Just to clarify from the start, this article does not involve Ray Ramirez, Hospital For Special Surgery, Jack Kevorkian or any other medically related field. This is more a personal piece correlating to my own variety of personal issues over the last month. If you’ve read this disclaimer and still intend to read it, I thank you in advance.
June 17th, 2012 I attended the Mets 3-1 loss to the Cincinnati Reds on Father’s Day with my father. We walked the stadium, took in the sights, overpaid for food and drinks, and enjoyed a nice day out at the park. Upon returning home, the usual questions were asked by my mother. Who were the Mets playing, what was the final score and where did we sit. Despite telling her the answers, every other time I’d still answer and explain more. The final count may have wound up around five times, with her final response after all of my exertion being “Oh, that sucks that they lost”. That was the last time my mother would ask me about the New York Mets. She knew I loved the Mets, and just by knowing I loved the Mets she asked questions to attempt to care. My mother would pass away the next day, Monday, June 18th at 8:10 A.M. of a sudden heart attack. Just as a season for one team kept rising, my own personal team, my family took a loss akin to the Beltran curveball (we forgive you Carlos, but still…you have to swing.)
The next day I was crushed and devastated, as to be expected – but despite all of this, at 7:03 P.M. on Monday, June 18th I sat down to watch the Mets game actively crying, to the point where sight itself was virtually impossible. Other than my undying care and concern for the team, I was still confused why I was watching the game in a time like this.
After some semblance of composing myself, a thought dawned upon me. I was watching the game and paying attention because my mother would call me at some point in the day under normal circumstances to know the score and who was winning. I was watching the game because I was hoping she would be able to ask me the score, and even if she couldn’t, she’d know I was thinking about her. That would probably be the most composed moment I would have for the rest of the night, even crying through the Ike Davis sixth inning grand slam, beginning the end of his personal slide.
I watched the 5-0 win against the Orioles, from first pitch to last pitch and watched R.A. Dickey throw his second straight one-hit complete game shutout, with a season high 13 strikeouts. At that point, I just thought it was a hell of a game. Looking back, I realized this was by far the best overall game R.A. Dickey pitched the entire season, only giving up a lofted single in the fifth inning to journeyman Wilson Betemit.
Since that point, as much as my job, personal life and other assorted issues have occurred, I have tried to watch every Mets game, from start to finish. Not only for the sake of my curiosity and ability to live and be crushed vicariously through the Mets, but because it is what my mother would’ve wanted. One day, despite however unrealistic I will be waiting for the phone call when she asks me five times, who the Mets played and what the score was.
If you have read this far, Thank you. For everyone who sent their condolences from both the MMO staff as well as the readership and even fellow Mets bloggers, Lets go Mets.
R.I.P. Shirley Kenny (3/30/55 – 6/18/12)