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.