Sponsored by Shea Stadium Remembered

The Jets play their final game at Shea Stadium. It also winds up being the final game for Steelers quarterback Terry Bradshaw, whose elbow gives out after a touchdown pass and he never plays again. The Steelers win, 34-7, and the fans tear down the goalposts and everything else they can get their hands on as the Jets exit for New Jersey. (The NFL Network put together an awesome segment about the last Shea game.)

The Jets finish their 20 seasons at Shea with a 70-67-3 mark, plus a 1-2 record in the postseason (that one win clinched an AFL championship in 1968). They drew 7.7 million fans to Shea. The opening of the stadium in 1964 made the Jets—previously known as the doleful Titans—the most popular team in the AFL. Even before they signed Joe Willie Namath. Their Shea tenure was often turbulent, battling Mets ownership about perpetually opening the season on the road and not playing at home on October. The situation eventually took the Jets to court. And eventually to New Jersey. Like the planes flying over Shea, these Jets were heading out of air space. As one fan’s sign said that last day at Shea: “Good luck in the swamp.”

Shea Stadium Remembered Presents

Shea Stadium Remembered Presents This Day at Shea, 12/9/1979: Once upon a time a Jets-Patriots game was quite a competitive matchup. Led by Richard Todd, who ran for a touchdown and threw for another, the Jets were up by 8 late, when Steve Grogan found Stanley Morgan for a Patriots TD. But the 2-point conversion was years away from adoption in the NFL, so the Pats kicked the extra point and the final was 27-26.

And if you or your loved ones loved Shea, here is something for under the tree. Message me if you want an inscription and bookmark.

John Delcos died the other day. The Mets reporter for the Journal News in Westchester for many years, he had his own site, and recently had contributed to Forbes.com. We came together just after the downfall of the Mets preseason annual in 2011. I have always regretted that I didn’t get in touch with him during the publication’s four-year run. And that the extent of our collaborations was a few pieces on each other for our respective websites, the most interesting was an article he interviewed me in 2015 about Yogi Berra and the 1973 World Series that came out shortly after Berra’s death and shortly before Terry Collins made his own World Series misstep. But John was always good at staying in touch. When we last spoke almost a year ago, John was looking to do a book. We mostly talked on the phone and conversed through emails. I was always happy to hear from him.

The one time that I went to the Citi Field press box was at his insistence. It was during the fleeting Happy Harvey Day phenomenon of 2013, when New York columnists actually broke off writing about the Yankees for a minute to look at this kid throwing bullets and showing swagger—more swagger than bullets, as it turned out. Generally, I’d rather sit in the stands and not have to justify myself to the public relations staff as to my worthiness to occupy the chair left empty by the New York newspapers that no longer send reporters to Mets games. I am glad he got me out of my comfort zone so I could witness the Mets creating buzz and the media hive decimating it. The Mets won and so did I.

After John wound up in a wheelchair, we made plans to go to spring training together. In the end, he was just not up to the journey. It was not the same without him and I have not been back to spring training since. He had plenty of press box friends who were better connected than I, but he always made me feel that we were all on even par.

What really sticks with me was his Mets Report site. He included whatever inside information he had and his posts were always insightful. He did it because he cared and still felt the need to share that knowledge with a fan base that he fully understood. Once Adam Rubin—another good guy with great communication skills— exited the Mets beat, the John Delcos Mets Report was the best thing I read on a regular basis about the Mets. John’s last entry was this past Opening Day, but it was filled with analysis and observations such as: seven days into the season, Seth Lugo was already overused. “Callaway has been erratic in this young season as to how he’s used his bullpen.” Neither of us was a fan of Mickey.

I am sad I won’t get to talk to him about Carlos Beltran taking on one of the toughest jobs in sports: Pleasing the Wilpons and Mets fans. Who knows what it takes to please Mets ownership. Pleasing Mets fans? That’s what he did best, through good old fashioned reporting.

For nigh on about 30 years I have almost annually selected a Met who showed grit and usually the ability to hit, yet got no love from the manager. Past winners have included the likes of Todd Pratt, Mackey Sasser, Nick Evans (the only two-time winner), Heath Bell, and even—after an exile to the minors and a seat on the bench in Flushing in 2016—Michael Conforto.

Dom Smith would have been a candidate, but he plays the same position as the best rookie hitter in Mets history. Even when Smith did play first base, I yelled at the no-longer Mets manager, “Why isn’t Pete Alonso playing? He’s only 24! He doesn’t need a rest!!” And when Dom played left field, I’d bark at the TV, “Why isn’t J.D. Davis playing left?” Dom got his 200 plate appearances, including a .286 pinch-hit average and the season-concluding walkoff homer after not missing two months because of injury. So he’s got too much going for him to be FNP Met.

Adainy Hechavarria had a shot, before he became a one-man Mets wrecking crew, seeking vengeance for the Mets cutting him on the eve of a $1 million roster bonus. You know, I’d be pissed, too. But he’s a Brave now, so he’s not even eligible to be the FNP. Chop this!

Joe Panik nearly snagged it. The Mets picked up the Hopewell Junction local off waivers to be the regular second baseman after Robinson Cano was injured. But Cano came back sooner—and better—than expected, so Joe rode the pine. In about two months as a Met he batted 103 times and hit .277. I live somewhat close to him in the Hudson Valley and his daily commute is noteworthy, but he didn’t take an Uber from two states away to get to Citi Field.

Rajai Davis was getting ready for batting practice in Lehigh Valley, PA, for the Mets’ AAA team in May when he found out he was going back to the majors. The dude is 38 and playing in the minors despite having clubbed a game-tying home run in the eighth inning of Game Seven of the 2016 World Series for Cleveland. Rajai was not waiting a second longer to start back to the bigs. He pulled out his phone and dispatched an Uber driver to take him to Citi Field. A couple of hours and $243 later, the gregarious outfielder had a friend for life in Jason his driver and Darryl Strawberry’s old number. Number 18 got to Flushing mid-game, pinch-hit in the eighth, and smacked a three-run blast in a 6-1 win over the eventual world champions.

The former 38th-round pick out of UConn-Avery Point—I lived in Connecticut for several years and I’m not even familiar with that branch—was sent back to Syracuse while Aaron Altherr stayed in Flushing. Despite a homer in his first at bat as a Met, Altherr possessed neither the stick nor the flash to match Rajai. Altherr and his .129 batting average appeared in 26 games in New York while Davis, though injured for part of that time, languished in the minors. Finally sense was restored to the universe and Altherr, who had gone 2-for-August, was jettisoned and Davis was recalled.

Rajai’s next big moment came in—you guessed it—the eighth inning against the Dodgers on September 14. Rajai broke up a scoreless duel with a three-run, pinch-hit double. He only batted 25 times as a Met, not even enough to qualify for a grade on my report card! But Uber and the big moments puts him at the top of the class and cemented the FNP for him. He’s never won a World Series ring, but he has the plate display in his front parlor, complete with Gil Hodges’s image. Hold it high, Rajai, you earned it.

Sponsored by Shea Stadium Remembered
Well, I got some grief yesterday for posting about a pennant the Mets clinched at Shea in 2000 before losing to the Yankees. So today let’s remember the Grand Slam Single of 1999. I was also there, and I had a new job and tons of work to do and here I am at the game and it’s going on forever and I have to be 100 miles north tomorrow morning and they’ll probably lose anyway and… wait a minute, this is one of the best games I’ve ever seen. It didn’t matter that we were drenched, that the game was more than five hours old, that the Mets hadn’t scored since the first inning, or that Atlanta owns us. Live in the moment, Mets fans! Even if the moment is 20 years old!! Stop comparing yourself to Yankees fans!!! That’s what I told myself that afternoon at Shea and was rewarded with a moment I will never forget it. Neither should you!

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Back when there were no Nationals, just the scruffy, cuddly Expos, whose parents were cruelly cheap but they did speak French, the Mets took the Wild Card and then took the pennant in a dominant display over the Cardinals. Mike Hampton was brilliant, pitching AN ACTUAL COMPLETE GAME SHUTOUT IN A POSTSEASON GAME (the second in as many series by a Met that fall). Shea Stadium shook like I’d never experienced before, as Todd Zeile cleared the bases with a double and you knew that Game Five was going to be the clincher and you were going to see it happen. It was wonderful, beautiful for about 24 hours. And then some pushy guys from the Bronx clinched the other pennant and you came to realize that the next two weeks would either be the best of your baseball life, or it was going to feel like putting a beloved pet to sleep. Goodbye, Hampton.

Sponsored by Shea Stadium Remembered

The 1973 Mets went from last to first in a month’s time to take an NL East division no one seemed interested in winning. Beating the Big Red Machine in the best-of-five NLCS was another matter. The rules of the day had home-field assigned on a rotating basis with the same team hosting Games Three, Four, and Five. The Mets took full advantage  of this scheduling. Pete Rose may have won the fight, but the Mets won the war. The riot at Shea Stadium that followed the pennant clinching was a whole different matter.

I look at the significance of the game, the day, and the year against a tense political backdrop in Swinging ’73 and in a piece I wrote today for Rising Apple.

Sponsored by Shea Stadium Remembered

This is a challenge to summarize all that happened during the Rose-Harrelson brawl. I spent at least a month crafting this part of Swinging ’73 and talked to as many Mets as I could find, from Jerry Koosman, who was the mound and remembered little of it, to Rusty Staub, who was running in from right field and saw the commotion out of the corner of his eye, to Ron Hodges leading the bullpen charge, to Jon Matlack, who was in the bathroom and came out wondering what the hell was going on! I got some input from George Theodore, Wayne Garrett, and Buzz Capra, who were in the middle of the action—Theodore, still recovering from a broken hip, was just trying to break it up and not break something else.

Somehow, no players were ejected. Fans pelted the field with debris when Rose came out to left field for the next inning. WFAN’s Bob Heussler was a college freshman in the front row in the loge: “When you saw the whiskey bottle come flying onto the field, you knew this was pretty much out of control.” Sparky Anderson pulled the Reds off the field. A contingent of Mets—manager Yogi Berra, Willie Mays, Tom Seaver, Cleon Jones, and Staub—came out to left field to calm the fans and avoid a possible forfeit. And a full scale riot.

I went out to the Long Island Ducks ballpark to talk to part-owner Bud Harrelson in 2012. What a gentleman! We talked in between him pitching batting practice to the Ducks and he provided the back-story of the bad blood that ensued after Matlack limited the Reds to two hits in Game Two in Cincinnati. Like Mookie Wilson and Bill Buckner years later, the autograph circuit actually brought Rose and Harrelson closer together as time wore on. Not friends—like Mook and Billy Buck became—but accomplices in a long ago time.

You may have heard that this is the 50^th anniversary of the 1969 Mets. Well this month marks 50 years since the Mets raised the flag high and Fans for the Cure is holding a celebration for the Miracle Mets on Monday, October 21, at the SVA Theater at 333 W. 23rd Street in New York.

On hand will be 1969 Mets Cleon Jones, Art Shamsky, Ron Swoboda, and Ed Kranepool to help raise money to help raise awareness of prostate cancer. Mets great and manager of the league champion Brooklyn Cyclones Edgardo Alfonzo—why isn’t he in the Mets Hall of Fame?—will be a special guest. It is organized by Ed Randall of Talkin’ Baseball on the FAN and Sirius XM. He is the founder of Fans for the Cure.

Ed has always been generous with his time and done interviews of me and for me, providing some great insight in what it was like in press row during the 1986 World Series and his story of flying over Shea during an ’86 postseason game was included in Shea Stadium Remembered. I met Ron Swoboda at a Mets-Marlins game on the last homestand and he was awesome. Ed Kranepool is a true gentleman and an original Met who invited me to his house and whose photos decorate my book and my office. Cleon Jones and Art Shamsky nailed down the outfield corners at Shea—with Rocky Swoboda taking over against lefties.

Here is a link to how you can take part. I also donated a book for the auction and will try to be there. There is a reception at 6 p.m., an hour before the event. It is the night before this year’s World Series, but regardless of this year’s matchup it can’t touch the magic of the ’69 World Series. Fifty years flies by in a snap!

Well, this was the day I was supposed to celebrate my Favorite Nonplaying Met, the player I annually feature whose butt is stuck to the bench because the manager didn’t give the guy a chance. We’ll do the FNP Mets Award another day. The fact that I have such an award says that I have a long history of second-guessing Mets managers.

I have disliked most of them. Joe Torre, whose poor decision-making and making a bad club worse ruined the 59,000 years he managed the Mets between my sixth and 11th grade years. I despised him long before he took over the Yankees. I still spit whenever someone mentions Torre’s replacement, George Bamberger, who quit on the Mets like a nightshift clerk at a convenience store after a robbery. Art Howe was arguably the worst Mets manager I’ve seen in the past 30 years. I kind of liked Dallas Green—maybe because I covered his clubhouse a little in 1995. He didn’t dicker around.

Bud Harrelson was a great guy and a bad manager. Same for Frank Howard. Jerry Manuel had a nice little run there until the 2008 bullpen exploded—that group actually made this year’s pen look reliable. But I quickly grew weary of Jerry in the years that followed. Willie Randolph lost me for good during those last 17 days of 2007. I never liked Terry Collins’s decision making, but the guy did have guts. I thought T.C. deserved the Manager of the Year in 2015 and 2016. And this comes from someone who thought he should be fired as late as July of ’15. By ’17, though, it was so over.

Davey Johnson and Bobby Valentine were the gold standard of Mets managers in my time. Most of the others I judge by the fact that no one since Johnson has been hired to manage another club for more than one season. Except for Jeff Torborg, who was abysmal and was hired by a friend and somehow managed both Montreal and Florida. Into the ground.

And then along came Mickey. I don’t care who they hire to manage the team, so long as that guy can take the Mets to a world championship. They do that and I will hang that man’s picture in my man cave. I’ll hang the GM’s picture, too. Then I’ll start selling off my baseball belongings because I’ll be sure that there isn’t much more to see on this earth. Because I have severe doubts that this team will ever win another title in my lifetime.

Mickey was terrible. Maybe that sounds harsh, but even the things he did right felt like accidents. The players liked him, but I’m pretty sure they really want to win, too. (At least I hope they do!) I thought Callaway was in over his head from the beginning. I would like to see the Mets hire someone who knows what he’s doing. And if the GM or the chief operating officer are texting the manager about who should be pitching the eighth inning—especially if they do this before the game even starts—they need to stop. Let the manager manage. Then you blame him when things go wrong. That is how the game has worked forever. If you are calling the shots, then you are the ones to blame, Brodie and Jeff. One of you can be fired. The other is the reason I have such doubts about another championship while I’m alive.

Baseball managers need to be former baseball players. Is that some kind of “ism” line that I’ve crossed? Like nonballplayerism? Whatever, the players respect people who know how hard it is to play the game and constantly dealing with the pressure that someone can take their job at any time. Unless they have a large contract. And then Cano is batting third every day because the GM got him that contract as his agent. And then traded the farm to get him and someone who created Ninth Inning on Elm Street.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, it seems crazy for the Mets to fire a manager who won 86 games, but this team should have won 96 games. (The Mets Pythagorean W-L, a formula based on the team’s run for and against, was also 86 wins. Anyone who watched this team, however, knows that Mickey screwed the pooch on at least half a dozen games this year because he: 1. used a pitcher too soon, 2. used him too late, 3. pulled a starter who was going great and hadn’t thrown too many pitches, or 4. let Edwin Diaz work it out on the mound with the game on the line when anyone from a million miles away could see the dude was in the middle of a classic sore-arm, down year after a good year, brain-lock meltdown funk. I hope it’s one of those things because the Mets gave up way too much to Seattle just to give up on Diaz and let him figure it out for another team and make Mets fans even crazier than they already are.)

That parenthetical sequence there went on about as long as a ninth-inning with Mickey in the dugout. I had hoped that a pitching coach turned manager would make the staff better. Nope. Jacob deGrom may well win two Cy Young Awards on Mickey’s watch, but the fact that the Mets were only 14-18 in deGrom starts in each of those two seasons is a major reason why Callaway will not be at Citi Field next year. Life is short. And so was his tenure.