The funny thing is, I was talking to Joe D earlier that day about how I was going to groom my son to be the next great Mets catcher, and then found myself standing in front of that beautifully framed picture of Carter. I had been in that store many times in the past, and never have seen a picture of Carter.

People sometimes wonder what the big deal of owning an autographed picture of a great athlete is. Well, if you find the right piece of memorabilia, it should stir up some memories…

Only the good die young.

We hear that saying all the time, but for a man that carried the nickname “the Kid,” it couldn’t be truer. As I sit here and reflect on one of my childhood heroes, it’s hard to envision the 1986 Mets team that we hold so dear in our hearts, ever reaching the heights they did that season without Carter. He brought stability and leadership to a young and immature team that was in desperate need of guidance. The Mets may have only one World Series under their belts today if it wasn’t for the Mets bringing Carter in for the 1985 season. I think everyone that knows the story of the ’86 Mets would agree that (sorry for the cheesy line but) without No. 8, they would have never been great.

Carter was the only good guy portrayed in the book The Bad Guys Won, which chronicled the crazy journey of 1986 Mets. He has an entire chapter dedicated to himself. The chapter starts off by calling him a “geek.” Literally.

The reason people called him a geek was because if you lumped all the other Mets players in a tank, and the water that filled the tank was represented by all the drug use, womanizing, and alcohol they consumed, Carter was like a bead of oil sitting on top of the water.

He never cursed, never wore cool clothes, never drank alcohol, never smoked, never used illegal drugs or cheated on his wife. For these behaviors, he was alienated in the clubhouse, and labeled a “geek.” The truth is Carter wasn’t a “geek.” He wasn’t a “kid.” He was what we would consider a man in it’s truest form. He was a role model. He was who every parent hoped their child would grow up to be. Oh, and the man could play ball.

The picture in the mall that stirred the emotions.

I remember when I was in little league, I convinced my coach to move me from my main position of shortstop, where I was an all-star, to catcher. I wanted to strap on those shin guards for one reason: Gary Carter. I still had the No. 1 on my back because Ozzie Smith’s back flips and smooth shortstop play had me hooked, but I was behind the plate grinding it out every game because of Carter. And I mean I was grinding it out. I’m not sure how many of you have played catcher in little league, but it isn’t as easy as it seems on the T.V. screen.

The professional pitchers hardly ever throw the ball in the dirt. Little League pitchers, on the other hand, throw it in the dirt quite often. I was bruised up from blocking all the balls, but I stuck with it, and it wasn’t long before I was named an all-star at catcher too. I remember the umpires would thank me at the end of every game because I would block all the wild pitches, saving them from taking their usual beating behind the plate. Evidently that was a rarity at that age.

They really should have thanked Gary Carter. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have been back there blocking the balls that would normally giving them bruises. Carter was my favorite Mets player, but I eventually couldn’t take the abuse anymore that comes with blocking all those wild pitches. I ended up moving to the outfield to try and follow in the footsteps of my next childhood hero who also carried the nickname “the kid” – Ken Griffey Jr. I played the outfield all the way through college, and it earned me some tryouts for some major league teams, but I always regretted giving up on catching too soon.

I was a young boy during 1986, so I don’t remember much from that season. However, there are two moments that always stick out in my mind: the ball squibbling through Buckner’s legs in game six, and Gary Carter jumping into Jesse Orosco’s arms with that completely elated look on his face at the end of the ’86 World Series.

I also vaguely remember being at a game one summer night with my parents. At some point during the game, the umpire made a bad call. The three young men sitting in front of us decided to show the umpire how displeased they were with the call. First they got the umpire’s attention. Then they turned around very calmly, so that their backs were facing the field. After that, they dropped their pants in perfect unison, and proceeded to “moon” the umpire. Evidently, the 80s were a different time, because they didn’t get in trouble, but I can’t go to a Mets game without thinking about that moment.

Gary Carter will always be remembered as a great player (11 time All-Star and Hall of Famer), but he should also be remembered as a great man.  He showed us young Mets fans growing up how to play the game the way it was supposed to be played, and how to be a man, and not a “kid” like his nickname portrays him.

When looking back at that 1986 Mets team, it’s hard to believe that Carter was the youngest man to perish. With the way some of those Mets players abused their bodies with that indestructible feeling so many young men have, it’s amazing they haven’t experienced more health issues. It doesn’t seem fair that a person such as Carter was taken from us so young, especially when he lived his life in a manner that is said to provide us with longevity. I guess it must be true…the good really do die young.

We’ll always remember you No. 8…

And then…number 8 stepped to the plate.

In a career that spanned nearly 2300 games and 8000 at-bats over 19 seasons, there are many memorable moments. However, the defining moment of his hall-of-fame career, what typified Gary Carter, was something that happened OFF the field.

“The Mets are still alive,” said Vin Scully as Carter lined a 2-1 offering into left.

In Spring Training 1974, Expos teammates Ken Singleton and Mike Jorgensen chided the exuberant rookie. 19 year old Gary Carter was trying to win every sprint, hit every pitch over the wall. His childlike enthusiasm for the game prompted them to call him ‘The Kid.’

As a late September call-up, “The Kid” made his major league debut. He caught the back end of a double header against the defending NL Champion Mets. He went 0-for-4.

Baseball is and always will be a game of stats. But sometimes even that, no matter how impressive they may be, do not accurately measure the impact of a player. Sure, Gary was an 11 time All-Star, 5 time Silver Slugger, 2 time MVP of the All-Star Game and winner of 3 Gold Gloves. He hit 324 career HR’s and batted in 1225. But that did not define him.

“And the Mets refuse to go quietly,” said Vin Scully, after Kevin Mitchell singled and Carter moved to second.

The road to the Championship began in 1983. In May, the Mets brought up highly touted rookie Darryl Strawberry. Just weeks later, Frank Cashen sent Neil Allen to STL in exchange for former MVP and proven winner Keith Hernandez. 1984 saw the debut of rookie phenom Doc Gooden. But still, something was missing. The crème de la crème came in December 84 when Gary Carter joined the Mets. “He was the final piece of the puzzle,” explained Keith.

On April 9, 1985, one day after his 31^st birthday, Gary made his debut with the Mets. He hit a solo HR in the 10^th off of Neil Allen to give the Mets a 6-5 Opening Day victory. With that blast, Gary won the hearts of Mets fans everywhere. But that moment did not define him.

Gary had an infectious smile. He was the media darling, always willing and ready to give an interview or answer a question. Some referred to him in a derogatory way, calling him ‘Camera Carter,’ accusing him of being the ultimate self-promoter. Gary was not that. He was, however, the consummate professional.

During his tenure with the Mets there were plenty of fist raising curtain calls. Even when he struck out, he’d walk back to the dugout, looking down, shaking his head twice, disappointed with himself but most likely already planning how to adjust in his next at-bat. But the curtain calls and raised fists did not define him.

Let’s be honest. That 1986 team were not exactly boy scouts. They were a bunch of brawling, boozing, hell raisers. Gary, however, was a boy scout. Hell, he even did a commercial for Ivory Soap! But yet, in spite of the fact that Gary may not have fit in with the recklessness of Keith, Darling, Ojeda, Knight, and Darryl, he was still loved by the fans and respected by his teammates. (anyone remember Gregg Jefferies?). However, this was not Gary’s defining trait.

A quarter of a century has now passed since that fateful Game 6 but yet we all remember it like it was yesterday. It was our beloved number 8 who started not only the greatest rally in Mets history, but quite possibly the most amazin’ comeback ever in a World Series.

In the top of the 7^th, Boston took a 3-2 lead and was threatening for more. Rich Gedman singled through the left side and Jim Rice rounded 3^rd. Mookie Wilson fired a rocket to the plate and Carter executed a perfect tag on Rice to keep the Mets within one. Had Carter not made the tag things would be very different. In the 8^th, it was Gary’s Sac Fly that tied the game at 3. But these were not his defining moments either.

This, however, did define Gary. When Ray Knight singled, Carter raced home, bringing the Mets to within 1. He stepped on the plate, defiantly pointed at on deck batter Mookie Wilson. As Gary entered the dugout, he high fived several players, took a breather. And what did he do then? He looked around for his catching gear!

The Mets were trailing 5-4, 2 outs bottom of the 10^th. But yet, in spite of being behind, Gary was preparing to come out for the 11^th inning. The entire 86 season, the entire never-say-die attitude of that 86 club, was captured right then and there. What must Boston have thought when they saw that? That one simple act, something Gary did while not even on the field, not only summed up the Mets attitude that year, but more importantly the eagerness of The Kid. He still wanted to play more baseball.

Mookie Wilson said, “Gary was one of the happiest guys in the world.” “I relied on Gary for everything when I was on the mound,” stated Doc Gooden. “He was a warrior on the field.” Battery mate Ron Darling said, “Gary was everything you wanted in a sports hero; great talent, great competitor, great family man and a great friend.”

However, it was Gary’s manager, Davey Johnson, who perhaps summed it up best. “I loved him very much.” We all did, Davey. And always will. Gary may have only worn the blue and orange 5 seasons but his memories will last a lifetime.

I turned 21 that November. I was now ‘legal.’ I started my senior year in college, my entire life and all my dreams lay ahead of me. I got to meet and party with the members of Van Halen at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas. One month after Jesse tossed his glove to the heavens I met the girl I’d eventually marry.

But 1986 also saw me get my first car. You always remember your first. It was a bad-ass silver Chevy Cavalier RS with black racing stripes. If you wanted to find me on a Saturday that summer, I’d be outside wearing my Mets hat, rock t-shirt and heavy metal spiked leather wristband. I’d be waxing my baby, using Armor-All and Windex, polishing her up—fenders, chrome, tires, windows. I had Van Halen, Scorpions, Whitesnake, Springsteen and a new band called Guns-n-Roses blasting from my tape deck. The neighbors heard me before they’d see me. Yes, 86 was a great year. My future—as well as the future of my Mets—was bright.

1989: It was sadly becoming evident that the Mets dynasty may not materialize the way we hoped. We were still reeling from the shell-shocking loss to the Dodgers in the LCS the previous October. Doc was having drug problems. Keith was battling injuries and played only 75 games that season. Mookie was sent away to Toronto—another country!!! In 50 games, 35 year old Gary Carter hit 183.

That summer my wife and I celebrated our one year anniversary. We had the discussion of ‘starting a family.’ Kids??? Hell, I hadn’t even grown up yet. I figured we should start slow. We bought a puppy instead.

I loved my Cavalier. I took care of it, did the routine maintenance, etc…But really, to this kid in his early 20’s, it was an expensive toy. Racing my friends, speeding and driving recklessly had taken a toll and after 3 years and just 51,000 miles, my car was falling apart. My wife suggested I look into buying a Toyota. She loved their cars. But not me. I was a Chevy man tried and true. Growing up, my dad had no loyalty to any particular auto manufacturer—as long as it was American made. There was no way I’d buy a ‘Rice Rocket’ and listen to my father remind me how his older brother fought in World War II.

And after all, the expression is not “Baseball, Hot Dogs, Apple Pie…and Toyota?”

My second car, purchased in 1989, was another Cavalier. Sporty, equally bad-ass and blue (as in blue and orange.)

In October of ’94, the unthinkable and unimaginable occurred. For the first time in 90 years, not since Teddy Roosevelt was President, there would be no World Series.

That month I was also in the market for a new car again. My 2^nd Cavalier was starting to fall apart. The repair bills were adding up. Now, as anyone who is married or who has ever watched an episode of ‘Everybody Loves Raymond’ knows, a home is not a home unless the wife is happy.

My better half again tried to convince me to buy a Toyota. This time I appeased her and went through the motions. I looked, I shopped, I test drove one. And then when I felt I ‘did my part of trying,’ I went across the street and purchased another Chevy.

Equally unimaginable to there being no Fall Classic that October was the realization that my 20’s were coming to an end. I was 13 months shy of turning the ripe old age of 30. My bad-ass cool looking sporty car was replaced by a nice, conservative, safe, economical 4 door sedan. Blue (as in blue and orange.) I drove off the lot in a Chevy Corsica.

With my 30’s unavoidable I was at a good place in life. And my Mets were also in a good place. Generation K were poised and ready to dominate the National League. We had Bobby Bonilla, Todd Hundley, promising youngsters named Jeff Kent and Robert Person and proven winner Bret Saberhagen, Yes indeed, the Mets future, like my own, was bright.

2001: By now, Generation K had become a punch line. Bobby Bonilla went on to be one of the most hated Mets in history. Jeff Kent was 3000 miles away in San Francisco and, teamed with Barry Bonds, was part of the most lethal 1-2 punch in the game.

However, the Mets were defending NL Champions.

Sure, we lost the previous Fall Classic to the roided-up Yankees. But things were positive. For the first time in our history we’d been to the post-season 2 straight years. We were led by the best hitting catcher of all-time, local hero John Franco, quiet star Robin Ventura, much loved Benny Agbayani and Timo Perez, lefty Al Leiter, the glove of Rey Ordonez and the hard-working Todd Zeile and Joe McEwing,

As 2001 wound down it became evident the Mets would miss the post-season. On Sunday, September 9, Steve Trachsel took the loss to Florida, 4-2. The Mets dropped to 71-73, 8 games behind Atlanta. Two days later, the unthinkable and unimaginable happened again.

As the nation came to realize we were not invincible, our own safety shattered and we began shooting questioning looks at each other while giving up many of our rights, American patriotism skyrocketed.

With bodies still being pulled from the debris of where the Twin Towers once stood, I was involved in a car accident. My Corsica was totaled. I was back in the market for a new car yet again. My wife made a half-hearted attempt to talk me into a Toyota. No way! If I never wanted to drive a foreign car before, there was no way in hell I’d drive one now.

Most of my friends and family urged me to buy a Japanese car. They all loved their Toyota’s, Honda’s and Nissans. I resisted.

I was in my mid 30’s and was doing well financially. I bought a fully loaded Chevy Impala. It was the most luxurious and most expensive car I ever owned. Huge payment, my first full size. It took me 6 months to learn all the bells and whistles.

Four months later, I found myself sitting at my kitchen table signing divorce papers. After almost 14 years, my wife and I decided we’d grown apart.

During the first ten years of the 21^st century, as my 30’s ended and I entered my 40’s, with my future now uncertain, I realized I still could rely on my Mets.

Following the Mets personally is not always easy. The closest city to me that has a major league team is almost 300 miles away. Seeing my Mets live is much more difficult than simply hopping the 7 train to Flushing. It requires driving down to Los Angeles or San Diego. Phoenix, perhaps. It’s a weekend getaway that includes, not just the cost of the ticket and parking, but also gas, food and hotel bills.

Still, I was making good money and had no problem forking over hundreds and hundreds to see my Mets. And for spending money on Wright and Reyes t-shirts and Pedro Martinez jerseys. After all, our future was bright. In addition to David and Jose, we had Delgado, Beltran, Wagner, Shawn Green, fiery Paul Lo Duca, clutch Tom Glavine and promising young studs like Mike Pelfrey and John Maine.

Then, once again, the fabric of this nation was torn apart. Thirteen years after the impossibility of the World Series being cancelled and six years after 3000 Americans were killed and an entire generation lost its innocence, we found ourselves in the worst financial crisis of our lifetime. We were now witnessing firsthand what we had only heard about from our grandparents.

I, too, found myself unemployed for an extended period of time. Credit card debt went up, savings went down. But still, I could count on the Mets. Granted, Yadier Molina’s HR in Game 7 of the 06 LCS and Beltran taking a called third strike left us all in shock. The following September, the Mets blew a 7 game lead with 17 left and collapsed.

Six month later, March 08, I found myself getting a paycheck again. I was making only 60% of what I had been.

And then, my expensive, fully loaded, luxury car fell apart.

My Impala, though recently paid off, was costing me more in repairs than my car payment had been. After just 6 years and only 71,000 miles, driving slow, less reckless, not having gotten a speeding ticket in almost 20 years, my American-made car was heading for the junkyard. Four new cars, all Chevys, and only one lasted more than 6 years and exceeded 82,000 miles. To say I was pissed and fed-up would be an understatement.

On a Saturday in early April 2008, I got in my car. Thankfully, it started. I drove a few miles, rattling my way down the street. I did slow a bit as I drove by the Chevy dealer. I proceeded on and drove my piece of junk Impala to Toyota. A few hours later, I drove off the lot in brand new Camry. Blue (as in blue and orange.)

Those who know me literally did not believe me until they saw my new car. There was no way—NO WAY—I’d ever not drive a Chevy. And no way in hell I’d lower myself to buying a Japanese car. But here I was.

In a couple of months from now, my Camry will be paid-off. Five years and not a single problem. I love my Toyota. But still, in spite of Chevy leaving a bad taste in my mouth, I still slow down when I pass the Chevy dealership. I glance over, check out the new cars and feel nostalgic. Chevy will always have a special place in my heart.

Baseball is a unique sport. It’s not like Football where you can be a fan of one team…but still root for a different one. The Mets are a lifetime commitment, a love that extends from childhood into old age. Sure, they frustrate me. Sure, they piss me off. Sure, if Sandy Alderson was crossing a dark street late one night and no one was around, I’d debate flooring it. (just kidding) But what am I going to do? Change my allegiance after 40 years? I’m not about to become a Phillies fan where I have a ‘P’ on my head or root for the Blue-Jays and wear…whatever the hell that logo of theirs is.

With the exception of a trip back to New York in the summer of 2011, my first and only time seeing Citi Field and going overboard in the gift shop, I’ve not handed over any money to the Wilpons in 6 years.

So, yes, I’ll continue to root for my Mets, hoping for the best but expecting the worst. But money is tight. Rooting is one thing—financially supporting them is something different. I don’t plan on driving down to LA and forking over several hundred for a weekend to see a sub-par product. (The same logic applies to forking over thousands to Chevrolet, what I personally consider another sub-par product.)

The Mets are 6 weeks away from embarking on the 2013 campaign, a season where we have no hope to compete. The best thing about this upcoming season will be that it gets us one year closer to ‘the future’ that Sandy Alderson keeps talking about.

People change. I loved my Chevy’s and I kind of always will. I love my Mets. And I always will. But people do change. As a fan, one can only get pushed so much. If this person who swore he’d drive nothing but a Chevy until the day I die can now drive a Toyota, anything is possible.

(as a side note, my ex-wife, who swore by Toyota now ironically drives a Chevy)

My approach to this upcoming season will be rather robotic. If they’re on TV, I’ll watch (probably.) But, most likely, I’ll check the standings, glance at the box score. I’ll see what David Wright did, see how Wheeler or Niese or Harvey pitched. I’ll look to see if D’arnaud is living up to the hype. And then, until we start competing, I’ll move on to other things.

My approach to the 2013 Mets will be similar to passing a Chevy dealer. I’ll look, smile, feel a bit nostalgic. And keep going.

There is only one player that can save the Mets bullpen and bring us back to the glory and dominance that was experienced in the mid 1980s.  The following quote was cleaned up for our younger audience:

When I was 19 years old, I changed the face of professional baseball. I was handed the keys to the kingdom, multi-million dollar deals, endorsements. Everyone wanted a piece of me. Just a man with a mind for victory and an arm like a cannon. But sometimes when you bring the thunder, you get lost in the storm.

Fans of this player know exactly who I’m talking about.  It’s Kenny Powers.  That’s right, the Mer-Man himself.  He’s exactly what the Mets need coming out of the bullpen to gain back that bad boy image they were notorious for in the mid 80s.

Ask anybody out there, and they’ll tell you that the foundation of a great baseball player starts with an understanding of some basic fundamentals. Running, stretching, physical conditioning. These are the things that prepare your body for the many challenges a baseball player faces. I heard that crap thrown at me all my damn life. You know what Kenny Powers says? Fundamentals are the crutch for the talentless.

Even if the bullpen still stinks, we will be entertained.  I will close this out with another quote from the famous Kenny Powers, and if any one else has any better ideas on how to fix the Mets bullpen woes please share in the comments section below

So, in closing, I’d like to give big ups to God, Buddha, L. Ron, whoever. Hell, maybe I just need to thank me. If there’s one thing I’ve learned through all my adventures and conquests, it’s that some people are just wired for success. I had no choice when it came to being great. I just am great. I’m not trying to sound cocky or full of myself, but Kenny Powers has a sneaking suspicion that no matter what comes his way he will always be great. Because that’s just the way stuff works sometimes. This has been based on a true story. The end.

Wow, what a Game 6! Texas continually took advantage of mistakes by the Cardinals to take a lead, but every time they did, St. Louis stormed back to tie the game up. Then David Freese was able to come up big in the 9th inning with one strike left to send the game into extras, allowing Freese then hit a bomb to Center Field, forcing the first World Series Game 7 since the 2002 series between the Angels and Giants.

The Cardinals made some history last night; there have only been two teams in history that have fought back from a deficit in the 8th inning to force a Game 7. These two teams are the ’75 Red Sox and the ’86 Mets. However, no team has ever come back in the 9th inning and then in extras in a World Series. You want to talk about going back and forth? This was also the first time that there were three blown saves in one game of the Fall Classic.

On the flip side, just think about how frustrating it must be for Ron Washington and co. to now have to come back for a Game 7, especially since they were within one strike on two different occasions of clinching the franchise’s fist ever World Series. Now, onto Game 7; Chris Carpenter will go for St. Louis on three days rest to face Matt Harrison on regular rest. Washington stuck by his starter even though they got an extra day off on Wednesday, saying that he was not going to change how he does things now because they’ve gotten this far. However, after going through this entire postseason, I would take Carpenter on short rest instead of any other pitcher on regular rest.

Either way, it’s safe to assume that tonight’s Game 7 will be an epic one; neither team goes down without a fight (as you can see in Game 6) and both of them are hungry to grab a piece of history. The reason that I’m even talking about a Game 7 is because of the crucial line-up change made by Tony LaRussa last night. He decided to put the hot-hitting Lance Berman behind Pujols in the line-up and move the struggling Matt Holliday and got rewarded with a 3-4, 3 RBI, and 4 runs scored performance by his right fielder.

Who ya got tonight? I’m taking the Cardinals because I have from the beginning, and there is not a doubt in my mind that they are a team of destiny. The only way I’ll change my thinking is if the Rangers are actually able to put them away tonight when the game is on the line. For those who have decided that baseball has been over for a while now since your team isn’t in it anymore, tune in tonight, because you’ve missed an amazing series so far.

For all of those who have been watching throughout, soak in this last game and make the feeling last until Valentine’s Day when pitchers and catchers start to report!

Former New York Met shortstop Buddy Harrelson has served as an ambassador for the Long Island Ducks for the past 12 seasons. He does a fine job with community and fan relations, but his true worth to the team involves his 16 years of MLB playing experience and another 11 years as a coach/manager.

Harrelson will always be remembered as the pesky shortstop for the 1969 World Series Champion Mets. Buddy played stellar defense at shortstop and came up with big hits all season.

In addition to his role as a player on the ‘69 team, Buddy served as the third base coach for the 1986 Mets, making him the only player/coach associated with both World Series titles in franchise history. (Technically, ‘86 Mets manager Davey Johnson would fit this category as well, since he made the last out of the ’69 series while playing for the Baltimore Orioles).

Buddy has great memories from both teams. He’ll always remember celebrating the franchise’s first ever World Series title in ’69 and racing Mets third baseman Ray Knight down the third base line in Game 6 of the ’86 Series after the ball had trickled through Bill Buckner’s legs.

This year marks the 25th anniversary of the ’86 team, and Buddy will never forget the emotion he felt after the Mets battled back in Game 6 and took Game 7.

“You get older, and you’re not involved in winning and losing, but I was really happy and excited,” said Harrelson.

Harrelson affirms that the main similarity between the teams was the strong bullpen in the late innings. Tug McGraw and “Dr.” Ron Taylor were a great tandem in ’69, while not many bullpens in history matched the combination of Roger McDowell and Jesse Orosco in ’86.

Though Harrelson claims that both teams had pitching depth, he is well aware of the differences between the two squads. The ’86 started hot out of the gate and never cooled down until October, while the ’69 team didn’t take off until mid summer.

The ’69 team was a disciplined group of ballplayers under manager Gil Hodges, while the ’86 team was known as a fiery bunch. Davey Johnson let them play since the team’s chemistry on the field overshadowed any off-the-field incidents.

However, Harrelson believes the ’69 team showed more consistency and had a better starting pitching staff. While Dwight Gooden, Ron Darling, Bobby Ojeda and Sid Fernandez were tough, matching up against Tom Seaver, Jerry Koosman, Gary Gentry, Jim McAndrew and Don Cardwell was a difficult task. In fact, the ’69 starting staff was so good that Hodges was forced to keep Nolan Ryan—a Hall of Fame pitcher who threw seven career no-hitters—in the bullpen.

“I always say the ’69 team would beat the ’86 team because I have to,” Harrelson said. “I played on the ’69 team.”

Harrelson says the camaraderie of the ’69 team still exists to this day. His roommate during road trips was none other than Seaver.

“Seaver’s like a brother to me,” said Harrelson.

Buddy has used his playing and coaching experience in the big leagues to the benefit of the Ducks franchise. Whoever comes in contact with him not only appreciates his baseball knowledge but also his fun-loving attitude.

“Buddy is a tremendous asset to the Ducks,” said Michael Pfaff, Ducks general manager. “So many people that come to the ballpark have watched him play, or watched him coach, or watched him manage, or grown up as kids watching him here as this ballpark.”

Since Buddy is enjoying what he’s doing, he sees no need to get back involved with the majors.

“This is fun,” said Harrelson. “It’s been fun for a lot of years. I don’t get tired of it. I don’t get tired of going to the ballparks, signing autographs, doing my thing.”

Buddy will continue to “do his thing” as he serves as a pioneer for the Ducks and independent league baseball in general.

The top grossing films that year were Top Gun, Platoon and Crocodile Dundee. The top rated TV shows were Magnum PI, Family Ties and Dynasty. Mike Tyson became the youngest heavyweight champion in history. Madonna was telling her Papa not to preach, Robert Palmer admitted he was Addicted to Love, The Bangles taught us how to walk like Egyptians and Van Halen introduced the world to their replacement for David Lee Roth. Hollywood legend Jimmy Cagney died. And Lindsey Lohan was born.

Sound like ancient history? It is. It also is the last time the Mets were World Champions.

I was recently discussing the 2010 post-season with a couple of friends of mine. They are “casual fans” for other teams. They don’t bleed blue and orange like we do. One asked me, “When is the last time the Mets won it all?” The image of Mookie running down the first base line and Jesse tossing his glove into the air immediately came to the forefront of my mind. “1986” I proudly replied, but my beaming smile quickly vanished. “That’s really a long time ago,” my other friend responded. And as I thought about it, they were right. It was a long time ago. Too long.

Even our language has changed. Words like ‘website,’ ‘blog,’ and ‘Ipod’ had not entered our vocabulary. If you wanted to see a video you had to wait for MTV and not just sign into YouTube. A monitor was someone who stood in the hallway at school. A keyboard was something played by the one guy from Journey.

Yes, 25 years have now passed since a Championship flag flew over Shea. Shea, a stadium that no longer exists.

How long has it been?

Since we fans use Baseball to mark our lives like notches on a doorframe, consider these facts: The 1986 All-Star Game highlighted two of the youngest superstars as starting pitchers: Roger Clemens and our own Doc Gooden. In 1986, Mike Schmidt was MVP. Cal Ripken was only one-third of the way to catching Gehrig. The AL Rookie of the Year award went to a slugger from Oakland named Jose Canseco. Barry Bonds’ HR total stood at 16. Mark McGwire had 3. Ken Griffey Jr was in high school. David Wright was in kindergarten.

There was a drug scandal in Baseball but it was cocaine, not steroids. The highest paid player was Gary Carter with an unheard salary of $2.1 million.

A quarter of a century has passed. An entire generation. The members of that 86 championship team have moved on. Some have gone on to manage, others to coach. Some have gone to rehab, others to jail. Several have gone to the broadcast booth. One has gone to Cooperstown. Hitting coach Bill Robinson has passed away.

And where were you that magical night in October? Think back to where you were the last time the Mets were World Champions. And think back how much your life has changed. I’m sure many reading this article were not even alive. Or many others were too young to remember.

I first learned Baseball and became a Mets fan in 1973, a pretty good first year. But as the Mets fell short to the powerhouse Oakland A’s in 7, honestly, I didn’t watch many of the games. I was not quite 8 years old and didn’t grasp the concept. My first year of rooting for the Mets and we go to the World Series??? This whole World Series thing must be pretty easy. I’ll just watch it next year.

But ‘next year’ would not happen until 1986 and by then, this former 7 year old was now a senior in college.

October 27, 1986 was a Monday. With an entire team payroll of just over $15 million, only a little more then one year for Jason Bay, the Mets defeated Boston 8-5 and became Champions. But that same day, 600 miles west of Flushing, in the small town of Lima, OH, Jeffery and Annette Niese welcomed their son into the world and named him Jon.

Yes, it’s been that long…

As Sandy, Fred and Jeff make their choice I ask them to keep one thing in mind: This is OUR team. Not yours. Yes, Fred, you sign the checks. And yes, Sandy, you put the team together. But this team belongs to us. The fans. We can choose to support this team or not. We can choose to go to the park or watch it on TV. It’s our decision if we want to buy a pair of jeans or a David Wright T-shirt.

Owners come and go. GM’s come and go. Fans are forever.

For this reason I feel that Wally Backman needs to be the one handing in the lineup card on Opening Day next April 1.

Names that we’ve heard tossed around include Clint Hurdle, Ken Oberkfell, Don Wakamatsu, Terry Collins, Bob Melvin…and Wally. That in and of itself says a lot. When you say Wally, there is no last name needed.

We feel a bond with successful previous managers, a connection that only requires a first name: Davey, Gil, Bobby V. If you say ‘Art’ or ‘Jeff’ no one immediately thinks of Howe or Torborg.

In his initial press conference incoming GM Sandy Alderson stated he likes a manager with a “fiery” personality. (Wally?) He stated that a manager can make the game fun and entertaining for the fans. On the flip side, however, those who know Alderson state that he tends to be very analytical and cant see him selecting someone “fiery” or “unpredictable” like Wally.

Wally does bring lots of baggage with him. To this I say ‘So What?’ A team with a high payroll will always be hated. A big market club will be hated more. A team from NY will be despised. Win 100 or lose 100, either way people are going to hate the Mets. It’s time we focus more on winning and less on image. Championships are won by those who play the best, those who want it, those who ‘believe.’ Baseball is not American Idol. The World Series doesn’t get awarded to the team that receives the most text messages.

Do the Wilpons and Alderson have the courage to do what’s right by the fans? In spite of Wally leading the A-ball Cyclones to a 51-24 record, best in the league and winning the division by 12 games, he has no major league experience. Telling a 19 year old timid kid what to do is one thing. Telling a millionaire veteran like Santana how to pitch to Chase Utley with 2 men in scoring position is entirely different. Will the Wilpons put their $140 million dollar investment into the hands of a novice?

Wally is one of a very select few. He is not just an ex-Met, but he is an 86 ex-Met. That title holds a special place in our hearts. It allows him to have some breathing room, some leeway. On May 15, 2011 if the Mets are struggling at 18-25, people will claim Wally needs some time to adjust. On May 15, 2011 if the Mets are struggling at 18-25 and Terry Collins is the skipper, the negative blogs and second guessing will be in overdrive.

Will the Mets be World Champions in 2011? No. Will we make the post-season? Probably not. Would Wally be chosen as manager of the year or be the second coming of John McGraw? Very unlikely.

The 2006 season was like a great movie. It just had a bad ending. That heartbreak was followed by 4 years of frustration and disgust that completely tested our loyalty to this team like never before. But we have continued to support our Mets. In the darkest of times, we hearken back to Tug’s rally cry, ‘Ya Gotta Believe.’

Wally Backman deserves a shot. And we, the fans, deserve Wally Backman.

On Thursday, a judge in Chula Vista, CA ordered the 48 year old Mitchell to stand trial from an incident at the Bonita Golf Course. In July, Mitchell allegedly punched another golfer in the head repeatedly, nearly causing the man to suffer a concussion. The individual, whose name has not been released, was confronted by Mitchell for supposedly making ‘disparaging remarks’ about him.

The former NL MVP is no stranger to the legal system. Growing up in San Diego the one time gang member had been shot 3 times in his youth. In 1991, he was arrested for rape but the charges were dropped. In 99, he was arrested for assault after beating up his father. While managing the Sonoma County Crushers in 01, Mitchell was involved in a bench clearing brawl in which he punched the owner of the opposing team in the head. As a result he was suspended 9 games. The following year he was suspended 7 games after beating up his own 3^rd base coach. He currently owes the state of California almost $5.2 million in unpaid taxes. Former teammate Doc Gooden claimed that during the 1986 season an ‘enraged’ Mitchell physically held him hostage and forced him to watch as he decapitated his girlfriend’s cat. Mitchell adamantly denied these accusations.

Mitchell only appeared in 115 games for the Mets, mainly as a utility player. Gary Carter nicknamed him ‘World’ cause he could play everywhere. In 328 AB’s he hit 275 with 12 HR’s and knocked in 44 RBI’s. But he is best remembered for his role in Game 6.

As the Mets trailed 5-3 going to the bottom of the 10^th Mitchell returned to the clubhouse and began changing out of his uniform. When he was advised that Davey Johnson wanted him to pinch-hit in case Carter was able to get something going with 2 outs, he was already in his street clothes and on the phone making plane reservations to go home for the winter. Urban legend has it that he did not dress completely for his At-Bat, not having time to put on his cup. It was Mitchell who ultimately scored the tying run on Bob Stanley’s wild pitch.

He caused a huge dilemma for GM Frank Cashen. There was no doubt that Mitchell had the talent to be a great player. But with that talent came the fact that he was known to be hot-headed, volatile and short-tempered. Two months after getting that big hit, Mitchell was traded to San Diego along with Stan Jefferson and Shawn Abner for Kevin McReynolds, Gene Walter and Adam Ging.

Halfway through the 87 season Mitchell was traded to the Giants. In 1989, Mitchell helped lead San Francisco to the Pennant. He hit 291 with 47 HR’s and 125 RBI’s and became the first Giant to win the MVP since Willie McCovey 2 decades earlier.

However, 89 was the peak of his career. He was a 2-time All-Star but his indifferent attitude on the field combined with off-field distractions and numerous problems in his personal life caused friction with teammates and team owners. He frequently arrived in Spring Training 30-35 pounds overweight. In 1995, he played in Japan, becoming the highest paid ballplayer in that nation’s history. But he quickly wore out his welcome there as well. When he needed to have knee surgery, he refused to let the Japanese doctors operate and chose to fly back to the US, a move that was seen as a huge slap in the face to the proud Japanese people.

Mitchell left the game in 1998, a career 284 hitter with 234 HR’s, 760 RBI’s and 630 Runs. In his brief but memorable 13 year career, he played for 8 different teams.

It was 6 years to the date, June 15, 1983, when GM Frank Cashen began lifting the Mets from the depths of the NLE. He sent pitchers Neil Allen and Rick Ownbey to STL in exchange for Keith Hernandez.

With the exception of Seaver, Keith is perhaps the most beloved Met of all-time. But this has nothing to do with his stats. While his numbers were impressive for the 6 ½ seasons he batted 3^rd and played 1B, he meant more then that, both to fans and to teammates. Keith was always in the game, if not physically then mentally. He played the game the way it was designed to be played. Keith knew not only how to play, but also how to win.

Keith was our team captain and being a captain of that bunch was not easy. There was media savvy Gary Carter on his way to Cooperstown, the hot-headed Ray Knight, the fiery Wally Backman and the youthfulness of Darryl and Doc. But it was ‘Mex’ who emerged as not just team captain but leader. And winner.

Fast forward 20 years. After falling one base hit shy of the World Series in 2006, we were seemingly one player from a Championship. Now, 4 seasons later, we seem about 6 players away.

Mets management has tried many different things. None have worked. We acquired the best LHP in baseball in Johan Santana. It didn’t matter. We signed K-Rod after his record setting 62 saves. That didn’t matter. We brought in a veteran with winning experience in Gary Sheffield. No difference. This past winter we signed one of the best available bats in Jason Bay. Same thing.

The one piece of the puzzle we have failed to add is a leader, a la Keith. The Mets are a bunch of nice guys with good talent and a solid core. But as Leo Durocher famously stated, Nice Guys Finish Last.

We have waited impatiently for David Wright to take over that role. But lets be honest–That aint happenin’. David’s a great hitter but he is not carved out for such a title. Carlos Beltran? A great all-around player but it’s not in his makeup. Reyes we all love but Jose’s having too much fun playing major league baseball. Johan possibly could but to be a leader you need an every day player.

It seems like just yesterday the Mets were knocking on first place and leading the wild card. After enduring stretches of 16, 24 and 17 innings without scoring a run, after only scoring 30 runs in our last 15 games, we have dropped to 3^rd place, only ½ above Florida, just one game over .500.

We not only need a captain but more importantly a leader. And a winner. That one player who can kick his teammates in the ass. Keith kept the team focused, driven and determined. In the early days of our success, our leader was quite possibly Buddy Harrelson. In spite of his lifetime .234 BA he was out there every day for 13 seasons. He took his life in his hands when he took on Pete Rose in 73, showing Rose and the Reds that the Mets were not going to be pushed around. Can you honestly see any of the current players making a statement like that?

Mets management doesn’t seem to get it. To build a winner you don’t need the best team on the field; You need the RIGHT team on the field. And now we are expressing interest in Gil Meche. Gil Meche???? Meche is one of the few pitchers in Baseball who makes Ollie Perez look good. That laughing sound you hear is coming from The Bronx. And Philadelphia. And Atlanta.

Most of our beloved 86 champions went on to play with other teams. Bobby Ojeda, Ron Darling and Roger McDowell all left New York and proceeded to wear #17 with their new club as a tribute to Keith. Can you picture anyone leaving the Mets now and wearing #5 as a tribute to the leadership skills of David Wright?

The words Frank Cashen spoke over a quarter of a century ago are more poignant today then any recent time in our history. Cashen explained that he acquired Keith not only for what he was capable of doing on the field but for what he meant to a team–in the clubhouse, in the dugout. As Cashen stated, ‘To build a winner, you need to start with a winning attitude.’

Fred? Jeff? Omar? Are you listening?

It was the early 1970’s and I knew nothing about Baseball. But still, I was going to root for the Yankees. Why? As my dad watched the local news one night the sports came on. I was close by, doing whatever a typical 6 year old does. The Yankees catcher, Thurman Munson, did something or other. My ears perked up. I was only 6 and I didn’t hear ‘Thurman Munson’ but instead heard ‘Herman Munster,’ the father on the old TV show, The Munsters. That settled it. Herman Munster plays for the Yankees!!! How cool is that?

My Yankee loyalty lasted all of maybe 5 minutes. At 6 years old, I was not ready to live on the streets in The Bronx. My father made it clear he would not live under the same roof as a Yankee fan. And so it began. My somewhat-initially-blackmailed allegiance to the Mets.

At 7, my father taught me not just the game but the ‘game within the game.’ I fell in love immediately with the beauty, magic and wonderment of this thing called Baseball, a love that has lasted for over 35 years now. I soon learned that you can actually SEE these games live, not just on TV. It was Helmet Day when I first came upon this huge stadium in Flushing. I’d never seen anything so big, so massive. It was like the Roman Coliseum–but in Queens. “They play in there???” Walking in, I’d never seen grass so green. I’d never seen so many people gathered in one place for the same reason; To root the Mets to victory over the Expos. But it was unseasonably cold, very windy and overcast. This was my very first ballgame and if I was to catch a cold my mom would never let my dad take me to Shea ever again! So, I followed as my dad talked to this guy, talked to that guy, talked to some other guy. Next thing I knew we were sitting in the Press Box, just 2 booths down from the broadcast booth. I was maybe 25 feet away from Lindsey Nelson, Ralph Kiner and Bob Murphy. We went to another game later that year. Imagine the horror I felt having to sit with ‘regular’ fans. Doesn’t every kid get to sit in the Press Box?

The year was 1973, a good first year. I wore my little Mets hat and my little Mets jacket every day. But as the season wore down and the Mets appeared to be going nowhere, floundering in last place, my classmates, who were mostly Yankee fans, teased me. I cant even remember how many times I came home from school after being picked on all day, only to get reassurance from my seemingly all-knowing father. ‘We’re gonna win, right Dad?’ “Sure, Don’t worry about it,” he confidently told me. “Okay, good.” And I walked away. My mom turned to my dad and asked, “What will you tell him if they don’t?” “I’ll worry about it then.” As the Mets made a miraculous September run and won the Pennant, I wondered to myself if somehow, someway, my dad maybe…did something.

My dad always has been an optimist when it comes to the Mets. As he taught me the game, he advised me, ‘The Mets NEVER lose. Sometimes we just run out of innings.’ He went to the 2^nd game the Mets ever played, a 4-3 loss to Pittsburgh at the Polo Grounds. He was also in attendance on Father’s Day 1964. The game moved to the 9^th inning and Jim Bunning was one out away from throwing only the 5^th Perfect Game in history. Mets fans cheered the Phillies pitcher, hoping to witness one of Baseball’s rarest feats. But not my father. He was still cheering for his Mets. When someone next to him asked, ‘Don’t you want to tell people you were at a Perfect Game?’, my dad responded, “No, I’d rather tell them I was at the Perfect Game that got broken up with 2 outs in the 9^th.” As recent as 2006, when the Mets moved into 1^st place, I’d wake up every day to an e-mail from my dad that was counting down the Magic Number. 94, 93, 92 (yes, he started that early.)

Like most kids, my relationship with my dad has not been great. Better then some, worse then others. He’s disagreed with many decisions I’ve made in my life; jobs, career, girls, even to this day how I drive. But the one thing we could always come back to was Baseball. And the Mets. But even that has caused some disagreements. My dad insists the 69 team was better then the 86 club. My dad loves David Wright, but he will never be as good a 3b-man as Ed Charles in 69. While Endy’s catch was great, it was ‘No Agee.’ No matter how great Johan is, Koosman will always be the best LHP in our history.

Before I was even born it had been predetermined that I would root for this team. My father had been a Brooklyn Dodger fan, just like his father. This love for NY NL Baseball went back to the 1920’s. While New York was in awe of Ruth and Gehrig, my grandfather was a Dodgers fan rooting for guys like Zack Wheat and Dazzy Vance. When my dad was old enough, he too kept up the family tradition and became a Brooklyn fan. Although it’s been close to 60 years since ‘The Shot Heard Round The World,’ my dad still refers to the Giants OF-er not as Bobby Thomson but as ‘Bobby *^%$@# Thomson.’ To this day, my dad insists the final called strike in Don Larsen’s Perfect Game in the 56 series against Brooklyn was ‘outside.’

The year was 1957 when the Dodgers and Giants vacated New York for the barren wasteland of California 3000 miles away. The heart of every little boy in NY was broken, including my dad’s. It was not until 1962 when NL baseball returned to NY with our Mets. But in those 5 years, my dad’s life had changed. He graduated high school, started college, met my mom and got married. He went from a teenage boy to adulthood. But when it was announced that a new team would be created named The Metropolitans, shortened to Mets, my dad immediately became a fan, as did many old Dodgers and Giants fans.

My dad looked at the 1962 Opening Day roster and, as always, felt confident that we could finish at .500. His dad, my grandfather, followed the Mets, but never really became a fan. He had rooted for Brooklyn for 40+ years. But by 1962, he was becoming older and his health was failing. After rooting for Duke, Gil, Jackie, Roy and Pee Wee, it was hard to get enthused about Choo Choo Coleman, Felix Mantilla and Marvelous Marv.

My dad tried to convince his dad that this new team, the Mets, may be pretty good in a few years. He even joked, “Give it some time. Within a few years, we’ll be in the World Series.” My grandfather shook his head and nonchalantly commented, “I wont live to see it.” My grandfather’s innocent remark was correct. He passed away in May 1969.

To this day, my dad wonders if somehow, someway, maybe….

Mets GM M. Donald Grant made a rare appearance in the Mets clubhouse and gave the team a pep talk. The gist of his speech was that they are not playing up to their potential and that they need to ‘believe’ in themselves. Always animated, Tug McGraw began bounding around the clubhouse, screaming ‘Ya Gotta Believe!’

First place is now within our reach and as we fans do, we are cautiously hopeful. We’re trying not to expect too much at this point. And we shouldn’t. But whenever we see our Mets in a pennant race, we cant help but wonder if this will be another 69 or 86.

When I look at this 2010 club, I DON’T see 69. The 69 club seemed to be a team of fate, of destiny. Crazy things happened all season: Black cats. Shoe polish. 19 Mets being fanned in a single game–but winning the game anyway. Ron Swoboda, nicknamed ‘Rocky’ for his fielding ineptitude, making one of the greatest catches in World Series history. 69 was called a ‘Miracle’ for a reason.

When I look at this 2010 club, I DON’T see 86 either. The way we played that year, it seemed almost predetermined that we’d win. A coronation. We all knew the 86 club would win. It was just a matter of how. Anything short of a championship that year would have been deemed a failure.

When I look at this 2010 club, I DO, however, see 1973. Unlike 69 and 86, the 73 club was not that good. Most of 73 was an awful season. On this date, June 17, 1973, the Mets were 28-29, 7 games back. Defensive stud Jerry Grote missed 2 months with a fractured arm. Rusty Staub played injured all year, nursing a shoulder injury but still managed to end the season as team leader in RBI’s (76). John Milner was our big HR threat. He hit 27 but only batted 239. Only one Met (Felix Millan) hit over 280. Wayne Garrett led the team in steals with a whopping 6. Two of our three big gun starters, Koosman and Matlack, would end the season with more losses then wins.

On August 15^th, with just 44 games remaining, the Mets were in last place,53-65, 7 ½ games out. Oh–and that guy making all the ruckus in the clubhouse, Tug McGraw? His ERA stood at 5.27, unacceptable for a closer.

In spite of this, the Mets went 20-8 in September to win the division before upsetting the defending NL Champion Reds in a 5 game war. We opposed the defending World Champion A’s and fell short in a hard fought 7 game series, even though we managed to get the tying run to the plate in the 9^th inning of game 7.

That 73 club was not nearly as good as their 69 or 86 counterparts. But they may have had more heart. They did more–and went further–with less.

The 2010 Mets, like the 73 team, still are not sure how good they are. They are learning–as are we fans. Three months ago, did we really think we’d be where we are now? No pitching. Reyes coming back from missing most of 09. David coming back from a concussion. Beltran out…indefinitely and being replaced by Angel Pagan??? A manager and General Manager on borrowed time. Our home stadium feeling like anything but ‘home.’ We all wondered if Mike Pelfrey would even win 10 games all season.

When Tug began screaming ‘Ya Gotta Believe’ it was originally meant for his teammates, NOT for the fans. But since then we have used that slogan. Even in our darkest hours, we have hung our hopes and dreams on those 3 words. However, it now seems that perhaps it’s just not us fans who are really starting to believe. But more importantly, just like in 1973, the players are.

You have to lose–and lose a lot–before you can appreciate winning. This is why our 2 championships mean more to us then the 27 that other team has won. In 69, we suffered for 7 years before winning it all. In 84 and 85, we lost gut wrenching pennant races to the Cubs and Cardinals before prevailing in 86. History is once again repeating itself. Yadier Molina’s HR in 06, followed by monumental collapses in 07 and 08 only to be followed by a plague of injuries last season have caused us years of heartbreak, suffering and tears. Enough with the losing. I think we’ve suffered enough recently. It’s time.

From the bottom of my heart, I echo Tug’s words: Ya Gotta Believe.

As our Mets now sit alone atop the NL East I still don’t see us displaying that ‘swagger.’ And you know what? I like it.

The fact that we are in 1st only 3 weeks into a season is probably not cause to strut onto the field with an aura of invincibility. Four months from now? Perhaps. But not yet. I do admit that I like this new approach, an approach of almost uncertainty.

Our beloved 86 team demonstrated swagger and yes, even arrogance. Keith, Gary and company had the mindset that we deserved victory. No matter who our opposition was there was no way in hell we’d lose. Even our own skipper indicated this when he stated at the outset of the post-season, “We are the best team in baseball.”

But these actions resulted in the team putting extra pressure on themselves. The fact that we won 108 games during the regular season, the fact that we clinched the division early and won by 21 ½ games put us in an unusual spot. Based on the way we dominated all year anything less then a championship would have been unacceptable. If we had been the team to end the Red Sox curse would Doc and Darryl hold the same place in our hearts as they do now? The 86 Mets, due to their swagger–and rightfully so–acted almost in a sense of entitlement. We were almost–pardon the expression–Yankee-like.

Unlike their 86 counterparts, the 69 Mets were also confident but not in such a brazen way. That started at the top with Gil Hodges and his stoic, quiet belief in his players. Ed Charles never would have hauled off and decked an opposing player the way Ray Knight clobbered Eric Davis. Ron Swoboda never made fist-pumping curtain calls to incite the frenzied fans the way Gary Carter did.

That 86 team displayed in-your-face swagger and confidence. The 69 club exuded a more quiet swagger and confidence. Even the 06 club displayed some swagger. The 2010 Mets, thus far, seem a bit…unsure.

We came into this season with low expectations. Reyes had no spring training. We are still not sure exactly when Beltran will return. David Wright has struggled since the beaning last year and is on pace to strike out close to 175 times. Our ace–not Pelfrey, that other guy–came into the season returning from an injury. The ERA’s for our pitchers during spring training looked like Social Security numbers. Just tonight, after 21 games, our big off-season signing finally hit his first HR. We have complained about the cavernous dimensions of our home park…but yet we have the 2nd best home record in all of baseball. Already this year we have set the record for the 2 lowest attendance figures in the brief history of Citi Field. With each loss and each wrong decision, Jerry Manuel comes closer and closer to his head on the chopping block. Each injury results in fans screaming for the head of Omar on a blue and orange platter. Every time Roy Halladay wins, fans refer to Fred and Jeff ‘Coupon.’

David Wright has not assumed the role of team leader the way Keith did. Angel Pagan has not quite matched the excitement of previous lead-off hitters like Lenny or Mookie.  Castillo is nowhere near as loved as another 2b-man named Backman. Pedro Feliciano does not even come close to the charismatic Roger McDowell.

Twenty one games is not long enough to form an opinion. Just how good are the 2010 Mets? We really don’t know yet. What’s interesting is that they themselves don’t know either. This will be a learning process for both fans and players alike. As this club matures and grows and develops–and maybe even competes for a pennant–we fans will be along for the ride. Who knows? Maybe before this thing is over we will see a couple of fist pumping curtain calls and, yes, maybe even swagger, too—Just for old times sake.

Naturally I don’t condone what those guys did, but in a small way I definitely appreciate McGwire admitting it and wanting to move on.  All of which reminded me of the 1987 season, and specifically when a young Mets pitcher named Dwight Gooden failed a drug test and shed light on what many of us suspected–that something had affected his performance in 1986.  He began that season 5-0 with a 1.04 ERA before the wheels began to fall off and he finished the campaign a more pedestrian 17-6 with a 2.84 ERA.  Gooden was even more pedestrian in the postseason, including Game 5 of the World Series when he was visibly sweating in frigid Boston, while giving up four runs on nine hits in four innings. I had gone to almost every home game Gooden pitched from 1984 to 1986, so I knew something with him was not right.

Then he failed that whiz quiz in April of 1987, and while it was shocking and disappointing, we as fans were a bit relieved that Gooden’s recent shortcomings were now easier to explain.  He probably wouldn’t have admitted guilt on his own, but before being admitted to the Smithers Clinic he at least showed remorse, and seemed relieved to be able to rehab from cocaine addiction and get on with his life and career, and I respected that.

Gooden didn’t pitch again until June 5, 1987, a Friday night game against the Pittsburgh Pirates at Shea.  Dick Young of the New York Daily News, who was never afraid to stir up controversy, offered this advice to fans: “Stand Up and Boo!” Well I was there, and that’s not what happened….we all gave Doc a standing ovation for like five minutes, and had chills when he struck out Bonds to start the game.  He then went on to beat the Pirates in what was, despite four walks, vintage Gooden.

Gooden’s career would have plenty more ups and downs, and he’s still battling the demons that caused him to use drugs in the first place.  But I remember June 5, 1987, and I remember it because, after accepting Gooden’s shortcomings, I and many others forgave him and welcomed him back with open arms.

I’m glad that in addition to the fans’ outcry, the former players are also getting involved in voicing their opinions on the lack of Mets history at Citi Field. Here are some suggestions I would make to the Wilpons to make Citi Field look more Mets-centric:

Shea Stadium had all those banners hanging around the escalators and ramps depicting classic Mets moments. Aside from the Left Field entrance, Citi Field only has small banners outside the park that are barely noticeable because they’re the same color as the exterior of the ballpark. The ones at Shea stood out and couldn’t be missed. The concourses are much wider at Citi Field than at Shea Stadium. Surely they could find room for great Mets moments. They have nearly fifty years of team history to choose those moments from.

Whereas a number of new stadiums have statues of their greatest players or a memorable moment in franchise history, the Mets do not. Why not have a statue of Tom Seaver or even one of Jesse Orosco’s iconic pose after striking out Marty Barrett to end the 1986 World Series? The Fanwalk is nice but you have to be standing on top of the bricks to realize what it is. A statue would be noticeable from a distance and would fit in with the current trend of new ballparks and statues. It’s also far more comfortable to take a picture standing in front of a statue than it is lying on the ground next to your brick. If the San Diego Padres can have a statue of Tony Gwynn outside of Petco Park, despite the fact they’ve only been in existence since 1969 and have no championships, shouldn’t the Mets have a statue featuring at least one of their championship players and/or moments?

Is it just me or are you also having a tough time finding where the banners are depicting the Mets’ playoff teams? Shea Stadium had the reminders on the right field wall of all the teams that made it to the postseason. Citi Field has the National League pennants and World Championship flags up, but the playoff teams that didn’t go to the World Series (1988, 1999, 2006) aren’t commemorated. The 2006 division title isn’t even acknowledged anywhere, as far as I can tell. That was only three years ago!  Let’s hope current players who were around in 2006 say something about that, similar to what Mookie is saying about the 1986 team.

One more thing.  At Citi Field, the outfield wall is black (officially, the color is known as soot) with orange numbering for the distances. At the very least, they could have made the wall dark blue with orange numbers. Intentional or not, it looks more like a tribute to the old New York Giants baseball team. Enough with the history of defunct New York National League teams. Let’s have some for the current National League team…you know, the one fans are paying to see inside the Wilpon’s beautiful new ballpark.

The Wilpons have built a gorgeous park with some pretty good players playing in it. Those players are sure to create many memorable moments of their own. However, the Mets have had some indelible moments in the past as well. They should be celebrated throughout Citi Field instead of being ignored.

Between his “we-don’t-have-an-edge” comments to Fox sports.com, which Minaya insists were misinterpreted, and Oliver Perez making him look silly for investing $36 million in the lefthander over the winter, the Mets’ GM has set himself up for some public grilling if his team doesn’t gets its act together.

Indeed, where last year the bull’s-eye was on Willie Randolph’s chest at the first sign of trouble, Minaya surely has to be held most responsible if this season goes bad for the Mets.

It would be interesting to see what would really happen if things fall apart for the Mets. It’s well known how much the Wilpons love Omar, but would that keep them from replacing him if the Mets fail to deliver again?

Minaya did recant the comments he made to Fox and said that Rosenthal misinterpreted him, but it rings hollow.

Harper also draws a comparison to the 1986 Mets and how much different their clubhouse was as compared to the current climate.

You hate to always go back to the ’86 Mets, but in this case it’s hard not to. Imagine if Carlos Beltran was on that ballclub and he essentially cost his team a win because he didn’t slide at home, as was the case in St. Louis a couple of weeks ago.

I’d put the over/under at five on the number of players on that team who would have told him he better not let it happen again, whether he’s leading the league in hitting or not.

On this team? I asked a Mets player privately over the weekend if anyone had said a word to Beltran about it, and he shook his head in a “what-are-you-gonna-do?” kind of way.

Harper nails it on the head. This is exactly what I’m talking about when I say the Mets need some leadership in the clubhouse. Some might say having a captain wouldn’t amount to a hill of beans, but I disagree.

Maybe if the Mets had a captain, it would lead to a circle of leadership where nobody would have felt out of place to confront Carlos Beltran about not sliding, or Jose Reyes for not laying down a sacrifice bunt.

Not only that, but when you’re a leader you usually try harder and make better decisions and improve your fundamentals simply because you don’t want to look bad. It can become contagious.

Having someone sport a “C” on their chest will not translate directly into more wins. What it would do is transform the current malaise into a wining attitude, better fundamentals and a renewed focus, and those are the things that can put more games into the win column.