I just got an exceptionally civil e-mail from Jeff Pearlman that makes me feel like crap for having lost my temper in the post below. He says he’s a regular reader of my blog and that he actually enjoyed my bashing. That’s pretty classy, I suppose. I still didn’t like his piece in Sports Illustrated this week, and I still have the problems I said I have with his argument, metaphors, and word choice.
But the truth of the matter is that I don’t really detest The Bad Guys Won. I take that back. I enjoyed it very much when I read it, even if I found the prose overly fevered. The problem I have with the book, as I told Jeff, is that it has fixed an image of the 1986 Mets in people’s minds that may be true for all I know, but is at odds with my own loving sense of them. His image of a successful baseball team, in that book, has too much of an influence on our own idea of how the Mets should behave. As the kind of fan who likes a Carlos Delgado more than he likes a Lenny Dykstra, as the kind of fan who believes fervently that Mike Piazza should not have charged Roger Clemens on the mound, as the kind of fan who really doesn’t want to know the degree to which very good ballplayers may in fact be drunken, sexist bozos from time to time, I am going to continue to have a very seriously ambivalent attitude towards The Bad Guys Won until the end of my days.
I give Jeff Pearlman a lot of credit for writing to me. And I am not just making up with him because he said he just finished reading Mets Fan and loved it. I’m apologizing to him because I think that I charged the mound and I shouldn’t do that given how much I always criticize players for doing that kind of thing. In my defense, I’ll say that I get really sick and tired when people give up on the Mets and criticize them for a lack of grit, when people declare this season over, when people say that Mets history is a sorry story, when people don’t appreciate Mr. Met. Still, if I am Mr. kinder-and-gentler, Mr. don’t-boo-Mets, Mr. grit-is-overrated, I should keep my cool. At the core of the disagreement between me and Jeff Pearlman is a very serious question to which I don’t have the answer. Does it actually help every once in a while to charge the mound and throw the batting helmet? Does it help more to get pumped and pissed or steady and calm? How upset should a team and a fanbase be when the team loses? I’m not sure.
In any event, I tip my cap to Jeff Pearlman. He’s not an idiot. And even though I have serious problems with it, The Bad Guys Won is a good book and it is worth reading.
Does it actually help every once in a while to charge the mound and throw the batting helmet?
I think Carlos Zambrano could answer that question for you right about now. If the Cubs miss winning the division by one game, they might well have his little hissy fit to thank. (Although I found it completely hilarious to see him “thumb” the umpire.) And no, it hasn’t seemed to “fire them up,” either. Not even with Mr. Turn Over The Buffet Table managing them. Talent and luck, people, talent and luck, talent and luck.
People who complain that today’s players don’t have the “fight” of the 1986 Mets are missing the point. For one thing, umpires have much tigher control over what happens on the field than they used to; ask John Lackey, who got kicked out of a game this year after two stinking pitches. (I only wish Dock Ellis had lived long enough to see that, it might have finished him off.) People still think Piazza should have charged the mound on Clemens. During a World Series! Yeah, getting our best hitter by far suspended for the duration of a World Series would have gotten the rest of our guys all fired up to beat the Yankees! You bet! Gahhh.
And players are different off the field now too. In 1986, a guy who was a health food nut who didn’t drink much or smoke cigarettes was considered a narc; now that’s more or less expected behavior. I once saw Jim Bouton and Bill Lee give a talk and they said the difference between when they were active and now was that “today’s pitchers are treated like thoroughbred horses; we were farm animals.” Probably same goes with position players. These guys are expensive, very, very expensive, and they act like it. On every team, not just this one.
Dana,
I read your diatribe against Jeff Pearlman, and in my opinion, it was definitely warranted. Don’t apologize for your opinions. You have as much right to them as he does. He sounds like he has a vendetta against the Mets. Shouldn’t sports writers covering a team not let their personal prejudices affect their reporting? He reminds me of Wallace Matthews of Newsday, another writer who is constantly negative, especially where it concerns the Mets.
Although you say Jeff Pearlman’s book is a good read, I don’t think I want to read a book that trashes the Mets. There is enough bad stuff to read in the papers and books about the world today. I am looking forward to reading your book. Let’s leave Jeff Pearlman’s book to the people who think the National Enquirer and Star are classic literature.
I enjoy Pearlman’s work for the most part and got a pretty big kick out of “TBGW,” albeit with a few reservations (there was this weird thread throughout the book that seemed to imply every other team in baseball was “proud” and professional while the Mets were raving, aberrant chimps — so much for winning 108 games). The piece that drove you to distraction, however, is indicative of much worse in sportswriting today, or any kind of writing. It’s the “create a narrative first, fill in the facts later” school of reporting (you alluded to it yourself with the George Foster/Vince Coleman stuff). It can be good for a few quick laughs, but it makes for poor journalism let alone logic.
The 2000 Mets were the gutsy example to which the 2009 squad should aspire? I liked the 2000 Mets plenty, so I’m all for exalting them, but you could turn it on its head if that’s your mission. The 2000 Mets came within two wins of making the World Series in 1999 and should have gone all the way with that experience under their belts; the 2000 Mets didn’t fight back against Clemens twice; the 2000 Mets didn’t step up against the Braves in September when it mattered; the 2000 Mets, despite the presence of All-Stars like Bobby Jones and Rick Reed (they were All-Stars three and two years earlier, respectively) and a top Rookie of the Year candidate in Jay Payton (he finished third) had to settle for the Wild Card; the 2000 Mets lost their soul when they traded Melvin Mora for Mike Bordick; the 2000 Mets were symbolized by Mike Hampton, a self-absorbed mercenary who didn’t have what it took in the World Series. Mind you, I don’t necessarily believe any of that (though I wish they hadn’t traded Mora for Bordick), but a writer could get up on a soapbox, weave a few anecdotes with some nifty turns of phrases and then sing hosannas to the undiminished spirit of Omir Santos, Livan Hernandez and how the current Mets persevere through the kind of injuries and turmoil the 2000 Mets could only imagine.
Dana, you and I wrote books about being Mets fans because (among other reasons) it became clear to us that “our” story wasn’t being told with accuracy, perspective or, for that matter, grace. We’ll continue to tell the story as we see it and hope the Mets back us up on the field.
Sorry. That piece was an abomination. It was poorly written, barely edited, and just plain wrong. He may be smart enough to like your book and professional enough to take your criticism, but you should not apologize for pointing out what is right.
I had a couple of long drives today and thus, against my better judgment, some time listening to WFAN. I have to admit that I was thrilled to hear Evan Roberts explain that the reason he froze when Mike Francessa asked him who he was rooting for when the Yankees played the Phillies was because Francessa pissed him off so much with his Yankee- holiness crap, that he was moved to say he hoped the Yankees lost. Of course in retrospect, he would rather the Phillies lose, but he said he was just so sick and tired of Francessa’s bull, that he said the Yankees. I was glad to hear someone on air calling out Francessa. Of course several hours later when I got back in the car, I was immediately confronted with Francessa trashing Santana (”He never finishes a game,” “He showed up his manager,” “If he didnt say he wanted to stay in the game he’s not a real competitor”). I had to shut the radio off, but that’s only because i don’t have a platform like this blog to point out the ridiculousness of so much that is said about the Mets in the press and on talk radio.
Thanks for defending our team. Please don’t apologize.
FWIW, Dana, I have always been dismayed at TBGW because of its central premise, which was completely alien to what I experienced in the 80s. To me those weren’t bad guys, they were the Best Guys– so what does that make me? The ’80s Mets and their fans can only be really understood in terms of the famine years we went through before. The 80s Mets, for me, were a progression from relished glimmers to astonished pleasure, and a pure joy that baseball rarely afforded, but only baseball can provide. We were starving, and were given a banquet. Who wouldn’t dance for joy? In fact, I wondered if those years ruined my future with their joy– if not even consciously, I compare every season to ‘84, ‘85 and ‘86.
For me, the great eighties teams are inseparable from the misery of before, and the realization of joy comes down to a moment in September 1983, when Keith Hernandez came up with two men out, two men on, and hit one of those doubles to right-center. The incredulous words came into my head, as I jumped up and screamed– “He does this all the time!! HE DOES THIS ALL THE TIME!!” We finally had one of those players. And that was just the beginning.