Being a Mets fan can make you crazy. Being a Mets historian—or whatever this is—can make you look at every event and try to compare it to something that happened long ago. The 2021 season has been strange in many ways, but it reminds me a little of a year that was outlandish as it was happening: 1984. No, the 2021 team won’t win 90 games like the 1984 version, but it likewise came to earth with a thud in August. The ’84 Mets finished second to the Cubs, who rode the tails of the “Red Baron,” Rick Sutcliffe, one of the great midseason acquisitions (back when the trade deadline was June 15, so you could win one league’s Cy Young Award despite spending the first two months in the other league).

After the seven years in the desert that coincided with my childhood, I was thrilled the 1984 Mets had finally shown that all the years of waiting were not in vain. There was a future at Shea Stadium. And it would be good.

But after so many ego bruisings as a kid, I still worried that this was another tease.

When I came across this game for those early heady days of 1984, I did not remember this game at all. I watched an inning per day, as I have with the other games in my rewatching history series: a September Mets-Cubs game I attended in 1981, the loss at Candlestick that would have been completely out of character if the 1979 Mets had pulled a win out of the year of Mets hell, and the 1983 opener that remains fully justified hooky all these years later.

April 18, 1984: Montreal Expos at New York Mets, Channel 9

The Mets had been pounded by the Expos in the Shea opener the previous afternoon, 10-0. This was a new day, a Saturday afternoon. As had happened when the 1983 season opened, Pete Rose led off. Now he was an Expo. It would be his last stop before heading back to the Reds to manage later in 1984—we know how that stint ended: the all-time hits record and a lifetime ban for a manager gambling on his team.

Rose was a left fielder with the Expos. A Montreal writer said, “Pete Rose in left field covers as much ground as any other flower.” Hotshot Expos shortstop Argenis “Angel” Salazar (one of many reasons Montreal would trade Gary Carter for Hubie Brooks and three top prospects and move Hubie to short) didn’t read the local papers about Rose’s range. Salazar gave way to Rose on a catchable pop fly by Wally Backman that fell between them. Keith Hernandez knocked Backman home with a seed off the wall in right and was thrown out at second by Andre Dawson—part of the Expos Hall of Fame outfield with Raines and… oh, that’s right, Rose isn’t in Cooperstown, just hawking products at the gates of the door they won’t let him into.

Raines had become the first player with 70 RBI and 70 steals in the same year—in 1983 Rock actually stole 90 and also scored 133 runs, both career highs and best in the NL. Expos manager Bill Virdon moved him to third in the order and placed him in center field (allowing the ailing knees of Andre Dawson to cover less ground in right field). Though batting in front of Dawson and Gary Carter did not afford him as many chances to steal, Raines still swiped 75 bases in 1984 to lead the NL for the fourth straight year.

With two Expos on in the fourth and the Mets clinging to a 3-2 lead, Raines bunted. The throw hits Raines and the tying run scored, but first base umpire and crew chief John Kibbler overruled home plate ump Lenny Harris. Raines was out and the runners were sent back to first and second. That proved a huge break when Dawson singled and Rose tried to score from second on Mookie Wilson’s arm. Charlie Hustle tried to “Ray Fosse” the youngest catcher in the majors, but Gibbons, who’d broken his cheek in a home-plate collision in spring training, outmaneuvered Rose and slapped a tag on the staggering 43-year-old’s side.

Not only were the 1984 Mets suddenly coming into their own, Tim McCarver showed why he would be everywhere on TV before the 1980s ended. Familiarity and endless I-told-you-so’s made McCarver annoying later on, but this was his prime as an announcer, just as the Mets were coming into theirs.

• During the game McCarver revealed that on a Channel 9 broadcast during Fernandomania in 1981, famed director Bill Webb was the first to note that the rookie phenom’s eyes rolled heavenward before each pitch.
• McCarver was ahead of the curve on on-base-percentage bandwagon: “Something you don’t see every day, Mookie Wilson taking two pitches in a row.” Steve Zabriske, who had a good game in the booth as well, chimed in, “He saw five pitches!” They discussed the improved selectivity of Mookie batting lower in the order—Johnson had Backman leadoff (against righties) while Mookie mostly batted second or sixth. His walk total rose all the way to 26 in ’84. Their theory was logical, though.
• When Hernandez, who made a lunging tag on a bunt earlier in the game, wheeled on a slow grounder and gunned out the lead runner at second base, McCarver astutely observed that he “made a play no other first baseman would make.” Lauding Mex at the plate, McCarver noted that he had “the best bat control in the National League.”

After so many down years, it was good to have an announcer confirming to Mets fans that what they were seeing was indeed good. We had gotten so used to bad.

A few observations that—looking from a fan’s perspective in the 21st century—proved both strange and welcome:

• Starter Walt Terrell was still pitching in the seventh inning despite allowing 11 hits.
• When Terrell came out a few batters later—after Raines crushed a two-run home run to give Montreal the lead—reliever Doug Sisk arrived in the bullpen car.
• Ex-Met/Expos closer Jeff Reardon came on in the bottom of the seventh and remained in the game until a fateful decision by Bill Virdon in the ninth.
• In April 1984 this college freshman committed the thoughtcrime of worrying bad things might yet happen during this titular year of the grim George Orwell book. But the year 1984 would turn out fine. The true parallels of repressed society and evil leaders would come later.
• The April 24 Mets game would not be on TV because either the New York Islanders or New Jersey Nets would be playing a playoff game. You can imagine the vitriol spewed today if a Mets game was not on the tube on a Friday night.
• Oh, and Dan Tana and VEGA$ appear every night at 6 p.m. on Channel 9.

After reeling off six straight wins in the first week of the year, the Mets reached the home ninth looking like they would drop their fourth straight to fall to 6-5. How many Mets teams had we seen start out hot, only to melt like April frost and be buried in the basement by Memorial Day? Yet there was hope.

Darryl Strawberry singled to start the ninth. Of course, Davey didn’t bunt, and Mookie flied to center. Bill Webb caught a great shot of an intense Keith cursing in the dugout when Hubie Brooks, who’d crushed a homer earlier against Expos starter Bryn Smith, fouled a Reardon fastball straight back—Mex knew Hubie had just missed it and was unlikely to get another fat pitch. Hubie didn’t. He struck out on a ball way out of the strike zone.

Straw stole second, just beating Carter’s throw, to reach scoring position. With Danny Heep and Rusty Staub already used as pinch hitters, the Mets had no choice in their last chance at bat but to send up Jay Gibbons, with exactly one career hit. He fell behind Reardon 0-2 before putting together a great at bat and earning a walk. With the go-ahead run on base, Ron Hodges batted for Ed Lynch. He worked out a walk. Virdon came out and made a controversial but seemingly wise choice to bring in lefty Gary Lucas to face Backman.

Backman had been exiled to the minor leagues, where he fell under Davey’s spell and became one of “his guys” at Tidewater, because he was a switch-hitter who could not bat right. Backman hadn’t had a hit off a major league lefty since 1982 and he looked completely befuddled by the Lucas slider.

But Backman lined the fifth straight slider from the southpaw into the left-field corner. The tying and winning runs scored! A game-winning hit from Wally? Batting righty? Watching vintage baseball in 2021 on a computer was as alien in 1984 as was the idea of the Mets contending. Despite knowing all that would transpire in the third of a century to come, I was as stunned now as if it had just happened. I was filled with the good feelings of that year when the Mets Renaissance broke through the seemingly endless Dark Ages of Shea.

Many years ago I decided that my main bucket list item would be to spend a night in all 50 states. Living out west briefly and meandering around a bit in my early 20s, I pulled over and spent the night in 30-something states—campgrounds, motels, hotels, friends’ couches, etc. While others wanted to visit all the different baseball parks, going to places like the Trop or retro replica Corporate Name Here parks wasn’t how I wanted to spend my vacations. Not that I haven’t been to a bunch of different stadiums anyway. New stadiums go up all the time, but last I looked we’ve been stuck on 50 states for a while. (Just in case we make Washington D.C. a state—and it’s long past time we did—I have that one covered.)

My college buddy, Paul, who now lives near Salem, MA, was formerly in Astoria and a frequent companion at Mets games. He wanted in on this journey, so we pooled ideas and resources. We wanted to hit all the states by the time age 50 came along. Well, that sailed right past. So we extended it to our 50s. By February of 2020 we had a schedule, flights booked, reservations made, and a route all planned for summer. I think you know how that turned out.

One thing that helped pass the pandemic time was fine-tuning the new plan for 2021. There are enough logistics that a travel agent, Destinations Uncharted, helped book flights and rooms while saving us money, aggravation, and worry if something goes wrong (like last year!)—I can’t recommend Barbara Rossi-Skonberg enough. But before this turns into a commercial, here is a rundown of some of our battle plan:

Battlefields + Baseball Tour 2020 2021:

Davenport (IA) Quad Cities River Bandits

Field of Dreams (IA)

Omaha (NE) Storm Chasers

Kansas City Royals (sleeping on KS side)

Negro League Museum (MO)

WWI Museum (MO)

Putting down a pillow in AR

Oklahoma City (OK) Dodgers

Shiloh National Battlefield (TN)

Vicksburg National Battlefield (MS)

Following U.S. Grant over the river to LA

Memphis (TN) Redbirds

St. Louis Cardinals (MO)

And home we go.

Of course, since we finalized these plans, Covid-19 rates spiked, especially in the very areas where we are going. Paul and I are vaccinated, and—well, I know I am a writer, but words fail me here. I don’t really know what else I should say about this right now, but you can follow my personal account on Facebook for updates as they happen and maybe even a Facebook Live or two. I plan to document the trip and the state stats more fully later.

This has been a long time coming. Some states my parents took me to when I was almost too young to remember—but I never forgot. Others were knocked off by the carload when I helped my brother Mark move from CA to NY in 1985—he led my only journeys to see the wonders of Lake Powell, Four Corners, and not one but two nights with his college roommate in NM. There is not much that compares with the boundless freedom and fun of being young and on long trips with few plans with my late dog Gilbey and friends like Dave, Linc, and Parrish; those guys now live far enough away where I don’t see them much, but you always remember who is with you when you see something cool and unique that many will never get a chance to see.

I traveled with my wife and kids to several states—AK and HI were predictably unbelievable—but going on an RV trip with another family to pre-oil boom ND is still my favorite vacation ever. That never would have happened if I wasn’t so dead set on seeing all the states and trying, if only for a night, to understand a little more of what they’re about. When you are in the car the states don’t look so red or blue, and if something annoys you, it’s easy to just turn up the CD player (yes, we still use arcane media) and drown it all out with bad singing.

Wish us luck. You never know what the road will bring.

The first half of the season ended with a thud for the Mets, who allowed a big early lead to get away and split a four-game series with a bad Pirates team. That loss is something you can complain about. Everything else in the first 87 games of the Steve Cohen Era could not have gone much better and could be far, far worse. Sure, four NL teams have better records than the Mets, including three NL West teams. But last time I looked New York was in the East.

The Mets have a paltry 19-26 record on the road, but they own a 28-14 mark at home, have endured more injuries than I can tally, have been forced to play 10 of these unpalatable seven-inning doubleheaders due to an inordinate amount of rainouts and a season-opening series postponed due to a Covid-19 issue by the Nationals. (There is hope we can return to doubleheaders of the nine-inning variety, but one benefit of these seven-inning twinbills is it has caused me despise the day-night doubleheader a little bit less.)

The Mets own a 47-40 record despite scoring only nine more runs than they’ve allowed, the players seem to adore  manager Luis Rojas and they have only recently started to hit. Yet some supposed Mets fans still complain. To those people I recommend you take up another hobby, root for another team, and stop polluting Citi Field with your petulant booing. Maybe there is an alternative reality where you can watch the 2021 Mets in a world where the bungling Wilpons still own the team.

Yet even with a guy named Cohen who makes life even better than Gary, I remain deeply dissatisfied with the state of baseball as it has been run by commissioner Robert Manfred before and after Covid. (Loved the booing every time he stepped to the mic at the new and improved 2021 baseball draft.)

Let’s Go Mets; LFGM for short. Now please pick up your grades, Metsies. And get some well-earned rest. Overall Class Grade: B+.

Students who have not accrued 50 at bats or 15 innings pitched as a Met, please stay in your seat. That means you, Misters J.D. Davis, Brandon Drury, Albert Almora, Mason Williams, Johneshwy Fargus, Khalil Lee, Wifredo Tovar, Travis Blankenhorn, Jake Hager (who?), Cameron Maybin (so impossibly bad over 33 PAs his numbers must be shown: .036/.182/.036!), and the groundout magic of Pat Mazeika. And we’ll pretend we never saw you pitch, Corey Oswalt, Jarad Eikhoff, Tommy Hunter, Yenssy Diaz, Jordan Yamamoto, Robert Stock, Thomas Szapucki, Trevor Hildenberger, Nick Tropeano, Dellin Betances, and Stephen Tarpley, he of the infinity ERA.

First-Half 2019 Report Card

Jacob deGrom A+ As automatic as they come. Sometimes Mets even play well behind the game’s best pitcher.

Taijuan Walker A- Nice consolation prize for “losing out” on Trevor Bauer. Bonafide All-Star and remarkably consistent.

Dominic Smith B+ Dom is becoming the heart of the Mets. And he has unexpected wheels and leather in LF. Sometimes.

Brandon Nimmo B+ Sorry, haters. Offense hit new level when he returned. Second all-time in career Mets OBP (.392).

Aaron Loup B+ This guy never seems to throw a strike, but he gets people out. Mets need another lefty.

Pete Alonso B Some bitching about his at bats, but I’ll take a homegrown slugger with first half of 17-49-.254/.332/.817.

Seth Lugo B The team’s success in 2021 rides on his arm, which is fragile. Go easy on him and go get ’em, Seth.

Edwin Diaz B Borderline All-Star. Dominant at times. Other times reminds you of 2019 debacle. Need him to be solid.

James McCann B Some have complained about his bat. Don’t know if they’ve noticed how few catcher can hit. Or throw.

Marcus Stroman B- He’s local and a little loco. Nice to have him back but watch out for the longball.

Jonathon Villar B- Ball jumps off his bat. He has been a lifesaver this year and has good speed and glove at 3B.

Tylor Megill B- Looks like both names are spelled wrong. Out of the chute with numbers comparable to Mets royalty.

Drew Smith B- Throws hard and is a little wild. Rays traded him for Lucas Duda; more accurate arm than Dudabides.

Jose Peraza C+ Best .210 hitter in baseball. Backbone of a solid bench and group that’s always ready when summoned.

Tomas Nido C+ Team was so depleted in May that Mets moved James McCann to 1B to get more Nido in the lineup.

Robert Gsellman C+ He was actually pitching well. Then went on the 60-day DL, so we’ll see if we see him again.

Jeurys Familia C He may make Mets fans nervous, but having a closer pitching the sixth or seventh is not all bad.

Francisco Lindor C Even in a monumental slump, OBP is still 100 points above AVG. Great glove. Steal more!

Kevin Pillar C Stats not great, but 200 PAs exceeds full season expectations. And bounced back from beaning with gusto.

Luis Guillorme C Good eye, good glove, good backup. Need a player like him on a team with lots of injuries.

Billy McKinney C Best move of first half was getting him from Brewers when Mets had no outfielders. Good pinch hitter.

Jeff McNeil C- Squirrel is not the same since the injury. Went 60 ABs after his return before notching first RBIs.

Michael Conforto C- Tough call with free agency pending. Mets don’t grow many studs; can’t afford a big contract dud.

Trevor May C- His numbers don’t look terrible (3.58 ERA), but 6 HRs are scary. Unreliable since blown save on Day One.

Miguel Castro C- His numbers don’t look as good as May’s, but he’s had some strong outings. And a few nightmares, too.

Joey Lucchesi C- Eight starts (and 3 relief outings) and didn’t reach 40 innings. Now he’s gone until God knows when.

Sean Reid Foley D+ This long man is like Dr. Reid and Mr. Foley: Either excellent or excrement.

David Peterson D Another Met who seems to be either tremendous or terrible. He’s young and he’s lefty, so there’s hope.

Jacob Barnes D- Who? I’m slowing down when I admit this guy isn’t ringing a bell. Safe to say his numbers are not great.

Manager/GM

Luis Rojas and Zack Scott B Both get the exact same evaluation: Thinks things through—a far cry from the last two embarrassments that preceded him, including one who had to be dismissed before his first season by actions away from Citi.

I have been sporadic in posting on metsilverman.com for good reasons—things have been really busy! I have, however, been following the Mets somewhat closely this year after taking last year off. I got into a habit early in the year of following games I could not watch by looking at comments on Facebook. That was actually fun at first: “Ha. Ha. I thought the Mets were down 5-2 based on the 400-level bitching on social media; they’re winning, 5-2!” The constant complaining about a good team has stopped being entertaining.

We are past one of the major MLB milestones of the year: July 4. And the Mets reached it in first place! All this despite an unfathomable number of injuries from the scrubbiest of scrubs all the way to Jacob deGrom. I know that many people don’t like the Mets manager. Luis Rojas is no John McGraw. He’s not even Felipe Alou, but he is the son of that wise manager of the Expos and Giants, giving him a baseball pedigree that few in the game (and even fewer sitting at home) can claim. That Rojas was one of the few management guys that Sandy Alderson didn’t fire upon his return says that people in the know are pretty sure Luis is major league caliber.

But the Mets have been wrong before. Countless times. In my quest to continue to love the game despite the best efforts of commissioner Robert Manfred, I have been watching old games to try to get back my baseball mojo. This time I stumbled on a random Mets game from 1979 just to see if the reality was as bad as experiencing that year in person. The short answer: Hell yes!

Murph and Ralph Take Us Back to Mets Hell

The 1979 team could not hit a lick, the pitching was mediocre, the team had absolutely no power, its third baseman told anyone who’d listen that he didn’t want to be there, and the bullpen was in the opening stage of a turnover that would culminate in the team’s ultimate resurgence… in five years! The 1979 Mets had their fewest fans over a full season and somehow missed 100 losses (they lost 99). Ownership was as bad as it would be in the 20th century—the 21st century is another matter. The 1979 Mets had no money, and they played like it. The pitching staff was so depleted they did not even have any young arms left to call up; so the Mets resorted to washed-up stars like Dock Ellis and Wayne Twitchell, (star may be pushing it with Twitch), both of whom were soon sold off and never saw the big leagues again. The Mets also purchased lefty Andy Hassler, who had several good years left, but he vamoosed as a free agent as soon as possible.

Still, the lineup from the game in question against the Giants at Candlestick Park on May 5, 1979, was better than the lineup I saw in person during a doubleheader at Citi Field against the Rockies on May 27, 2021. Here’s a comparison:

May 5, 1979                           May 27, 2021 (Game 1)

Frank Taveras, SS                   Jonathon Villar, 3B

Alex Trevino, 3B                    Francisco Lindor, SS

Lee Mazzilli, CF                     James McCann, 1B

Steve Henderson, LF              Billy McKinney, RF

Willie Montanez, 1B               Tomas Nido, C

Joel Youngblood, RF              Brandon Drury, LF

John Stearns, C                       Jose Peraza, 2B

Doug Flynn, 2B                      Cameron Maybin, CF

Craig Swan, P                         Marcus Stroman, P

You should note that both versions of the Mets had a catcher playing an unfamiliar infield position and each lineup featured a recently acquired player: Frank Taveras from the 1979 Pirates (still so new that he did not have a name on the back of his jersey in the first year the Mets felt obliged to tell fans which nobody was which), and Billy McKinney from the 2021 Brewers (a player Milwaukee didn’t have room for on its roster, yet he hops a flight to New York and bats cleanup in his Mets debut). One Mets team above was tied for last place (tied, it should be noted, with the “We Are Family” Pirates, who would win hearts and a World Series come October), and the more recent Mets club was in first place. Lesson of the day: Be thankful for what you have; you could be in Mets Hell—even if the guy making out the lineup was a future Hall of Fame manager in Joe Torre (not for what he did for the Mets, of course).

Bob Murphy was doing TV. The following year he switched to radio for good—for very good. Murph’s 1979 TV partner was Steve Albert—not to be confused with Marv, Al, or Kenny Albert. Steve-o broke up the golden-throated triumvirate of Murph, Ralph Kiner, and Lindsey Nelson. Lindsey had opted out of Flushing, its penny-pinching ownership, and its lousy team to join the Giants. Wish they could have piped Lindsey in to work that day with Bob and Ralph on Channel 9.

And then the game started at Candlestick Park. It was raining, which may be the most noteworthy part of this game. (In the first 21 years San Francisco had just 17 rainouts.) Ralph got to use some of his intentional weather quips. “Out here they call this mist—it missed Oregon and wound up in California.”

The Mets went down harmlessly in the first, but the Giants scored three times off Craig Swan, who’d won the 1978 NL ERA title and somehow would win 14 games with the punchless ’79 team. As Murph offered, the only category the 1979 Mets led the National League in—besides walks issued—was mustaches (this is not an official stat). Maybe they were trying to disguise themselves. Richie Hebner, a Mets killer while playing on the team, may have been at his happiest as a Met in San Francisco with a bad back that allowed him to watch rookie backstop Alex Trevino to play third base. Willie Montanez, the team’s resident hot dog and .160-hitting power source, showed off his snatch catch antics. And circle the calendar, because Lee Mazzilli Poster Weekend is coming up. Boys, tell your sisters! Please!!

Murph called Jack Clark, Jackie Clark so often that Steve Albert started doing it. Then Steve spilled a soda all over his scorecard. To their credit, neither Ralph nor Bob discussed kidnapping Lindsey from Candlestick’s press row and smuggling him back to Shea.

Torre’s managing brilliance took another day off. He intentionally walked light-hitting Rob Andrews to pitch to Giants rookie hurler Phil Nastu, who grounded to short and Taveras committed his second error of the day, allowing the fourth Giants run to score. To complete an awful afternoon, the newly-acquired Taveras reached base on a Giants error and was promptly picked off first; Alex Trevino then tripled and was stranded at third on a nice stop by Darrell Evans. John Stearns finally got the Mets on the board, and even then the original Dude had his hands up in the air wondering why the runner was held at third base.

A seventh-inning rally was created by a very unlikely source: pinch hitter Bruce Boisclair. He singled and came around to score on another hit by the young Trevino. Then it was Joe Altobelli’s turn for questionable managing. After Doug Griffin started Mazzilli off with a ball, the Giants manager yanked Griffin for Gary Lavelle. Now turned around to bat right, the Amazin’ Maz clobbered a pitch over the tall wire outfield fence and the game was tied. It was the 11th home run of the year by a Met… in their 22nd game.

Unfortunately, or mercifully—I can’t quite decide—the bottom of the inning was not recorded properly, so I missed Jackie Clark (that name is contagious) launching a two-run home run off Mets rookie Jesse Orosco. Messy Jesse got the first of his 167 decisions (80 losses) that day at the Stick in the seventh appearance of a career that would last into the 2000s and result in a record-setting 1,252 games pitched. Trevino fanned to end the game—the only strikeout by a Giants pitcher all day. (The Mets also did not draw a walk.) The Giants fanned five times in the game. Compare that to the 18 strikeouts per game we are seeing in 2021. I would like to compare this figure with the number of K’s I witnessed in the first game against the Rockies in May 2021, but that was only a seven-inning game. I wish Murph, Ralph, and Lindsey were still with us, but I’m glad they do not have to see this inane rule bending.

Soooo…. it sounds like it may be time to watch another old game.

I am trying to have some fun with this baseball season by looking back on how and why I became such a diehard fan. I must admit, the recent fiddling and Francouering up of the game by the suits that run it has really annoyed me. Seven-inning doubleheaders and pretend runners on second base in extra innings are minor league rules brought to the major leagues to deal with issues that could be resolved simply by increasing rosters. The DH-noDH-DH rules used in the National League between 2020-22 mock fans and treat our traditions and preferences like a game of red light/green light. It has made me take to the web searching out old games.

If not for various book projects, I have rarely watched old games all the way through. I might sneak highlights or an inning here and there, but after taking 2020 off from the Mets due to legitimate questions of whether they should have played at all during the pandemic in the half-assed configuration they threw together, I needed something to bring me back this year. So during moments of procrastination, I am looking back—an inning at a time—at games gone by.

Tom Seaver’s Weclome Back to Shea: April 5, 1983

This is one of my all-time favorite games. Three friends and I skipped high school to go my first Opening Day game. In my first eight years of being a Mets fan, this was the first time I witnessed traffic at a standstill because of the Mets. It was the largest Opening Day crowd at Shea in 15 years.

Since I was at the game, I’d never seen TV coverage of this momentum-changing game. While the 1983 Mets finished last, like the Mets of that era seemed to do almost every year, you had a feeling this time would be the last—it being the Mets, though, you could never trust that for sure. Within a year Mex, Straw Doc, and Darling would be the faces of a Mets team suddenly in hot pursuit of first place. In April 1983, however, these were just names in the back of the yearbook—and in the case of Keith Hernandez, it was impossible to imagine a hitting and fielding star of this caliber in orange and blue racing stripes.

When the four of us walked into the bright April sun in the mezzanine on April 5, 1983, the crowd was in full roar as Tom Seaver made his way to the mound. Under my baseball-sleeve shirt my arm had goosebumps. I thought I might even cry. (I read a week later in Sports Illustrated that Seaver wasn’t far from these feelings, either.)

I choked back the emotion and sucked down one of the 48,000 beers sold that day. I counted myself lucky to be at this game—and to have found a parking space.

On WOR-TV the Mets announcers were on their A-game as well. Tom Seaver had been acquired from the Reds that winter for a batch of players even more nondescript than the ones the Mets had received from the Reds for Tom Terrific five and half years earlier. On Opening Day of ’83, Seaver faced a Philadelphia team that would go on to win the NL pennant that year. I am still not sure how. The Phillies lineup was filled with players who had been starting in the majors since I was in diapers: Pete Rose and Joe Morgan, Seaver’s teammates with the Reds, were the first two batters he faced in his Mets return. Tony Perez, who’d debuted before I was born, got the first hit off the new Seaver. Gary Matthews, a dangerous bat but relative baby on the Wheeze Kids at age 32, did not get the ball out of the infield against Seaver. Mike Schmidt, who’d won two of his three MVPs by 1983, hit a pair of harmless flyballs against him.

Seaver had some tricky moments, but he allowed only three hits and a walk. Thanks to a double play and Joe Morgan getting thrown out trying to stretch a single, Seaver only pitched to two batters over the minimum in six innings. Over the same span, Carlton had even fewer issues with a Mets lineup that was punchless, even with the defending NL home run (and whiff) leader in Dave Kingman and overpaid former MVP George Foster.

It was a day for pitchers, and you had to marvel at the efficiency of these two masters. The WOR broadcast revealed that the seven Cy Youngs between Lefty and The Franchise were the most ever (to that time) by aces facing each other. Carlton’s fourth Cy Young had come just the previous season.

Pete Rose, playing right field for the first time since 1971, struck out twice to the roars of the Mets faithful—quite a few of whom surely had to suck down beer to cover the tears forming in the creases of their eyes as well. Seaver was young again—maybe not Cy Young again—but just having him there was good enough. And then he was gone.

Wally Backman batted for Seaver in the bottom of the sixth. Seaver had a left thigh issue, and no one wanted to spoil this Sports Illustrated-cover worthy return with an injury or a loss if some Phillie invariably guessed right. (There was a reason the Reds had sent the 38-year-old Franchise back to New York for a song—a 5-13 mark with career-worst 5.50 ERA and 62 strikeouts as an ’82 Red.) What you could question was George Bambergere’s knowledge of his team.

Wally Backman? Batting righty? Against one of the great lefties of all time? The switch-hitting Backman, the pride of Aloha High in Oregon, had hit .190, .190, and .094 against lefties in his first three years in the majors. He would require the patronage of his 1983 minor league manager turned 1984 Mets manager, Davey Johnson, to get another shot in the big leagues. Suffice it to say, Backman looked bad striking out against Carlton as the perplexed crowd booed the move.

Bamberger had no shortage of faith in Doug Sisk, however. And pound for pound, it was one his most successful outings as a Met. It started with groans when he went 2-0 on his first batter. Sisk was making just his ninth career appearance and he indeed walked two, but he tossed three innings and even picked up the win when head-scratching Opening Day starters Mike Howard and Brian Giles knocked in runs in the seventh.

Unbeknownst to us all, Bamburger, who was acting as his own pitching coach, would quit that job and the manager’s spot as well in less than a couple of months. (Seaver would likewise have a short Mets reunion as an arcane free agent compensation draft in January 1984 saw the Mets expose, and the White Sox take, the aging Mets icon.) But for now, Seaver was done for the day and it was full steam ahead with Sisk.

Even with Mike Schmidt representing the go-ahead run in the ninth, Bambi stayed with the rookie and the Hall of Fame slugger stayed in the park. Sisk fanned the Cooperstown-bound Perez to end it. The game gave the Mets universe a taste of the good side of the team’s roller coaster relationship with the rookie reliever. This was as good as it got.

It has been a long time since I put together a post of any appreciable depth on this site. To state the facts, I have authored, co-authored, or co-edited 11 books on the Mets. I have been to perhaps 500 Mets games. I attended every Mets postseason game played between 1988 NLCS and the 2015 NLDS (some two dozen games). I listened to thousands of broadcasts on various radio stations with numerous announcers. I watched an uncountable number of games on free, pay, and network TV. Plus highlight films during rain delays and other interludes. Yet at some point in 2020 I lost my excitement about it all. I figured I’d lose my sex drive some day, but my Mets drive? Inconceivable!

Maybe 2020 was a bad barometer. There was so much more to worry about than baseball. I did not watch a single Mets at bat in 2020. I recovered during the Division Series and uneasily watched the Dodgers win their first title since my playoff string started. Yet I was repulsed by Justin Turner, one of my favorite Mets of the bad teen teams, celebrating despite knowing he had the contagious virus that has been fatal half a million times.

And then MLB decommissioned the minor league team I’d spent five years working for on game days. In 2019 the Class A Tri-City Valley Cats were told they would survive the New York-Penn League purge. Later, in MLB’s cruel and infinite wisdom, the course was changed. Troy was ditched almost 138 years after the National League tossed out the Troy Haymakers for the crime of being in not a metropolitan enough area. Ask not for whom the bell tolls…

Al Yellon, who curates my favorite non-Mets site, Bleed Cubbie Blue (and whom I have worked with through two editions of Cubs by the Numbers, along with uniform number savant Kasey Ignarski), had a link to a Mets-Cubs game on Chicago’s WGN-TV from 1981. I am not sure why I clicked on the link, but it immediately became apparent that I had attended this game at Shea. And over nine one-inning sittings this winter, Joe Torre’s team—in the final week of his seemingly endless, childhood-crushing regime—brought me back to the fold 40 years later.

I am not going to bore you with the specifics of my teen angst, but sometime during the 1981 baseball strike, I went off the skids. A reckless accident cost me the privilege to drive just weeks after getting my license. Granted, the car was a yellow AMC Pacer. You could not find an uglier, more girl-repelling car if you tried. But it was mine. And I blew it. Not the last mistake I made that year, either.

Maybe this was why my brother, Michael, took me to two Mets game during the final weeks of the strike-marred ’81 season. Mike—along with his twin, Mark—had graduated from Northwestern, outside Chicago. They fell hard for the Cubs and day games, for which I can’t blame them. When Mike got married in Chicago in 1982 I went to Wrigley Field for the first time. Friday afternoon baseball! I even bought a light blue road jersey—no name—for $15. After sneaking a couple of Old Styles, I pondered the plausibility of stowing away in the Wrigley catacombs, living off old hot dog rolls and rock-hard pretzels, spending the winter under a blanket that once kept Bronko Nagurski less frigid on the sidelines.

But back in 1981, on the final Wednesday night of the year, the Cubs and Mets helped bring me back after the strike that rocked my world and shook my faith in baseball. By the night of September 30, 1981, the Mets had already seen their slim postseason hopes snuffed in the split season that screwed far worthier teams than the Mets out of a place in the expanded playoffs. That weekend at Shea the Montreal Expos would clinch the only postseason berth in a Canadian baseball saga even more star-crossed than the Mets have managed in America.

There were 4,473 on hand, the third-smallest Shea crowd of a season with barely 700,000 fans in a year where almost a third of the games were erased for no apparent gain by either warring side. (The next day against the Cubs, October 1, would see Shea’s second-smallest crowd; a game that ended, fittingly, in a tie.)

The game I witnessed again was a good night for Charlie Puleo. Netted from the Blue Jays as the player to be named later for the flash in the pan of mediocrity that was Mark Bomback, Puleo made his first major league start on this last day of September, 1981. He showed some moxie by whiffing cleanup hitter Leon Durham with men on second and third and then retiring Steve Henderson, traded to the Cubs that year for a second helping of Dave Kingman.

The reason I remember being at this game was the Cubs starter: Doug Bird. A journeyman swingman who’d had some good years for Whitey Herzog’s Royals, Bird was, like Puleo, taking a turn finishing another wasted season by his club. (The Cubs would finish behind the Mets before the strike, after the strike, and overall—the definition of a lousy season, no matter how many ways you cut a rancid pie.) I didn’t realize it at the time, but Doug Bird had an even worse summer than I did. He’d won 12 straight games between 1978 and 1981, yet the day after the strike he was shipped from the AL East-leading Yankees to the team with baseball’s worst record, in exchange for Rick Reuschel. I hope Bird didn’t own a Pacer, too.

What I remember about Doug Bird is that he couldn’t hit. He looked so bad in his first swing in the fifth inning that I felt confident I could use the Shea bathroom and not miss anything. When I returned, literally one minute later, my brother was holding a baseball—courtesy of Doug Bird. My brother Mark had caught a ball while I sat home on the previous homestand. Figures! It would be 27 years and many missed chances until I finally caught my own foul ball at Shea a few months before the place closed for good.

Doug Bird could pitch, though. That, along with the Mets’ inability to hit, enabled him to retire 15 batters in a row. Considering the lineup featured their two worst hitters, Doug Flynn and Ron Gardenhire—with former All-Star Lee Mazzilli riding the pine—the Mets trailed 1-0 entering the home seventh. I was confident while re-watching it that the Mets had won this game. I didn’t remember how, though.

The commercials were an entertaining sidebar in this time capsule. A new Toyota Corolla cost $4,700. WGN had Barney Miller and the half hour version of Saturday Night Live back to back. “No Coke. Pepsi.” Cubs announcer and Hall of Fame shortstop Lou Boudreau, who debuted as a player in 1938 at age 21 and as a manager at 25 during World War II, declared Joe McCarthy the best manager ever. Shea’s “Sign Man” was at the game. We all had time to kill.

Even for a September midweek meaningless game, it moved quickly. The Cubs led, 1-0, as 22 batters went up and down between the teams as I sat re-watching the game on my computer during snowstorms, drizzle, sun, and night. The Mets—as only they could—hit three straight balls to the gap and scored only once as Kong was thrown out at second in between doubles by Hubie Brooks and Rusty Staub.  But it was tied. Puleo got a hand cramp in the seventh and, damn the pain and the pitch count, the trainer massaged it out on the mound. Puleo then struck out rookie Pat Tabler with the game on the line. The managers looked as unconcerned about their starters as if the game were played in 1891 instead of 1981. This was the tonic I needed to see in 2021 to get my Mojo back.

Convention finally gave way to practicality and managers Torre and Joey Amalfitano pinch hit for their starters after eight innings. Neil Allen got out of a jam when rookie Mookie Wilson ran down a drive in the gap in the top of the ninth. John Stearns greeted Randy Martz with a swinging bunt in the home ninth. Hubie Brooks conventionally bunted the winning run to second. The first Met of the night to walk—Kingman—was passed intentionally. Mighty Mazzilli came up as a pinch hitter and future Cy Young winner Willie Hernandez made the arduous 338-foot journey in the Cubs bullpen car.

Batting righty, Mazzilli’s ground ball found its way through the hole and Stearns scored ahead of Steve Henderson’s throw. Years before the term “walk off” was a thing, my brother and I were walking off the Shea ramp holding a major league ball. It was the last at bat of Maz’s I would see in Mets pinstripes for five years—when the Mets would somehow be positioning themselves for a World Series run. Charlie Puleo would be a key piece in the December 1982 trade to bring Tom Seaver back to New York—if only for a year. And Detective Fish would offer some sage wisdom on Barney Miller.

Next thing I knew I was back in 2021 watching spring training, laughing at Keith, and listening to Darling talk about pitching. Maybe this is the year. Did you hear there’s a new owner? And the GM, who’s since been fired for horrid behavior to women with these same Cubs, traded two shortstops for one really good one. Or maybe someone else engineered that trade. All I know is it wasn’t that Brodie dude. And what’s with Luis Guillorme’s cult following? Luis probably would have batted behind Kingman on those ’81 Mets.

I don’t know if I’m fully back, but sitting for hours at a time at home watching a kid’s game as it is actually happening sounds surprisingly natural. And simple. You know, I think I’ve got this.

Very pleased to be appearing as part of SABR Day on Zoom on Saturday, January 30. Host David Krell will talk to author Erik Sherman and me starting at 9 a.m. to kick off—wrong sport, how about toss the first pitch—for SABR Day in NJ.

I recently did an interview with Dan Reinhard on WKNY Sports Talk where we discussed the minor league contraction—the team I worked for part-time in Troy, NY was among those teams contracted through the ongoing shortsightedness program of MLB. (It’s not about losing players to develop, it’s about alienating large swaths of fans.) Having gotten the kids off my lawn, we talk Metssie, Metsie, Metsie!

Oh, and since it has been a while for me on the site, I should mention that an updated of Baseball Miscellany. I like to call it my non-Mets book (though there is a fair bit on them in it, natch). It came out a few months late thanks to you know which communicable disease.

I heard people say they were worried about me when I announced I was not following the Mets this year. Well, just to reassure you, it’s been a month or so, and I am OK. I may still crack, but I really haven’t missed not following the Mets for the first time since 1974.

It was the automatic runner being placed on second in extra innings that pushed me over the edge. If that didn’t get me the seven-inning doubleheaders would have. And the idea of flying people all around the country in the midst of a pandemic to play in empty stadiums just doesn’t make sense to me. The virus is so out of hand in America that we aren’t allowed to travel to most countries. The bubble idea adopted in Canada—plus the grown-up way they’ve addressed the pandemic—has impressed me a lot. I’ve watched almost every night of the NHL playoffs so far and it’s been mesmerizing. I was pulling for a Canadian team to finally win the Stanley Cup again, and my nhl.com playoff bracket is pretty much busted. C’est la vie.

But, oh, yeah, I was here to talk baseball. If I ever have to write about the 2020 Mets season some day, I’ll utilize the same methods I’ve successfully used to recreate the pre-’74 seasons I never witnessed. At this point, I want to see if I can take it all the way and skip an entire season—though 60 games seems awfully easy to leave out. Especially with the social media posts I’ve encountered fleetingly regarding impending doom both on the field and in terms of Covid health. This year is not normal, and pretending otherwise is an insult to the 170,000 and counting whose lives this disease has claimed just in the U.S.

I’ve spent so much time over the years obsessing over this team, one benefit is I feel like I’m getting some of my time and energy back. I’m not losing any sleep over blown leads, or injuries, or front office foolishness, or a dozen other things I can’t do a thing about. My main concern isn’t that I’m missing something in this asterisk season, it’s that I am not using my extra time wisely. Maybe we’ll meet again in October. Or in the brave new world of 2021, the year in honor of Tommie Agee (number 20) and Cleon Jones (21), the Mets from Mobile. Goin’ Mobile in 2021!

“I’m an air-conditioned gypsy

That’s my solution,

Watch the police and the taxman miss me, I’m mobile!”