in great spirits and eventually Daniel left with her and they made it home without issue.  

The rest of us found our way onto the 7 train when the game ended, and we caught an air conditioned express train back to Manhattan.  While on the train, we learned from one of the many Mets fans crowding that subway car that our main opponents, the Atlanta Braves, had lost in the bottom of the ninth inning and the subway car erupted in joy. 

We got back home late and tired and sweaty but very happy.  Getting back out and doing something to divert my attention from my daily concerns was such a pleasure and going to a baseball game and watching my favorite team win was exactly the right salve.  I can enjoy watching any team play but if it is my Mets, then I really want them to win.  If the trip is easy and the weather is great and the food is delicious and they lose, then the bottom line is they lost.  It is unlike a movie or a show where I might say it was very good or pretty good.  This is binary: win/lose.  And they won. 

I wonder how you have made decisions about such entertainment options.  Have you been going all along, have you picked some events as appropriate and others as not a great idea?  And which types of events take you away from your worries?  

#LGM