Ramblings from Metropolis...I am a Mets Fan.
By Dwight Hood
The year is 1978. It is May. This 8-year-old, 3rd
grader is on a school trip. The weather is warm. The day is sunny. The grass is
green and freshly manicured. All the children and their parents are tightly
huddled in those tine orange seats with the numbers on the side of the rows.
This city kid from Brooklyn loves that green grass. The din of chatter marks
the anticipation. The din of chatter is cut by the organ music. We all look up
as the din of chatter and the organ music is stilled by the roar of a jet from
LaGuardia airport. We laugh because the planes seem so close but always slowly
drift away.
This is pre-game at Shea Stadium in Flushing, New York. I’m
waiting anxiously for the New York Metropolitans to take the field. I wasn’t
born when the likes of Agee, Charles, Swoboda, Koosman, and Tom Terrific ran
across this very field. But I hear my parents talk about 1969 and 1973. I like
this game of baseball, but I’m still looking for the magic and the miracles. I listen to and watch Lindsey Nelson, Ralph Kiner, and Bob
Murphy. I don’t hear the roar of the crowd that my parents talked about. I don’t see the
thrilling plays and the miracle comebacks on television that they described from '69 and '73.
I recall in those days my parents shaking their heads as my
father switched off WWOR 9 after Mets games in disgust, and my mother
questioning with a derisive smirk, “Why don’t we just watch the Yankees?” As I
watched Montanez, Foli, Flynn, Zachary, Henderson, Stearns, and company, I wanted
them to win more than they did. I mean, they won sometimes, but not as often as
I wanted them to.
The Mets soon take the field. The people applaud. I clap. I
can remember the nervous anticipation. The Mets of 1978 were not winning. In
fact, the Mets had not won a lot since I could remember.
The name I remember that day is Omar Moreno. The center
fielder. The lead-off hitter for Pittsburgh, the Mets’ opponent that day. I had
heard the names Parker and Stargell, and remember the pitcher they called Kent
something-or-other. He kind of looked like Plastic Man with glasses. I tell you
though. I remember this Omar Moreno. He was fast, and could hit, and was
running around the bases that day. I can still hear the groans of the few Mets
faithful in that barely occupied ball
park. I can still smell the peanuts and popcorn and see the beer spilled and
the forlorn faces. I couldn’t tell you the score. But I can tell you the
anticipation turned to disappointment. The grass was so pretty though…
Anticipation turned to disappointment. The recurring theme
of my odyssey as a Met fan that began that May in 1978. Anticipation as 1983
morphed into 1986 and I stood in front of the TV holding back tears as MY TEAM
won the World Series! Finally! My Mets. Like the significant other I kept
hanging onto that everyone said was no good and that proceeded to disappoint me
over and over and over. They came through! Only to disappoint me again in 1987,
1988, 1989….
But then came 1998, 1999. The disappointment again turned to
anticipation as the romance was once again rekindled. I mean, I had never
forgotten about MY METS. I had just put them on the backburner for a while.
After all, I was looking for something better, but nothing can really compare…
Then came 2000. World Series! But deep down, in the pit of
my gut, I had to deal with my denial. I knew my significant other would run out
on me, stand me up, not call as promised, fade into only a fleeting memory of
what once was. I mean, did I really think MY METS would conquer the Evil Empire
of the Bronx?
The disappointment took over again. The free agent signings
that did not work out. The managers that did not stay. The moves I thought
ownership and GMs should have made. My significant other had run off with
someone else. But I kept hoping I would get that call, that sign. There was
always the anticipation that things would be good again...
Then came 2006. We came so close. The “hook” heard around
the world. Strike 3. The dream is over. Back to reality. You are stood up
again. You were told over and over it would happen. Shut your mouth, wipe your
eyes, suck it up, learn from it, and move on. Then 2007 and 2008. The
collapses. Would my Mets and I finally be...done?
It is 2013. The age of social media. Facebook, blogs,
Twitter and the like have taken the place of the Murphy, Kiner, Nelson trio
that connected me with my Mets. I’m still that 8-year-old at heart, reading the
blogs, keeping up on Facebook, watching the Mets' attempts to rebuild and bring
glory to Flushing. Citi Field has replaced Flushing. Kiner is the only one left
of my favorite broadcasting team. I’m still here though. And so is my
anticipation. Got my tissues ready…
LET'S GO METS!!
2 comments:
First of all, let's welcome Dwight as the newest member of the Mack's Mets team of writers.
He has a very interesting background, but I'll leave it up to him to fill you in on that.
Dwight, thank you for your first, wonderful post about the Mets. Your love of this team as an eight year old reminds me of mine for the Brooklyn Dodgers at the same age.
Hopefully, someday we all can enjoy a WS victory together on this site.
Again, welcome.
Welcome aboard Dwight! Good to have you on board, great article :-)
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