Okay, so just as I get all ready to focus on the final month of Shea stadium, just as I get ready to chronicle my emotions, recount my memories, describe everything about the arena from the bathrooms to the edges of the parking lot, just as I get ready to share all of my hopes and fears for baseball fandom in the future … what happens?
A pennant race breaks out.
I mean, you could see it coming, I guess. Here you have two teams a game apart at the end of last season. Going into this season, they seemed fairly evenly matched. And then they’ve had similar streaky, stumbling seasons. And so now there are thirty games left and they’re one half game apart. We have a right to expect a tremendously exciting and perhaps historic September.
Why am I surprised? How exactly has this crept up on me? Why does this feel so weird?
I’m talking about something real here, something I’ve experienced, that you may have experienced too. I realize, as we enter the last month of the season, that however much I’ve been paying attention, I’ve been experiencing this season from a kind of distance. It’s even a kind of blur. When the Mets have gone up, I’ve been expecting the downturn, when they’ve gone down, I’ve expected the upswing. As a result I haven’t actually felt a hell of a lot. Last year, I sweated every pitch, I felt the vertigo you feel when you bounce too violently and too frequently between horror and happiness. And then I got conked on the head at the very end. The neurons that hadn’t already blown out got switched around. And so I stumbled into this season and now that it’s almost over I realize that I’ve experienced it through a fog of numbness. I couldn’t lament or celebrate anything because last season gave me a sense that nothing meant anything. All season long, I have had the sense that whatever happened, the opposite was waiting right around the corner.
When you get to the last month, though, everything does mean something. The little flukes that will decide this season one way or another are just about to happen. And they will echo through your memories like all of the concluding flukes that decided other close seasons. I have to be ready to experience this. I can’t just think about the death of the stadium, and perhaps the end of a warm, inclusive century-old era of New York National League fandom. The pennant is now at stake. Meaningful games are about to be played in September. And they don’t just have meaning for this season.
This is the last season at Shea. This is the end of a particular story. It is very important that the story end with dignity. And it would be un-fucking-believable if it were to end with glory.
It would be a fitting tribute to the ol’ girl, wouldn’t it? It would be as magical as anything that’s ever happened within her confines, and would somehow complete the circle and leave us feeling less like a piece of history has been left behind, and more like… well, like saying “she had one more in her.”
As a fan born at the end of 1980, I barely remember the 1986 glory. I remember it more through reading books and watching video of it in the present. For the Mets to accomplish the ultimate in honor of Shea’s last year would be MY moment. MY generation’s moment to be more precise. The way fans a bit older than me describe Doc, Ron, Keith, Mookie and Darryl we would describe Santana, Pelfrey, Wright, Reyes, and Delgado.
Every time I go to Shea this year and watch that number in center field shrink, I can’t help but think about the ultimate miracle that 2008 could be. 2007’s September collapse, Shea’s final year, mid-season manager change, the invisible and maddening bullpen, the constant numbness of injuries to Wagner, Maine, Church, Castillo, PEDRO, the young guys coming up, and a 2008 September pennant race for redemption.
Imagine that.
Perhaps, Dana, you are surprised because you were away when the Mets had that phenomenal July, and demonstrated that they are a legitimate contender– we’ve all had a month to adjust to that reality, then get re-exasperated with them when the bullpen collapsed, and Delgado and Tatis cooled off, then get excited about Santana, Ollie and Pelfrey– and now? Arrgh! The news about poor John Maine is a terrible bummer, and I’m tempted to turn off the TV as soon as I see Heilman, Schoeneweis, Feliciano or Sanchez.
Nonetheless, this is a doozy of a pennant race, and we are in a dogfight. The Phillies are still looking up at the Mets, who scored nine runs and got a complete game from their starter last night. The Phillies have their problems, too, their own flaws to be exploited. They can be pitched to, their defense isn’t airtight, and our hitters should be able to tee off in their ballpark at least as well as their hitters do. We’ve beaten them soundly this season. AND their fans are churlish and fickle.
Oooh I wish I was going down there!!!
I’m almost afraid to say this, but YOU GOTTA BELIEVE.
Matt, I wholeheartedly wish that you get this Mets Moment. We old-timers, we ‘86ers, have been waiting for it, too, and waiting for teams we could love the way we loved the ’80s teams. Not that there hasn’t been a lot of love along the way– but it’s more that those were the last times when this was truly a Mets town– and that was truly a rare thrill. The team was full of guys who just grabbed the whole town. I know we can probably get boring about it, but the way to really experience it is just to get video and watch them play. All this editorial comment along the way about what “bad guys” they were– forget that crap.
The Mets have always had to clearly outshine the Yankees to really get the town behind them. 2000 was great, but it also underscored the divide– couldn’t help but do so.
This could be the year. I am getting ready for the roller coaster ride.
Theresa, for the record. Hearing about the 80’s teams NEVER gets boring.
Matt, you’re absolutely right. The Mets need to win one this year not just for old Shea, but for the new generation. I often think of the fact that Mets fans born after 1980 (like my 17 year old daughter or like my many Mets fan students) cannot remember a World Championship and have grown up in the same metropolitan area with baseball fans whose team has made it to the playoffs in just about every year. Such loyalty in people so young must be rewarded. And I am relieved to hear that young people still want to hear about the old heroes of times gone by, because once you’ve live through something like 1969 or 1986, there’s no way you’ll ever stop talking about it.
This really was once a Mets town, and not all that long ago. The NY Times did a survey in 1990 that found that 3 times as many New Yorkers identified themselves as Mets fans as identified themselves as Yankees fans. The Mets outdrew the Yankees for 19 of their first 31 years of existence. The idea that the Yanks are the number one team in town is a recent myth.
And Theresa, going away for two and a half weeks did contribute to my sense of the unreality. I saw most of the miracle of July (when I left they had won 9 in a row). When I returned, the Mets were as many games over .500 as they had been when I left. And so I guess that a part of me wondered what exactly I had missed.