Nothing makes me more nervous than the Mets in contention in the final week of the season. But this week, it really has taken a back seat to what happened in Miami.

I was traveling and did not tune into last Sunday’s 17-0 win over the Phillies until the final inning. A couple of times Howie Rose referred to the tragic death of Jose Fernandez. It did not seem real. The guy is 24. The guy is a star. The guy has a good shot of winning the Cy Young Award. Yes, all those things. Only in the past tense.

His death, along with two friends—one of whom he’d met for the first time that night—shocked the baseball world. But it has stunned Florida far more. I headed to South Florida the day after the news broke to visit my father. When I had booked the trip a few weeks earlier, it had not even occurred to me that the Mets would be in the area at the same time. I decided I’d sneak off one night to go to a game. When my Dad had an appointment Monday afternoon that did not require my assistance, I made a move south to Miami.

Outside the main gates of Marlins Park was a shrine begun the previous day, with flowers, posters, stuffed animals, and posters; even a Mets hat left as a salute. People stood quietly or took photographs somberly. Inside it was quiet, except for the sounds of batting practice: fellow Cuban Yoenis Cespedes, the leader of the Mets mourners for Jose, launching balls into the farthest reaches of the giant stadium.

I was walking around the stadium when I heard cheers. I did not know why. When I checked on the field, a player had just exited. And then it got loud again when another Marlin emerged before I could get a look. It was not until the Marlins took the field all together that the reason for the cheers became obvious: The Marlins were all wearing number 16. Fernandez’s number would never be worn again, but every member of the team wore it that night. Those were the only Fernandez jerseys to be had as there was not a piece of Fernandez memorabilia left at any concession stand, though there were fans all over the stadium wearing his jerseys and “Jose’s Heroes” shirts for the charity he put so much effort into. Even the “K” signs handed out were marked “Jose’s Heroes.”

Everything about the story was sad. Fernandez had been imprisoned as a teenager for repeatedly trying to flee Cuba. And then he tried again. While escaping, someone fell off the boat he was on, and he jumped into the ocean not knowing who he was risking his life to save. It was not until he swam to the person that he realized it was his mother. He was 15 years old. More of a man than most of us will ever be.

He wound up in Miami, graduated high school there, and was a first round pick in 2011 by the hometown Marlins. (The Mets selected Brandon Nimmo one pick earlier.) Fernandez debuted against the Mets at age 20 in April 2013. He was brilliant in that game, though he got a no decision. He never got a decision in any of his four career starts at Citi Field, even though his ERA at the place was 1.23. It was his lowest ERA for a stadium where he pitched more than once, including Marlins Park, where he had a 1.49 ERA. And a 29-2 record.

He was supposed to pitch against the Mets at Marlins Park on Monday. The Marlins had even moved him back a day after a brilliant eight-inning effort against the Nationals in his last start. More irony. If he’d been pitching Sunday, on Saturday night he would never have…

Let’s not go there. It will keep a body up nights, torments of what might have been. Jose Fernandez’s brilliant young career is now reduced to what might have been. How much he would have made in the open market in a couple of years? How much he might have taken to stay in Miami? How many awards he might have won? How many championships might he have been a part of? Instead it was how many smiles he brought to the faces of people in South Florida, the Cuban community, and all over the country.

I am a bit of a baseball curmudgeon, and sitting through the entirety of a Mets loss can make me angry about wasted time when I had so much I should have been doing instead. But Fernandez’s 1-0 win over Matt Harvey and the Mets in June in Miami was an absolute thing of beauty. I was lucky to have caught most of his starts against the Mets on TV, though I never got to see him in person. A guy having fun and being the best he could be. “The Bird” 40 years later with a shorter haircut and an even more tragic end.

I sat in the stands for the entire game Monday night, a bit perturbed that the Mets lost a game they needed badly, but the Marlins needed it more. You had to be a tougher guy than me not to feel for Dee Gordon crying as he rounded the bases, hitting his first home run of the year as the first batter in the wake of the tragedy. The entire lineup responded, battering Bartolo all over the place. And then they gathered on the mound after the game. It was inspirational. I think even the Mets were inspired by it, and they were lauded by the Marlins broadcasters, which includes old pal Al Leiter, the next two nights while I watched with my Dad from his home.

Family obligations kept me from seeing the 1986 reunion game or the Piazza number retirement, but I was glad to be in Miami to honor Jose Fernandez. Unlike the ’86 Mets or Piazza, Jose Fernandez will be remembered mostly for what might have been. And that is saddest of all.

I finally joined the 7 Line Army. Every time I looked to sign up in the past, either there was no availability or I wasn’t available. But all that changed for a September tilt on a Monday against the Braves. There were spots available and I grabbed two for me and my buddy Dave. It is getting even harder to get these seats as the 7 Line now offers tickets to all their events on a season’s pass (about 14 games). That is the definition of hardcore.

The 7 Line is full on hardcore. As the site says, “We are absolutely the largest organized supporters group in all of baseball.” And Fox in Los Angeles, of all places, had a great segment on them recently, with the bonus of Kevin Burkhardt, who was in Flushing when it all began, narrating. As great as last year was, if there was one thing I could change—besides the final outcome!—it would have been for Kevin Burkhardt and Bobby Ojeda to broadcast their insights as it all came together on SNY. But time marches on.

So does the 7 Line. It was four years ago, at the 50th birthday party for Faith and Fear in Flushing’s Greg Prince, that I got to talk to 7 Line General Darren Meenan about his burgeoning empire. It was just getting off the ground as an entity that sold T-shirts and we lamented how working in a world with a Mets focus can wear on your soul, if you’re lucky, and be like banging your head on an exposed piece of Shea Stadium pipe if you’re not so lucky. But Darren persevered and the following season he had his first 7 Line road outing to Wrigley Field. His group has not slowed down since, going to 15 other road games (five of them in the other country that is the Bronx).

The 7 Line experience began at McFadden’s with beer specials and some mixed camaraderie. I missed the cue for all to head in, but we got to our seats in the second-to-last row shortly before first pitch. With so many regulars, it is easy to follow along with the cheering for two strikes and then the “Strike You Out” chant when someone K’s. There were kids there and grown ups who are definitely kids, along with the requisite Mets yakking, beer drinking, food chomping, and battling for T-shirts that are invariably cannoned into the sea of 1,700 arms.

As for attendance, there were 859 of us in section 141 in centerfield. That is roughly 3 percent of the 29,665 in the house Monday. Someone sitting in the other 97 percent of the seats might have thought the place a little dead—especially after the rare dud tossed by Noah—but given that my ears are still ringing from the Thunder Sticks slammed together all around me, it seemed pretty lively to me.

At $45, it was just about the lowest price they had this year, which is comparable or cheaper than most seats you’ll find on Stub Hub (those seats don’t include a cool T-shirt). And it was worth every penny. When a guy with 7 Line seats in line during last year’s playoffs told me that there is a postseason lottery for people who have bought tickets during the year, I thought that was the final motivation for induction into this Army. Not that I expect any such windfall from the ballclub or the 7 Line because, let’s face it, this is still the Mets and panic and disappointment are the chief exports. But I will remember my first 7 Line foray for some time to come. Maybe I’ll even finagle myself onto a road trip some day.

Oddly, one of the things that sticks with me most was that amidst the cacophony, beer guzzling, and gob stuffing, someone behind me sneezed. In front of me came a very quick, “God bless you.” And God bless you 7 Line for doing the Lord’s work of Mets proselytizing, and doing it right.

# #

Not everyone can pursue a business model that is solely Mets, and I have two reissues of books I co-wrote that celebrates other teams. If I did not enjoy it, I would not do it. Cubs by the Numbers (with Al Yellon and Kasey Ignarski) is now out, as is Red Sox by the Numbers with Bill Nowlin. This is the summer of numerology, as Mets by the Numbers re-issue with Jon Springer is better than ever and more number-y!

I finally joined the 7 Line Army. Every time I looked to sign up in the past, either there was no availability or I wasn’t available. But all that changed for a September tilt on a Monday against the Braves. There were spots available and I grabbed two for me and my buddy Dave. It is getting even harder to get these seats as the 7 Line now offers tickets to all their events on a season’s pass (about 14 games). That is the definition of hardcore.

The 7 Line is full on hardcore. As the site says, “We are absolutely the largest organized supporters group in all of baseball.” And Fox in Los Angeles, of all places, had a great segment on them recently, with the bonus of Kevin Burkhardt, who was in Flushing when it all began, narrating. As great as last year was, if there was one thing I could change—besides the final outcome!—it would have been for Kevin Burkhardt and Bobby Ojeda to broadcast their insights as it all came together on SNY. But time marches on.

So does the 7 Line. It was four years ago, at the 50th birthday party for Faith and Fear in Flushing’s Greg Prince, that I got to talk to 7 Line General Darren Meenan about his burgeoning empire. It was just getting off the ground as an entity that sold T-shirts and we lamented how working in a world with a Mets focus can wear on your soul, if you’re lucky, and be like banging your head on an exposed piece of Shea Stadium pipe if you’re not so lucky. But Darren persevered and the following season he had his first 7 Line road outing to Wrigley Field. His group has not slowed down since, going to 15 other road games (five of them in the other country that is the Bronx).

The 7 Line experience began at McFadden’s with beer specials and some mixed camaraderie. I missed the cue for all to head in, but we got to our seats in the second-to-last row shortly before first pitch. With so many regulars, it is easy to follow along with the cheering for two strikes and then the “Strike You Out” chant when someone K’s. There were kids there and grown ups who are definitely kids, along with the requisite Mets yakking, beer drinking, food chomping, and battling for T-shirts that are invariably canned into the sea of 1,700 arms.

As for attendance, there were 859 of us in section 141 in centerfield. That is roughly 3 percent of the 29,665 in the house Monday. Someone sitting in the other 97 percent of the seats might have thought the place a little dead—especially after the rare dud tossed by Noah—but given that my ears are still ringing from the Thunder Sticks slammed together all around me, it seemed pretty lively to me.

At $45, it was just about the lowest price they had this year, which is comparable or cheaper than most seats you’ll find on Stub Hub (those seats don’t include a cool T-shirt). And it was worth every penny. When a guy with 7 Line seats in line during last year’s playoffs told me that there is a postseason lottery for people who have bought tickets during the year, I thought that was the final motivation for induction into this Army. Not that I expect any such windfall from the ballclub or the 7 Line because, let’s face it, this is still the Mets and panic and disappointment are the chief exports. But I will remember my first 7 Line foray for some time to come. Maybe I’ll even finagle myself onto a road trip some day.

Oddly, one of things that sticks with me most was that amidst the cacophony, beer guzzling, and gob stuffing, someone behind me sneezed. In front of me came a very quick, “God bless you.” And God bless you 7 Line for doing the Lord’s work of Mets proselytizing, and doing it right.

# #

Not everyone can pursue a business model that is solely Mets, and I have two reissues of books I co-wrote that celebrates other teams. If I did not enjoy it, I would not do it. Cubs by the Numbers (with Al Yellon and Kasey Ignarski) is now out, as is Red Sox by the Numbers with Bill Nowlin. This is the summer of numerology, as Mets by the Numbers re-issue with Jon Springer is better than ever and more number-y!