Six weeks into a season that stretches over six months may be a tad early to make pronouncements on expected outcomes for this year’s Mets squad, but the indicators of relative strengths and weaknesses have at least given a reasonable hint of what can be looked for going forward. A sub-.500 record with a propensity for generosity by the bullpen and parsimony on the part of the offense hasn’t inspired a great deal of optimism in fans at this point. Not that there were many of us ready to try to make a convincing case for a division crown going into this season, but as always we remain hopeful and ready to be pleasantly surprised.  The unexpected run toward respectability that occurred during the first part of the 2012 campaign might yet re-surface this year as a second half surge, something that would actually be a more hopeful sign of things to come. As we await the inevitable arrival of Zack Wheeler, Travis D’Arnaud, et al later this summer, it seems worthwhile to evaluate yet again how the overall roster might best be shaped.

The twin issues of a porous bullpen and an impotent lineup seem to be continual matters of concern. Of course, were the rotation more consistent at providing quality outings, the bullpen wouldn’t be as overtaxed as it seems to be and perhaps more able to provide adequate support. On the other hand, a bounty of run production would compensate greatly for less than shutdown outings from the relief corps, but lacking even middle-of-the-pack scoring ability since an uncharacteristic eruption to begin the season, we are left to look for the domination of a Harvey start and cross our fingers in-between.

So, unwilling to write the season off entirely at this point, what strategy best serves management’s multiple goals of major league player development, minor league nurturing, and fielding a product respectable enough to generate sufficient revenue from an increasingly impatient fan base?  Do they continue along the current path, waiting for the team as presently comprised to round into shape and begin playing close to what more bullish expectations had envisioned? If so, where does one finally draw the line if that level of performance isn’t forthcoming before a certain time period has elapsed (let’s say, hmmmm…, the All-Star Break)? Or, if more drastic action is deemed appropriate, who is most directly affected by that action?

So many questions, but not that many readily apparent answers. As the roster is made up largely of relative youngsters with potential  and varying track records of success (Ike, Murphy, Tejada, Duda, Niese, Parnell, Gee, Harvey, Valdespin, Turner, Lagares, Carson, Familia), with an added sprinkling of seasoned veterans (Wright, Buck, Hawkins, Atchison, Byrd, Marcum, Lyon), and role players (Baxter, Brown, Rice, Recker, Hefner), the Mets are in a position that seemingly requires that we all bite the bullet and wait out the unavoidable growing pains of a franchise in the middle stages of a rebuild. Sandy Alderson’s statements in regard to the possible fate of Terry Collins indicate that his expectations are more closely focused on development of young talent than on the team’s won/lost record this year, although one would expect an improvement in the latter as an outgrowth of the former.  From an historic viewpoint then, could we conceive of the 2013 season as being analogous to 1983 as a harbinger of good things to come? One of the keys to the transition of that team from bottom dweller to contender and eventual champion was not only the establishment of later rotation stalwarts Ron Darling and Walt Terrell, but the mid-season acquisition of Keith Hernandez as a consistent veteran presence in the lineup and in the clubhouse. These moves were instrumental in the remarkable year-over-year gain of 22 wins for the 1984 squad, though adding in a couple of pitchers by the names of Gooden and Fernandez didn’t hurt, either.

If there is to be a similar advancement over the next season or so for the Citi-dwellers of 2013, we will need to see results with the ostensible rotation strategy in the form of the debut and successful development of at least two starters from the vaunted arsenal of Met hurlers-to-be. Zack Wheeler’s debut now seems fairly imminent, but it would be a stretch to expect the likes of a Montero or Syndergaard much in advance of late 2014. In the meantime, I would expect more in the form of placeholders like Collin McHugh until the more dominant arms are ready. Ultimately, to make the move from mediocrity to the upper echelon of the league will require contributions from the starting staff in the form of multiple 200+ inning seasons from the majority of the rotation. Such was the case in ’84 when Messrs. Gooden, Darling, and Terrell all achieved the feat. As to the questions of if and when the Mets could expect to receive production of that magnitude from the current crop of arms making their way to Flushing, your guess is as good as mine.

It is worth noting that the 1984 squad received significant production from its outfield corps, getting 60 HR’s and 75 SB’s from the starting trio of Foster, Wilson and Strawberry, and topped that off with solid contributions from Hernandez and Hubie Brooks at the infield corners. The deficiencies of the current Mets outfield have been covered ad nauseum at this point so I won’t rehash them, but suffice it to say that an acquisition or two would appear to be absolutely vital going forward for the balance of the strategy to be effective.  The timing of this aspect of roster construction can be highly variable and opportunistic. The key move for the 1983 team was clearly the Hernandez trade, something that came about largely as a result of a personality clash between Keith and Cardinals manager Whitey Herzog. The acquisition of Ray Knight, a major component in the 1986 championship drive, came about as a near-deadline pickup in late August for the 1984 team as they prepared for that season’s stretch run. The off-season blockbuster that brought Gary Carter into the fold ahead of the 1985 campaign was a more “traditional” type of swap, undertaken by GM Frank Cashen as a means putting the final major piece of the puzzle into place.

The lesson here is that opportunities must be taken when they present themselves, lest similar ones fail to present themselves in a timely manner. Many questions have surrounded the Mets’ apparent refusal to include Zack Wheeler in a deal that would have netted stud outfielder Justin Upton, the type of offensive force that the lineup so desperately needs. If Wheeler becomes another Ace alongside Matt Harvey for years to come, the decision to keep him will seem wise or at least reasonable, depending on how the rest of Upton’s career turns out. If he is spun off in a deal that brings Giancarlo Stanton into the fold, most would consider that a fair alternative, to say the least.

In any event, if the strategy of the current Mets’ regime is to bear fruit in the commonly accepted timeline to contention (2015 by the reckoning of most), we should expect to see some important additions to the roster in the relatively near future. Building a winner takes time, but it also needs the right kind of material. Right now, much of that material would seem to be lacking.

I was 13 years old and it was October in New York City. Game 6 of the 1986 World Series was on TV. While listening to Evans speak, I remembered Billy Buckner, who was not in the auditorium with us, but the memory of that amazing night was vivid in my mind. All I could think about was that ball rolling between his legs and that famous call by Vin Scully:

“A little roller up along first; behind the bag! It gets through Buckner! Here comes Knight and the Mets win it!”

Every time I hear that call, it gives me goosebumps. I feel like a kid again. I was watching the game in my room and from what I can remember, there were three very nervous people in my home wishing and praying that something miraculous would happen as the Mets neared the end of Game 6.

While my stepfather watched the game in the living room, my mother was in the bedroom reading and relying upon me for instant updates from me. We lived on the second floor of a duplex in the East New York section of Brooklyn, and the rooms weren’t that far from each other. So running into her room to give her updates and running back, didn’t take too long  and was actually quite fun.

As the game went along and the Mets found themselves down 2-0, my heart was pounding very hard and I couldn’t breathe. It was only the 4th inning, but being down three games to two and needing to win this game, I couldn’t begin to tell you how frazzled my nerves were.

Then the Mets tied the game with two runs in the bottom of the fifth inning. Whew, a sigh of relief went through my body, now I could finally breathe a little. At this I wondered why my mom wouldn’t come out her room and watch the game with my stepfather on the big TV in the living room. It was if she was too nervous to watch and preferred my between innings updates.

I had this thing, that throughout the World Series, no one was allowed to watch the game in my room; it was off limits because I wanted to be alone when it mattered most and if I wanted to scream or yell, I didn’t want anyone to tell me to shut up.  Neither of them would dare come in especially after the second game of the series, they knew I needed to be alone – just me and my Mets.

Now back to the game. It’s now the top of the 7th and those damned Red Sox scored again, Oh man was I having a fit, but that was short lived because the Mets scored to tie it again in the bottom of the eighth at 3-3.  What a nail-biter this was becoming.

“It’s okay,” I would say to myself. “David, just breathe man, just breath, they will do it, just like the song says. “Do it…Let’s go! Do it…Let’s go!  Lets make it happen!”

We’ll win it in the bottom of the ninth – I was convinced. That’s what I kept telling myself. However, the bottom of the ninth just comes and goes and we are headed into extra-innings. I’m sweating profusely while gazing at my TV in a trance-like state after watching the Red Sox score two runs to take the lead 5-3.

This can’t be happening. Please God, don’t let it end like this…

My mind went blank. I was now so upset that my mother yelled toward my room telling me to stop screaming. By now she was huddled with my stepfather and watching it all unfold together. What’s the matter with them? Did they not just see what has happened; of course I’m screaming.

I dug my head in my pillow and remembered praying real hard that if God would just allow the Mets to somehow come back, that I would always listen to my mom. I am sure my mother would get a thrill if she could read this part of this post.

Here we go… We’re down to our last three outs and before I can finish my praying, Wally Backman and Keith Hernandez both hit fly balls for outs.  Now its two outs and nobody on and I can hear my mother whisper to my stepfather, “Oh this is not good.”

I am sure she was more concerned about me and what my reaction would be rather than the Mets who looked like they were about to lose the World Series.  For so many years at school. my friends had given me a verbal beating for rooting for the Mets rather than the Yankees.

But the Mets were my team and I would be there for them no matter how bad they were. But in 1986, they weren’t bad, they were the most dominating team in the game. It was hard to sit and watch them go down like this. I just couldn’t stand to sit there and watch them lose the biggest game in their history at the time. I was dying inside and then suddenly a glimmer of hope…

One of my favorite Met players Gary Carter came up to bat. And as I peeked through my fingers, as if I am watching a horror flick, I prayed one last time for a miracle. There it was! A base-hit  by Carter and the Mets were still alive!

And before I knew it another base-hit by Kevin Mitchell and suddenly we had two men on and the winning run at the plate and it’s Ray Knight.  I am alive again for just a moment, and think okay, a home run right here and we win. Knight lines another a base-hit and Carter scores as Mitchell hustles to third base.  At this point I start to hear some noise coming from outside my window. I can hear screams from my neighbors, but I just didn’t want to get too excited yet, it was still two outs and the tying run was on third base.

Mookie Wilson comes up to bat.  The pitch comes in toward Mookie and he leaps in the air in one swift motion as the ball goes under him and to the backstop, and Mitchell scores to tie the game. Oh My God, the neighborhood erupted, people screaming out the windows, I have tears running down my face, I am so excited that I start to cry.  I can’t believe what I just witnessed, was it real, could it actually be happening.  I run into the living room, and give my mother and stepfather high-fives and run right back to my spot. The game isn’t over yet, but we are back in it and the winning run is now at third base in Ray Knight.

And then it happens… The play that any Met fan watching will never forget – the image burned into our minds forever. A ground ball to first base, everything seems goes into slow motion and I all I hear is that famous Vin Scully call:

“A little roller up along first; behind the bag! It gets through Buckner! Here comes Knight and the Mets win it!”

What, Oh My God, Oh My God, we win, we win, and now my mother and stepfather come running into my room, we are screaming, I am screaming out the window, my friends are all coming out their homes and a party is going on in the street that night.  What a game and with one more win the Mets will become champs.

Well we all know what happens in Game 7 of the World Series.  I got to witness my very first Mets championship, and unfortunately to this point it has been their last.  But I still have hope that they will get it together and allow me the opportunity to relive the Glory Days and witness some more of that Mets magic.

After the Mets win the series, my mother promises me that I could go to the parade, even if it meant me missing school. I am not sure what she told the nuns at my school, but who cares – I was going to the Canyon of Heroes in New York City to celebrate the greatest Met moment of my life. Nothing else mattered other than the Mets were finally champions – and to all my friends that mocked me, I finally had something to brag about.

The night before the parade, my stepfather tells us that we need to be there no later than 7:00 AM.  He says that millions of people will be there and we need to get a head-start. When we arrive in downtown Manhattan, I kid you not, no one was there.

It was 7:00 AM in the morning and the crew that were preparing the parade route were just arriving and just starting to put the barricades up. But because of my stepfather’s insistence that we get there early, we had a great vantage point for the greatest parade I would ever see.  Front row seats to watch our Champions parade down the Canyon of Heroes. How lucky can you get!

It was great… It was amazing… It was a day that is embedded in my brain and I will never forget.  A former Red Sox was a guest speaker a church breakfast meeting and revived one of the greatest games in Mets history. Thanks Dewey.

Here are some pictures we took the day of the parade. They’re not great, but I picked out the best ones that I could share with all of great Met fans on MMO. I hope you enjoyed my story.

October 28, 1986

World Champion Mets Victory Parade

1986 Mets Parade: Darryl Strawberry batted cleanup that day...

1986 Mets Parade: NYPD Blue

1986 Mets Parade: I'm Keith Hernandez...

1986 Mets Parade: That's a Roger...

1986 Mets Parade: Rick Aguilera was there too...

1986 Mets Parade: Here they come...

1986 Mets Parade: Let's have a party!

1986 Mets Parade: Bobby Ojeda and family...

1986 Mets Parade: Mookie Wilson was all smiles...

Baseball is such a great sport. There is something for everyone, offense, defense, strategy, statistics, history and pitching. I’ll take a well pitched game over a slugfest any day. When you look at the Washington Nationals starting rotation, you just got to love what you see: Stephen Strasburg, Gio Gonzalez (one of my favorites), Jordan Zimmermann, and Dan Haren. This is a team with the potential go on a super long winning streak. Looking at this series, we knew Friday night’s Stephen Strasburg vs. Matt Harvey game was going to memorable, then looking at Saturday & Sunday, the Nats had the edge in the pitching match-up. But the Mets were better, taking two of three which is why you have to play the games. Nobody ever wins anything on paper. Here are the 3 & 3 from the series.

Matt-tastic: On Friday night Matt Harvey was yet again spot on, raising his record to 4-0. Harvey gave up one run, and struck out seven, in 7.0 innings of work, besting Stephen Strasburg. The atmosphere at Citi Field was electric on Friday with the fans chanting “Harvey’s Better!” You got to love it. I said it before and it bears repeating – Matt Harvey’s starts are Must See TV.

Duda & Davis Duplicate Dingers: Lucas Duda and Ike Davis both went yard in Friday night’s win not once, but twice! It makes you want to dream about how awesome life would be if they just did that on a more regular basis. Especially Davis who is still struggling and whiffed three times the very next day.

Gee Gets An “A”: In the last 3&3 we got on Dillon Gee, so we’re more than happy to bump him up here, for his great start on Sunday afternoon. When the Mets needed a guy step up, Dillon did just that, tossing 5.2 shutout innings in the Mets 2-0 win over the Nats. Keep up the good work Dillon.

Another Laff-able Outing: Aaron Laffey, we hardly knew ye  After blowing the Mets lead on Saturday afternoon after coming out of the bullpen, the Mets finally had enough of Laffey and designated him for assignment. The Mets recalled Robert Carson to replace him and we hope he proves to be an upgrade. As we mentioned last time out, Laffey has looked overmatched during his short tenure with the Mets. Good luck to him.

No Washington Leadership: Not our elected officials, but on the field for the Nats. Watching Gio Gonzalez struggle Saturday afternoon, I kept waiting for one of the infielders to talk to him, and try to calm him down. It didn’t happen. The great 1986 team that Davey Johnson managed had two on-field leaders with Keith Hernandez and Gary Carter. In recent times we’ve seen David Wright go to the mound and get on big Mike Pelfrey and even Jon Niese. I just don’t understand why Adam LaRoche didn’t try to break the funk Gonzales was in. It worked out great for the Mets though.

Dodger Danger: A struggling L.A. Dodger team comes into Citi Field this week. It seems to me that struggling teams get healthy fast against the Mets. Let’s hope that’s not the case this time. Here’s to seeing the Mets kick the Dodgers while they are down.

It was a great weekend series for the Mets, taking two of three, especially after being swept in Denver. Until next time, Lets Go Mets!!!

He’s kept criticism at bay and been one of the bigger surprises for the Mets in the early part of this season. Buck continued his hot streak with another home run in yesterday’s loss to the Phillies 3-7. He’s is batting .375/.371/.875, has five home runs, 15 RBIs and a savvy veteran demeanor in the dugout.

As the season progresses, one can only guess what lies ahead for the journeyman catcher. I can’t help but point out what looms in the minds of Mets fans: if Buck keeps playing like this, he could be a valuable trade chip at the deadline.

The two sides of me—the Mets fan and the rational thinker—have gone back and forth with the concept for the last couple days. The Mets fan says:

“Buck has been great and will compliment Travis d’Arnaud when d’Arnaud is ready to come up.”

Then the rational thinker chimes in and says:

“You know the Mets won’t keep him if he keeps playing like this. He’s 32. He’s not part of the rebuilding process. D’Arnaud is the Mets future backstop. If Alderson is willing to stick to his guns and trade Dickey, you think he’s not going to try and move Buck to a contender needing a catcher for more young pitching?”

Who could blame him if he did? It would make perfect sense. Terry Collins can say whatever he wants about competing this year. That’s his job. That’s what he’s paid to do. He’s going to do so even more knowing that teams are watching him as he comes off contract.

But my inner Mets fan keeps screaming in my ear saying:

“Dan, you idiot, the Mets can’t just trade Buck if they have a good record by the deadline. You don’t just throw away a potential winning season.”

To which the rational thinker rebuts:

“Yeah, you do. It’s called having a long-term strategy. Doesn’t that scenario seem familiar? A team with a good record by the All-Star break doesn’t mean its playoff bound. I don’t care if Buck has 30 home runs and 80 RBIs by then. If Alderson can make another worthwhile trade with Buck as the centerpiece, he’s probably going to do it.”

Even if Buck is an NL MVP candidate, he’s still a stopgap player. You unload stopgap players at the trade deadline A) so you don’t have to pay their full freight and B) so you can get some young talent for a player you weren’t going to keep anyway.

Of course, none of this matter unless Buck continues to produce at a high level. Maybe he will. Maybe he won’t  Time will tell. Here I am, nine games into the season, talking about what’s going to happen at the trade deadline. It’s still incredibly early, but don’t be naive and think that this won’t be a topic of discussion down the line if Buck holds up.

At any rate, it’s good to see another Mets catcher doing well at the plate. It reminds me of the great seasons with Mike Piazza and the late Gary Carter. Let’s hope things continue to get #BuckWild.

What do you think about Buck and the Mets?

But there are also games that seem to be indicative of some kind of destiny intended for a team. When it appears in retrospect that a team was destined for greatness, the games that stick out are the type where a win that seemed wholly improbable at one point was captured either through perseverance, dumb luck, a managerial gamble, or some apparently mysterious force. Such was the case when the Mets met up with the Cincinnati Reds at Riverfront Stadium on the night of July 22 of that memorable year.

The Mets were down to their last out in the top of the ninth, trailing 3-1 as Keith Hernandez faced John Franco with the tying runs on base. Hernandez lifted an easy fly to right that looked to be the last gasp for the NY squad as the Reds’ Dave Parker settled under it. In a stunning turn of events, Parker dropped the easy chance and the runners scurried home to tie the score. Given second life, the Mets began a tenacious and somewhat  outre’ extra-inning odyssey.

A combination of factors including the use of 3 pinch hitters, a double switch, and an ejection (Darryl Strawberry in the 6th for arguing a strike call) had left the Met bench bereft of options for manager Davey Johnson. As the game moved into the bottom of the 10th, Johnson brought in Jesse Orosco as the fifth Met pitcher of the evening. It was at this point that an element of strangeness began to pervade the proceedings.

After Parker was retired for the first out, Pete Rose, then player/manager of the Reds, inserted himself as a pinch hitter and singled. He then reverted to straight managerial mode and brought in Eric Davis to pinch run. Davis promptly stole second and then went for third on a subsequent pitch. His hard slide brought him into contact with Mets third sacker Ray Knight who responded with a bit of contact of his own. A shoving match ensued along with some words being exchanged and before you knew it, Knight’s Golden Gloves instincts had led him to pop Davis right in the kisser. The result was your standard bench-clearing bedlam, and when order was restored, two players from each team were ejected including Knight, Davis, Reds pitcher Mario Soto and Mets RF Kevin Mitchell who had been inserted to replace Strawberry. This left the Mets without sufficient position players to field a full team as the only remaining bench asset at this point was backup catcher Ed Hearn.

Having conferred with his coaches and remaining eligible players, Johnson elected to shift Gary Carter from behind the plate to third replacing Knight and inserted Hearn at Catcher. The outfield was another matter entirely.

Anticipating the probability of needing a right handed arm to spell Orosco if the game continued much beyond the current inning, Johnson inserted reliever Roger McDowell in RF and initiated a strange merry-go-round of pitchers and outfield alignments to compensate for the Mets’ suddenly shorter bench.

As different Reds players came to bat, Johnson would shift either Orosco or McDowell to the mound based primarily on whom he felt could best induce the batter to hit the ball to an established outfielder if solid contact was made (at this point, Mookie Wilson and Lenny Dykstra comprised the other two thirds of the outfield).

As the game wore on, players were shifted repeatedly as Johnson managed to dodge situations where his pitcher/outfielders would actually have to figure in a defensive play. By way of contrast, one of his other displaced troops sparkled in the bottom of the twelfth when, with two Reds on base and none out, emergency third sacker Carter figured in the middle of a nicely turned double play to end the threat.

In the bottom of the thirteenth, Tony Perez stepped to the plate seemingly intent on exploiting the Mets’ compromised defense.  Looking for a pitch he could drive the other way, he swung at a McDowell offering and lined a shot to right field where Orosco was stationed. Jesse made a quick lateral move and snagged the liner, unable to suppress a smile at the seeming absurdity of it all.

Finally, in the top of the fourteenth, Howard Johnson provided the coup de grace with a long three-run bomb off pitcher Ted Power and McDowell finished the Reds off for a 6-3 victory.  In retrospect, the result of this game seemed almost inevitable, as the Mets of that season were a juggernaut that apparently could beat you with one outfielder tied behind their back.

The Mets made it official this afternoon and named David Wright the team’s captain, joining a select group that includes John Franco, Keith Hernandez and Gary Carter.

“This is probably one of the proudest days of my career so far,” Wright said. “I’m honored and very proud to be on that short list of guys that have been considered captain of this franchise. For me, it’s a dream come true, to say the least.”

There has been speculation for years – as far back when Willie Randolph was manager – and intensified  this winter when Wright was signed to a $138-million eight-year extension. Manager Terry Collins said at the start of spring training it was something he was considering, but needed to run it through GM Sandy Alderson and COO Jeff Wilpon, as well as poll the clubhouse.

It was a foregone conclusion the announcement would be made prior to Opening Day. According to ESPN, Wilpon said the second Wright signed the contract there was nothing else to think about.

“When you commit that kind of money and resources that we have to a guy like this, you want to make sure he’s the leader,” chief operating officer Jeff Wilpon said. “And he’s proven to be that.”

During the Randolph era, the manager said the promotion might be awkward because that team was loaded with veterans such as Carlos Delgado – who became a mentor to Jose Reyes – Carlos Beltran, and pitchers Tom Glavine and Pedro Martinez.

At the time, Randolph said there wasn’t a need for a captain because of the veteran influence. Then came the Jerry Manuel era, but the team was so bad it seemed like a futile gesture.

Even so, Wright was always the face of the franchise, and the one player the media sought out for analysis on the Mets or anything else relating to baseball.

Wright will not wear a “C” on his uniform, but his leadership has been obvious in the clubhouse for years. Once, Reyes wanted to stay in a game, but was clearly hobbled. Wright, knowing an injured Reyes could be a liability told the manager, then Manuel.

Wright has worked closely with the pitchers and was one of the few players who could reach Mike Pelfrey when he was losing concentration. He often goes to the mound when a rattled pitcher needs to catch his breath.

With the Mets moving in a youth direction, there was no veteran presence other than Wright, who, as an All-Star had the talent to back up the promotion.

At the start of camp, Wright said being captain would be an honor, but wanted it through his teammates and not an edict from ownership or management.

“This is where I wanted to start my career and finish my career,” Wright said. “I feel very comfortable and very confident in this role.”

Today was just a formality. Wright has captained this team through good times and bad for the last five years. From the moment Wright was first called up, he has shown himself to be a leader in every sense of the word and has done so with integrity and honor.

He was never one to run and hide after an awful loss or those forgettable collapses in 2007 and 2008. Instead he  stood front and center in front of his locker and was always willing to take the bullet for the team.

As the years wore on, Wright eventually assumed the role of team ambassador, and no player in franchise history has done a better job despite the the negativity he was forced to navigate in. Despite it all, he always stood strong and wore his team colors proudly.

His record of accomplishments speak for themselves and he leads the team in over a dozen different offensive categories, many of which will likely never be broken.

Wright is too modest to wear the “C” on his uniform like all of his predecessors have. Instead he gets the “C” for class by all of us here at Mets Merized Online.

A heartfelt congratulations to David Wright – Our Captain.

Contributed to by John Delcos.

Updated on 3/21

Terry Collins just announced that the Mets have named David Wright the captain of the New York Mets.

Wright becomes the fourth captain in team history, joining Keith Hernandez, Gary Carter, and John Franco.

“This is probably one of the proudest days of my career so far,” Wright said.

“To be viewed in this light – by ownership, by Sandy and the front office, the coaching staff, and most importantly by the players – means a great deal to me. I’m honored and proud to be on the short list of guys of captains of this franchise. It’s a dream come true, to say the least, and something I am very, very proud of.”

Wright will not wear the “C” on his jersey, unlike the captains before him.

Interestingly enough, yesterday I think I told Clayton (was it you Clayton?) that this news was going to break today.

Original Post 3/13

From Bakersfield, California to Bayonne, New Jersey, Mets third baseman David Wright has become an overnight sensation as he continues to shine for Team USA in the World baseball Classic. Step aside Justin Bieber.

From trending nationally on Twitter to being the hot baseball topic on sports talk shows from coast to coast, Wright has gone from face of the Mets franchise to the face of Team USA and his fans now number in the millions.

Meanwhile, back in Port St. Lucie, the buzz about Wright goes beyond his exploits in the WBC and questions regarding his captaincy still continue. Adam Rubin of ESPN New York, caught up with Mets COO Jeff Wilpon, who is happy for Wright and said It’s nice that they’re calling him Captain America.

When asked if Wright would be named the Mets’ team captain before Opening Day, Wilpon responded by saying he could not talk about it, but Rubin believes it sounded like something could be happening soon. If it does happen, Wright would become the fourth captain in team history, joining Keith Hernandez (1987-89), Gary Carter (1988-89) and John Franco (2001-04).

Of course, the big story of the Spring is David Wright’s dominating performance in the WBC for Team USA. He leads the team with a .438 batting average, .750 slugging percentage and a 1.276 OPS. Wright’s 10 RBIs are also the most in the WBC.

This great graphic of Wright as Captain America was designed and posted by @theroar_24 on Twitter and has been making the rounds all over the Mets blogosphere. I love it!

Team USA will battle against the powerhouse Dominican Republic at Marlins Park on Thursday night at 7:00 PM in what is certain to be an epic clash. The winner will move onto the semi-final round at San Francisco’s AT&T Park.

Former Met and reigning NL Cy Young R.A. Dickey will be on the mound for Team USA and will face-off against Samuel Deduno for the DR.

GO TEAM USA!

Harvey gave up a three-run homer to Washington’s Bryce Harper in the first inning, but rebounded to throw three scoreless innings and strike out six in an 8-5 loss.

Harvey settled down to retire 11 of the final 12 hitters against him; a very good sign for any pitcher let alone a young one after a rough start.

“I struggled there in the first inning, obviously. I think I came out a little too excited and needed to tone that down a little bit,’’ Harvey told reporters. “I made one bad pitch and it cost me three runs.’’

Harvey said he came out pumped in trying to atone for a three-homer rocking by the Nationals last year in spring training.

Bobby Parnell had a rough outing, giving up four runs in the seventh inning, which included a run-producing error by left fielderLucas Duda and RBI single by Harper.

Bright spots for the Mets included Collin Cowgill’s homer and scoreless relief innings from Robert Carson and LaTroy Hawkins. As of now, Cowgill seems to have the inside track in center field. Hawkins is expected to earn one of the bullpen spots. Carson, who was effective last year out of the pen in spots, could be the second lefty behind Josh Edgin.

METS MUSINGS: The Mets are expected to option catching prospect Travis d’Arnaud and infielder Wilmer Flores to the minor league camp by Friday. If a player on the 40-man roster is injured within 15 days of Opening Day they qualify for major league service time and pay, and must be placed on the disabled list until they are healed. It’s a financial risk the Mets will not take, especially since neither is expected to make the team. … The Mets are expected to name David Wright captain by the start of the season, joining Keith Hernandez, Gary Carter and John Franco. Wright is having a mammoth WBC with ten RBI in four games, including a grand slam. Hope he doesn’t get used to hitting with the bases loaded when he returns. If the USA goes the distance, Wright will be out of camp for another week. …Daniel Murphy is expected to get into a minor league game this weekend. He took live batting practice today. … It his hoped Kirk Nieuwenhuis will begin baseball activities Thursday. He’s been out with a bruised left knee sustained 10 days ago. … Jordany Valdespin, who was hit in the groin by a Justin Verlander pitcher yesterday, now vows to wear a cup. Smart guy.

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…

One year ago today, Gary Carter lost his battle with brain cancer at the young age of 57.  Carter’s loss was felt throughout the Mets community, with tributes ranging from t-shirts to a home plate candlelight vigil to commemorative patches on the team’s jerseys and the outfield wall at Citi Field.

Carter was a leader both on and off the field, despite his relative short time as a Met.  His five years with the team produced two division titles, one World Series championship and a plaque in the Mets Hall of Fame.  Since Carter played his last game for the Mets in 1989, only Todd Hundley and Mike Piazza have spent at least five seasons as the Mets’ No. 1 catcher.  And since Mike Piazza waved goodbye to the Shea Stadium crowd in 2005, the Mets have played musical chairs at the catcher’s position, employing four different Opening Day backstops and 17 catchers overall.

Needless to say, there hasn’t been much stability at a position that has historically been one of the most stable for the Mets.  But the new kid in town might change that.

Travis d’Arnaud was the 37th overall pick in the 2009 amateur draft.  After four minor league seasons, d’Arnaud is poised to make his major league debut for the Mets in 2013.  When he does, it will be as the team’s No. 1 catcher, a position he hopes to hold for as long as Gary Carter did, if not longer.

Gary Carter was the 53rd overall pick in the 1972 amateur draft.  Although he only hit .262 in parts of three minor league seasons, Carter was called up to the struggling Expos in 1974 after displaying outstanding power at the Triple-A level (23 HR, 83 RBI in 135 games).  He also showed tremendous arm strength, was an excellent caller of games, and was able to effectively handle his pitching staff at a very young age.  Sounds an awful lot like what the experts are saying about Travis d’Arnaud today.

Travis d’Arnaud can look up to Gary Carter for a player whose career he’d like to emulate.

When Gary Carter was a Met, he gave the team everything they were looking for in a starting catcher.  He was a field manager.  He was a mentor to his pitchers.  He studied the game.  He came through when the team needed him.

In 1984, the Mets had six pitchers who made at least ten starts.  Of those six, only Dwight Gooden had an ERA under 3.50.  In 1985, when Carter played his first year in New York, the Mets had five pitchers make at least ten starts.  All five of them finished the year with an ERA under 3.50.  Clearly, their collective improvement was a result of having a great catcher behind the plate.  And of course, having a catcher who could produce a 30 HR, 100 RBI campaign – as Carter did in 1985 – didn’t hurt either.

Travis d’Arnaud has the potential to be a solid hitter in the major leagues – one who can produce many runs for his pitchers to work with.  Barring any setbacks, he should be a Met at some point in 2013.  When he does make the team, he’ll be catching the likes of Matt Harvey, Jonathon Niese and quite possibly Zack Wheeler.  All three pitchers are young and all three pitchers will need a catcher whose presence behind the plate will make them better on the mound.

For all the wonderful things Gary Carter did as a batter, it was his contribution as a molder of a young pitching staff that helped fuel the team to a World Series championship.  Like Carter before him, Travis d’Arnaud has a chance to be a special hitter in the big leagues.  But if he can replicate what Gary Carter did behind the plate, then the Mets have a chance to become a special team.

The Kid left us one year ago today.  But he also left the new kid a blueprint for how to help the team get back to a level of success it hasn’t experienced in over a quarter century.  Good pitchers produce championships.  Good catchers produce good pitchers.  It worked for Gary Carter.  It can work for Travis d’Arnaud.  Long live the new kid.

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.

In the eight and a half years since his MLB debut, Wright has compiled 321 doubles, 543 extra-base hits, 614 walks,  788 runs scored, 813 runs batted in, and 2,390+ total bases.  Each ranks first all-time for any player donning a Mets uniform on a nightly basis.  Wright also holds the second spot all time with a .301 career batting average.  He’s tied for third all-time in slugging percentage (.506) and fourth all-time in on-base percentage (.381).  His 203 home runs, often considered the most important statistical column, currently ranks third all-time as well.

Clearly, David Wright ranks amongst the best offensive players to ever lace up in the blue and orange, but does that make him the best of all-time?  For all the positive records Wright currently holds and/or will hold if he ends up signing a contract extension in the not so distant future, he already holds the team’s all-time strikeout record, with 1,007.  I’m sure there will be many of you who will find other reasons to deny Wright’s greatness.  Often referred to as Captain Unclutch, Wright has posted a career .294 batting average with runners in scoring position.  That includes five career grand slams and a career batting average of .331 with the bases loaded.  Certainly not the numbers of a man who can’t come through when it matters.

Realistically, I think the most logically hesitation for most Mets fans to shy away from calling Wright the best Met ever is the fact that the team hasn’t won a championship during his tenure.  Unlike Seaver, Kranepool and Ryan who were a part of the 1969 champion ship team, and Strawberry, Gooden and Carter who were a part of the 1986 championship team, Wright hasn’t been able to bring the hardware back to Queens.  Should that matter?  Maybe..maybe not..  But much like the fact the Mets won’t be headed to the playoffs may impact RA Dickey’s Cy Young bid, the players who contributed to a championship will forever hold a soft spot in the hearts of Mets fans who are fortunate enough to remember those times.

Others may argue that Wright, despite being widely considered to be the face of the franchise and captain of the team, has either been incapable or worse yet, unwilling to become the vocal leader we once anticipated.  Ultimately, Wright’s name will always be attached to what will be considered a losing era in franchise history to this point, but should that take away from what he’s accomplished?

Do Tom Seaver’s 198 wins, his 2,541 strikeouts as a Met, and his contribution towards one of only two franchise championships trump Wright’s offensive contributions which have rewritten the team’s record books?  Perhaps its a player like Mike Piazza, whose timely home runs account for some of the most significant moments in franchise history, who holds the biggest part of your Mets’ heart?  The fact is that Wright’s career numbers to date, despite the slumps, the recent injuries, and the uncertain future should without question lodge him amongst the franchise’s greatest all-time players.  However, is he the best?

Follow me on Twitter at @RobPatterson83.

It’s not the first time Cancer has taken a member of my family. My Grandfather battled with bladder Cancer and fought almost two years on hospice until he could fight no longer. It ravaged a man who in his prime could walk entire New York boroughs barely breaking a sweat. It took my wife’s mother, Arlene Rodgers, just a few years ago, she was only 54. It’s taken the young, the elderly, the poor and the wealthy affording zero prejudice along the way. Of all the medical advances we’ve made as a species, it kills me to think that we’re able to re-grow hair for balding men, lengthen women’s eyelashes with a cream, reverse the signs of aging using Botulism shots in the face and let’s not forget what that little blue pill can do for men.

However when it comes to Cancer, we’ve barely scratched the surface on discovering a cure. Hasn’t it’s time come, no? And only through research – painstaking and ultimately expensive research, will that day come when we can stop blindly shooting arrows at this cagy beast. That’s one of the reasons when my fellow blogger at Metsmerizedonline, Taryn Cooper, also the driving force behind A Gal For All Seasons, approached me with writing this, I couldn’t help but feel both honored and proud of what she’s doing.

This coming November, as it has since it’s humble beginning in 1970 when a mere 127 runners paid a $1 entry fee, Taryn will be running in the ING New York City Marathon as a member of Team McGraw which benefits the Tug McGraw Foundation. The Foundation seeks to improve the quality of life for children and adults affected by neurological conditions such as brain tumors, post-traumatic stress disorder and traumatic brain injury. As a part of Team McGraw, Coop is raising funds to support in this effort. I’m not the only one to feel a sense of pride with what Taryn is doing. I think her husband, Ed Leyro, sums it up best:

Think of how proud Mets fans are of the 1969 and 1986 World Championship teams. That level of pride doesn’t even come close to what I feel for Taryn. I have difficulty running around the block without complaining. She’s going to run around the entire city of New York! And she’s doing it for a fantastic cause. It’s impossible not to gush with pride when I think about her selfless act.

Brimming with pride for what Taryn is undertaking, the Leyro family are no strangers to the harsh reality that Cancer is as Ed told me:

Cancer has hit very close to home in my family. My mother is a two-time cancer survivor. She was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1979 and colon cancer in 1990. I’m happy to report that the year is now 2012, and my mother is still with us and cancer-free! Without all the money raised for cancer research over the years, I might not have been able to enjoy all these years with my mother.

It’s a sobering fact that according to the American Cancer Society one out of every two men will have some form of Cancer in their lifetime and one out of every three women will as well. Think of that next time you’re at work or with your friends and family. Cancer, if anything, is such a harsh reminder of our mortality. I asked Taryn what drove her to attempt this incredible mental and physical challenge:

The NYC Marathon has been on my “bucket list” of things to do since I was probably a teenager. I just thought the event was something larger than myself, and I wanted to be part of it. The interest has waned over the years simply because the magnitude of running 26.2 miles just seemed too unrealistic. Until a few things changed. I live a few blocks from the finish line of the marathon, and every year on marathon Sunday, I see all the finishers walking through my neighborhood. And every year, I wonder if I’ll do it myself.

My friend Sharon Chapman ran the marathon in 2010, and she was the one who suggested that instead of relying on the lottery to enter the marathon, that I run for charity. Her charity was the Tug McGraw Foundation, which raises funds to assist in quality of life issues for brain cancer survivors and those living with neurological disorders.

To a Mets fan, the very concept of “Ya Gotta Believe” hits home and this was something Tug McGraw believed in until his untimely death, due to brain cancer. It made perfect sense, especially since my hero, Gary Carter, died of the affliction early this year. My friend Kara is also running the marathon for Team McGraw in honor of some family members who had brain cancer, and her father who suffers from a seizure disorder. Team McGraw just made sense for me. If I can run 26.2 miles, and bring awareness to a charity that does great work, then my job is pretty easy!

Those of you who know me know that I rarely if ever ask you to do something. For example I would never tell you who to vote for or what to believe in, for I personally believe that those ideas have to come to you on your own. You have to do the legwork for that, especially if it’s ever going to have some greater meaning for you. This is one of those rare times when I ask all of you to imagine if every reader pledged a dollar to Taryn in the New York City Marathon – just a dollar. The hundreds of thousands of dollars would be mind blowing and the good works that the Tug McGraw Foundation provides would be greatly effected and enhanced. Taryn’s goal is to get to $3000 and so far she’s already raised more than half of that. I say why stop there. You Gotta Believe anything is possible.

Please support our own Taryn Cooper and the Tug McGraw Foundation in honor of the late Gary Carter by heading here to donate:

http://www.active.com/donate/teammcgrawnyc2012/NYCM12TCooper

The Tug McGraw Foundation is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit, tax-exempt organization designated by the Internal Revenue Code. Their tax identification number is 20-0586256.

Introduction by Stephen Hanks

When I heard Gary Carter had finally succumbed to brain cancer at the too-young age of 57, I had two immediate memories. They weren’t of being at Shea on Opening Day 1985, when Carter hit his walk-off, 10^th inning home run in his first game as a Met, or of Carter starting the two-out rally that won Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. I remembered first seeing him on TV in 1975 during his rookie year with the Montreal Expos and being delighted at his refreshing hustle and obvious joy for the game. And I remembered the magazine I created and once edited and the Gary Carter cover story that never got published.

As I sat at Shea with my wife and then-business partner on that chilly 1985 Opening Day, I was proud that the New York sports magazine we had launched in April 1983 was starting it’s third year of publication (actually, we published just one issue in ’83, which had Tom Seaver on the cover). Although our bi-monthly magazine was still far from profitable, New York Sports was being critically-praised and items from our stories were being picked up regularly by the New York newspapers. We felt it was only a matter of time before the cash caught up to the kudos.

When in the summer of ’85 it appeared the Mets might have a shot at the post-season after 12 years in the also-ran desert, I made a leap of faith and decided that Gary Carter—the “last piece of the puzzle”—would be our cover story feature for the October issue. I assigned the story to Mark Ribowsky (whose most recent book is a biography of Howard Cosell), who had written the profile of Neil Allen for our ’83 launch issue, in which Allen blasted his teammates and the Mets front office and which contributed to his banishment to the St. Louis Cardinals for Keith Hernandez (no thanks necessary, Mets fans).

Right around the same time of that year, I received a call from an executive at the Charles Dolan-owned cable TV operation SportsChannel (which became Cablevision). The company was so impressed with New York Sports, they wanted to use one issue of the magazine as a promotion to all their subscribers—500,000 of them—and hype their fall hockey and basketball schedule. I almost dropped the phone. My wife the publisher immediately envisioned a subscription wrap around the cover with a letter from then-SportsChannel and Yankees announcer Mickey Mantle urging people to subscribe to the magazine. This was the absolutely ideal subscription list—all New York Sports fans—to put our magazine on the map, and the list and mailing to them would be free.

But the printing of 500,000 copies would not be and would cost around $15,000, not easy to raise when New York was still coming out of a recession, let alone bringing it in through advertising dollars. For two to three months, we scrambled to sell ads, borrow money, and pitch investors to get that one issue out and just couldn’t make it. So that September, with the October issue designed and ready for press, we reluctantly had to pull the plug and New York Sports was dead.

Thanks to the web, though, everything old can be new again. When I heard Carter had passed away, I went into my files and not only found that October 1985 cover, but also a copy of Mark Ribowsky’s insightful piece on “Kid” entitled “Gary Carter’s Agony and Ecstasy” that was never published and never read. I’m thrilled that 27 years later, MetsMerized Online can present it to its readers. Enjoy!

Gary Carter’s Agony and Ecstasy

New York Sports Magazine, Unpublished October 1985 Issue, Edited by Stephen Hanks

By Mark Ribowsky

Two months into his first season as a Met, New York celebrity Gary Carter is trying to impress me with his acquired knowledge of big-city life.

“Hey, I saw a great show!” he gushes, as he pulls on sweat socks at his locker. “My wife and me, we saw, uh . . . what’s that dance thing?”

I suggest names of some of the newer musicals, like Grind and Big River. Carter shakes his head. “No . . .  uh, uh . . . gee whiz, I wish I could remember . . . You know, all the dancers telling their stories . . . Aw, geez!”

“Do you mean A Chorus Line?” I say, guessing the show that’s as old as Gary Carter’s career and almost as famous.

“Yeah! That’s it! Chorus Line. Wonderful show. Everyone should see it.”

Content that he’s done a New York kind of rap, Carter smiles and faces the challenge of another game for his Mets. He tucks a bat and glove under his arm and places his cap firmly on his head. With a distinct swagger, he starts walking toward the locker room door, but then stops abruptly. “I also saw the Christmas show at Radio City Music Hall,” he says proudly. Gary Carter was first in New York when he was nine. As a winner in the Ford punt, pass and kick contest, he won a trip for two to come here to do a commercial. He came from Fullerton, CA, with his mother. They spent time sightseeing—touring the Empire State Building and Radio City. Only three years later, his month died of leukemia. “Looking back, that time in New York was very special, just her and me,” he says.

Carter went on to lead the ultimate apple-pie success story: Star schoolboy coached and prodded by his father and his older brother Gordon, who played in the Giants farm system. Carter, a pitcher, was headed for UCLA to play baseball when his Sunny Hills High School coach made him a catcher to attract big league notice. Carter married the prom queen, was drafted in the third round by the Expos in ‘72, and while in the minors gained an early gung-ho reputation—and player dislike. He made it to the big club in three years, hit .270 with 17 homers, and made enemies by dislodging popular veteran Barry Foote from behind the plate. Four Expo Player-of-the-Year awards, three Gold Gloves, two All-Star game MVP trophies, and a decade of backbiting followed.

When the Mets traded for the catcher/slugger of their fantasies last December, they got everything they had never had plus a great deal more in Gary Edmund Carter. They did not get a Renaissance man—Carter would be the last to claim that title—but he is emerging as an endearing leader. At least he tries—tries hard.

That is Carter’s style in most matters of sport and life. Carter accrued a great deal of money and fame playing in Montreal because he tried hard—harder than some of his expatriated teammates could stand while suffocating in their uninspired ennui of playing in an unfriendly foreign outpost. Their distress was understandable: he made them look bad by comparison. Even one-year Expo Pete Rose complained last winter that Carter’s desire was wholly self-centered, his grinning, gee-whiz humility a front. Ignoring his own commercials hawking Grecian Formula hair dye, Crock Pots and Wheaties, Rose stirred up his moral outrage and said that Carter played for endorsements, and that his nickname—“Kid”—was all too appropriate for an immature self-seeker.

The Expos owner, Seagram’s chairman Charles Bronfman, had a sharper sword. After the ‘83 season—an off-year for Carter as the Expos again failed as a pennant contender—Bronfman said he regretted giving Carter a five-year, $1.8 million-per-year contract that year (fifth-highest in the game) to stay in Montreal. At the time, Carter had long been the major draw at the Expos’ gate, a gracious PR man for Canadian baseball, and widely regarded as the most imposing catcher in the universe.

Yet, Carter had to live in Montreal, among a kind of sly innuendo and misdirected flak that caused baseball people to scratch their heads in wonderment, given how well he played: .272 lifetime hitter, 215 home runs, those Gold Gloves, and smoke bounding from his nostrils while on the field. At 31, and in his salad years, Carter already had set a National League record for catching durability: six years leading the senior circuit in games caught. He is definitely Hall of Fame bound.

Photo: New York Times

When Carter was ready for a needed change of scenery and suggested being traded to a team of his choosing, any general manager would have given one or several limbs to get him. The Mets were lucky. They had Gooden and Hernandez and Orosco, 90 wins in 1984, and plenty of young talent with which to trade. And they had New York. Gary Carter, after all, never said he didn’t want to make commercials.

“I haven’t felt anything like that [the Montreal problems] here. I feel like I’m very much appreciated. The fans are smarter and the players are great. It’s been a wonderful feeling.”

Gary Carter has reason to feel that golly-gee good saying this on a late May afternoon before a game at Shea with the Padres would be rained out. Though the Mets rest in first place, Carter, like almost every Met, isn’t hitting. He is mired in a 2-for-22 funk, carrying a .226 average—a lot worse since right fielder and slugger Darryl Strawberry, who bats behind him, went out for two months with a thumb injury. Yet Carter would seem to be technically innocent of harsh judgment. The Strawberry factor, for example, has been a telling if subtle equalizer: it is evident the league has been pitching around Carter’s hitting strengths without fear of George Foster (Oy George’s own average is a wheezing .207).

Then, too, Carter has been playing with a body that would be recalled if it were a Volkswagen. Coming into the season with a right knee healing from minor surgery last October (and which would flare up again in July), Carter immediately began taking hits from base runners that Joe Namath never got from blitzing linebackers. One collision broke a rib. Carter missed one game. Then, in Cincinnati, doing a stand-up slide to protect the rib, he sprained his left ankle. Carter spent seven hours in a cold-compress machine, wrapped the ankle, and was back the next game. “I don’t know how I played. Look at that,” he says, directing my gaze to an ankle that is roughly the size of a ripe casaba melon.

The effect on his bat is obvious: “I can’t plant my back foot. I don’t feel comfortable. You think you’re not strong, you over-compensate, do little things wrong.” Even so, it’s scary how profound Carter has been despite it all, his early-season noise still echoing around the tri-state area weeks later. Carter made his Opening Day anointment rite by crashing a 10th-inning home run against the Cards, and then proceeded to beat the Reds (homer), Braves (homer), Phillies (double) and Giants (single) with late-inning fireworks. From behind the plate, he threw out 14 of 32 base stealers, 10 of the last 16.

Most important, his influence on the pitching staff has been nothing less than megaton force. It’s no coincidence that Dwight Gooden is setting up and striking out more people with breaking pitches this year. (“If his breaking ball isn’t working early, I don’t let him throw all heat,” says Carter. “I get him to stay with the curve because it helps him get his rhythm, which makes all his pitches better.”) After Ron Darling shook off Carter and kept stubbornly throwing fastballs in one loss, he won on his curve his next start, while using his tailing fastball to blow away lefty hitters Carter knew would bail out on the pitch. After 12 years, Carter knows hitters like Betty Crocker knows angel food. The two big Met pitchers, whose egos are large, are like rapt pupils in his classroom. “I don’t plan to shake him off again until I’m 45,” says Darling.

“That’s what they wanted from me here, to develop this staff,” Carter acknowledges. “Normally, if a catcher can handle the pitchers, he’s doing well if he hits just .250.”

Carter makes his points in a thoughtful, honest, cliché-strewn way that is inoffensive because he does like to talk so much and because he is so earnest. Though his kinky brown hair has gaps and the wolfhound face is lined now, his big brown eyes are eternally childlike. They look straight into yours as he goes on: “Then, too, I want to be here so much that I’m puttin’ extra strain on myself. I’m still way up there, ‘cause I want to win so bad here, because these guys want it so bad. They’re hungry, whereas in Montreal we had the chance and flaunted it away. So it’s not like I can’t take a day off. I don’t want to. I will play my head off for that man. [A nod to manager Dave Johnson’s office.]

Photo: ESPN

The frustration, though, would continue for Carter. He began to hit a little in early June, raising the average to .241 with some typical late inning clutch hits, but fell off again. He went homerless for 27 games. The Mets, meanwhile, fell out of first place. In Montreal, it might have sparked a new round of anti-Carter sniping. This was not the case at Shea, however, not with so many lousy bats around. That’s all that Carter ever asked for in Montreal when things went bad for his team: equal treatment—good and bad—especially since, unlike other baseball millionaires, Carter works hard for the money.

Rusty Staub knows, having played with Carter for one season in Montreal. Says Staub: “Despite his problems there—and they weren’t of his making—he hardly has to prove his character here.” Staub says that the first thing Carter did after the trade was call the veteran Mets, a most unusual nod of deference since normal protocol is the other way around. “I don’t really know Gary; I don’t think anyone here does. But a bad guy?” Staub wrinkles his eyebrows in derision at the very thought.

With batting·practice washed out, Carter decides to hit in an in­door batting cage down the corridor. On his way to the hall, he peeks behind the door of a room in which Mets huddle around a videotape recorder. Believing that the tape on the machine is of last night’s game, Carter—a dead pull-hitter who hasn’t been waiting on the pitches the league has been keeping out of his wheelhouse—yells, “Pullin ‘ out too soon?” Hearing that, his teammates in the room snort laughter so loud that I can’t figure out what’s so funny—until I notice that the tape is of games of a more sensual nature and Carter’s question has been given a whole different meaning.

Carter flits down the corridor without even realizing the mistake. He bounces along, merrily humming and greeting Shea maintenance men, who are delirious that he notices them, “Gary, ya gonna run for mayah?” one guy asks.

I think I’ll let Mr. Koch handle that,” Carter says, smiling. In the hitting room, a slab of Astroturf surrounded by chicken wire, the fence rattles as cracks reverberate and baseballs fly. Carter takes his turn, eschewing his normal open, face­the-pitcher, yank-the-inside pitch­ into-the-next-county stance to fool with more closed stances he probably will never use. (A Met tells me later: “Gary says he wants to go with the pitch more, but he’s got a macho attitude about hitting. He’ll always revert, try to pull an outside pitch and pop up. This is no knock, he’s just that kind of hitter, and he’s been pretty damn successful.”) Carter’s swing is impatient, vicious and quick, his feet setting in place almost as he swings, as though he’s on roller skates. Each cut brings a loud grunt. Periodically, Carter’s eyes drift off and focus on a world totally inside his head. At those times, he seems briefly out of touch with the world, and the smile is inoperative. It is almost as if the energy of The Smile is a drain on him, and he must flee from it even for a few moments. But that is a Gary Carter we will never know. In those private meditations, Carter may think he does have to prove things—through sheer habit.

Four years ago, I interviewed Carter for a national magazine, and the whispers in the Montreal clubhouse were just turning into rumbling. But what I thought contributed to it was Carter’s own inability to handle it, to just say screw ‘em and forget about it. Instead, sensitive to spoken or implied criticism (Carter’s wife Sandy says he is far too sensitive for his own good), he defended himself so often and eagerly that I felt he had a kind of whiny, excuse-making tone. I sense that same tone today when he speaks of his injuries in relation to his average—especially when he says, as he does often, that he’s not making excuses.

Even so, it was exaggerated in Montreal because he tried so hard to be a regular guy that the mixture of goodness and ego was like oil and water. Worse, he and everyone else cohabited and competed for the same limited-dollar concession on strange turf. Says Carter: “It’s hard up there, the tensions build up over little things; the language, taxes, and customs checks. It’s a whole culture shock. The club puts you up in little crackerjack apartments, and everybody’s miserable.

“Well, I tried to make the best of it. We bought a home there, became landed immigrants, self-incorporated for tax advantages. I traveled around Canada in the winter promoting the team. When I was in Halifax and Trowshoe and Thunder Bay in 20-below cold, everyone else was home fishing.”

Yet Carter was perceived as selfish by players, and a litany of real or imagined grievances mounted. Carter played harder on national TV, he grinned mostly for the media and fans, his showboating angered opponents, and he really traveled Canada to promote himself. The Expos’ nickname for Carter was “Lights,” as in lights, camera, action.

Carter tried exceedingly hard to change perceptions. Last year with the Expos, he replaced the clubhouse stools with director’s chairs. But because he got them from one of his many Canadian commercial clients, it only added to the cynicism. “[Centerfielder] Andre Dawson said, ‘Carter got ‘em free so why should I say thank you?’ I mean, that is really petty.” It eats like acid at Carter’s gut that of all the Expos, Dawson and leftfielder Tim Raines have been his loudest critics since the trade. “And I thought those two were my best friends there. When Andre had knee trouble, I encouraged him, ate with him, and told him to hang in. And Timmy is my neighbor in West Palm Beach [his off-season Florida home].I drive his kid to school . . .  It’s so crazy. “

Pressed for an explanation, Carter does not hesitate. “The only thing I can think of is jealousy,” he says simply without anger or hurt. “Maybe advertisers didn’t use Andre because he’s a monotone, I don’t know. [Pause] Andre was winning the batting title one year, and then died in September. Timmy had a drug problem. [Pause] I guess the easiest thing to do is divert attention from your own failures.”

It is Carter’s eyes that betray the anger and hurt his voice tries to hide when he describes how Bronfman called him in before the ‘84 season and began “asking crazy questions” about whether he could handle the “situation” in the clubhouse. Carter was pushed to the edge by more of the same when Bronfman, who knew he’d have to pay big bucks to Raines and other Expos, met again with his All-Star catcher after the season. Carter, who was proud to have rebounded from ‘83 to lead the league in RBIs, felt the owner was trying to goad him into asking for a trade. Not seeing any other way out, he obliged. Mets GM Frank Cashen coughed up starters in infielder Hubie Brooks and catcher Mike Fitzgerald, and a potential starter in centerfielder Herm Winningham, but Cashen’s Cheshire cat grin told you he felt he got Carter for minor barter.

When the trade was made, Carter got well-wishing calls from only three Expos. Although delighted with the move, there is a noteworthy crack in the happy facade when Carter says of the dark memories, “It hurt, there’s no question it hurt because I didn’t understand it. But one thing I learned from it is that you can count your friends—I mean, your true friends—on your hand.”

Carter obviously doesn’t see his mayo-on-white caricature as a barrier to outside fame and fortune. He freely admits that he has no interest in world issues, his most treasured possession is his baseball card collection, and he hasn’t read a book in years. He enlisted sports agent Matt Merola, a man familiar with the New York turf, to line up clients, and the first ones became Polaroid, Warner­ Lambert and American Chicle. Carter’s face also is on more Newsday posters along the No.7 Flushing subway line than a band of delinquents could cover with graffiti.

A month later, on July 3rd, I return to Shea in the midst of a dramatic reversal for Carter and the Mets. Carter, as expected, had begun to hit, and hard. He’d boosted his average to .269 by hitting .350 over the last 22 games, with five homers and two more game-winning hits. Carter now led the Mets in runs, hits, total bases and RBIs. Yet, in a weird irony, the Mets had responded to this production with a vicious tailspin—losing eight of nine and 19 of 28 games. Their bats now lying in state, they hadn’t scored an earned run in 30 innings and had one extra-base hit in 23 innings. Strawberry was back, but Mookie was gone for awhile with a shoulder injury. A win the night before over the putrid Pirates snapped the Mets’ six-game losing streak. Carter, who wouldn’t be caught grim in a Turkish prison, goes only as far as a what-can-I-do pursing of smiling lips to indicate his own bedevilment. “I started hitting because I got healthy,” he tells me, with obvious satisfaction. “But the team . . . it’s been frustrating for everybody. Everybody’s trying to do too much and putting additional pressure on themselves.”

Which is exactly the kind of cliché you’d expect Carter to utter about circumstances like these. And yet Carter, who will answer any question, will surprise you. Prodded deeper into the specifics of the Met slide, Carter rather candidly mentions why Hernandez has slid from the .280s to .251 (“He’s had his divorce settlement on his mind”). He also says he has misgivings about Dave Johnson’s strict platooning at non-power positions, second and third base, which he feels hasn’t allowed Ray Knight and Wally Backman to become stable regulars—though he adds, “I still back Davey up a hundred percent. “

As for his filling the role of motivator/leader during the bad spell, he says, “I’ve tried to keep a positive outlook. I like to think it’s gonna rub off, ‘cause they’ve seen me pick things back up for myself. And I think they realize in due time it’s gotta change for us. It’s just gotta.”

This is the way Gary Carter wants life to be, of course: his example showing the way to a simple and logical reality. No muss, no fuss. Such is why he took it on himself to get a bunch of Mets together in Chicago and went to the movies, Cocoon one night, Perfect the next. Togetherness, in Carter’s mind, breeds common cause. But life doesn’t always fold into snug designs: the Mets lost the last two games to the Cubs in Chicago, then three straight to the Cards.

For the most part, however, being around the batting cage in the open stadium air and bright sunshine is springtime for Gary Carter. He bops Ray Knight lightly on the helmet with a bat and serenades fading slugger George Foster by bellowing “George-ee! George­ee!” “It’s interesting with Gary,” says a Met as Carter cuts up. “I wondered if he’d be a pain in the ass, but it’s the opposite. I know I look for his stuff: the way he smiles right into your face after a win and waits to high-five each player. We didn’t do that here before. It’s just a reassuring kind of thing.”

Except, again, Carter can take all the right steps and still get bubble gum stuck to his shoe. At the moment, the Expos, the team Met people snickered about in rustling away Carter for pumpkin seeds, are ahead of them, and had beaten Carter five of six games. For Carter, it had to be a silent vexation: If things stayed this way, would it mean the Expos got the better of the deal? Would it mean Carter was in fact a jinx?

Photo: John McDonough, Icon SMI

That Carter has thought about it is evident by his reflex response to my easy remark that the people traded for him have panned out. “One’s on the disabled list and another’s hitting .190,” he says, grinning broadly and neglecting the solid play of Hubie Brooks. “They’re playing good ball now, but that doesn’t mean they’re·gonna stay there.”

But Carter grows halting, a bit out of synch and caught unexpected—yet is most revealing—when I ask how he’d feel if the Expos did win. “Well, I’d say it was a combination of things—the injuries and other reasons. If they do, more power to ‘em. And maybe I was the reason in that case—but I’m not gonna say that was it, just that they were able to finally put it together.”

The truth is Carter would be mortified if that happened, and crushed if he never wins a pennant. Indeed, his impatience with notions of personal defeat may be his way of escaping a fear of failure.

Carter, in form, treats that hypothesis earnestly, but with definite evasiveness. “I don’t think any player can fear failure,” he says, “because you’re gonna take it onto the field. You can’t play with that, no way.”

I then ask if there’s anything missing in his life, something needed to feel complete, specifying I don’t mean something in baseball, like a World Series. “But that’s just it,” he says, “It’s only a World Series, to be honest with you, because all the other things in life have already come.”

And, who knows, maybe there is something to his design, after·all. Later, Carter has a 1-for-4 night, knocking in the last run of a 6-2 Met win with a single to centerfield. By the All-Star break, Carter was hitting. 271 and the Mets had won eight in a row. Still to come, however, was the mid-July recurrence off his right knee cartilage problems (which put him in another hitting slump and threatened his and the Mets’ season) and more Mets spasms of spectacular rises and falls.

Still on this day in early July, Carter is at the zenith of his career. Maybe he at last can put aside his suffering at Montreal. Yet early in the season, after a base hit against the Reds, he stood on first base next to Pete Rose—the idol who had insulted him—and Carter said, “Pete, how could a guy that plays like you say that thing about me being too much of a kid?” Carter asked the question good-naturedly but with an eagerness to know.

“No, no. You got it wrong,” Rose told him. “What I meant was that I wished I had 25 kids like you.” Carter didn’t quite believe that, but he felt wonderful that the old warhorse had turned a grudge into a belated tribute. Indeed, given Carter’s new Queens digs and neighbors in the locker room, it must sometimes seem that there never was a Montreal in his past. But only sometimes.

Safe to say without either one of them there is no Championship in 1986.

However, I feel that there is a Met who needs to have his number retired before both of these players. Someone who, like Keith and Gary, can be referred to by a single name: Tug.

I am not at all diminishing what Gary and Keith meant to this club and this organization. The acquisition of Keith turned us from losers into contenders. And then Gary put us over the top. Hell, if I could, I’d retire the number of almost the entire 86 roster.

Noted sports columnist Tom Verducci was once asked how does he decide who to vote in to the Hall of Fame. Verducci replied he considers if the game was better off after the individual in question retired. He looks not just at stats but what the player meant to Baseball.

Using this logic #45 should be retired. Tug was the heart and soul of this franchise. He taught us to “believe,” that miracles do happen in Flushing. And to never ever give up on the Mets. He displayed leadership both on and off the field. He was charismatic, funny, clever, clutch. And so damn good.

Keith wore a Mets jersey for 6 ½ seasons. Gary for just 5. Tug wore his for 9 years. Over that time he tossed 792 IP, more then any other RPer in team history. He has appeared in the 3^rd most games of any pitcher on our staff (361.) Over that time he compiled a solid 3.17 ERA . During a 5 year span he surpassed 100 IP 4 times–and was only on the DL once–for 3 weeks back in 74.

In 1965, he made a start, going up against Sandy Koufax. Koufax was 18-0 against the Mets but Tug out pitched Koufax and became the 1^st Mets pitcher to earn a win against the Dodger legend.

Whereas Seaver was the heart of this team, Tug was our soul.

In 73, as the Mets floundered at the bottom of the NLE in late August, Tug’s war cry of ’Ya Gotta Believe’ began to take form. Ironically, McGraw should have been the LAST person to talk about believing. He was having the worst year of his career. His ERA was over 5.00. But Tug held fast to his belief. Soon, his teammates started to believe. Then, fans started to believe. And shortly thereafter, the rest of the NL started to believe.

In the last month of the 73 season, Tug went 3-0 with an 0.57 ERA. The Mets as a whole went 20-8 and walked away with a pennant.

Tug tossed a total of 8 IP in the 69 and 73 LCS. He never allowed a run.

He threw in 5 games during the 73 World Series where he went 1-0 with a 2.63 ERA. He also represented the Mets in the 72 All-Star Game where he fanned 4 of the 6 batters he faced and came away with a win.

It’s about more then the stats. Over 900 players have worn a Mets jersey and we’ve only deemed one worthy of having his # retired. 41 was retired not only due to Seaver’s accomplishments but what he meant to this club. He embodied the Mets for over a decade–Just like Tug.

Case in point: In the day when the Mets were dominated by one of the most feared starting staffs in baseball, we had one constant legitimate hitter during this time. But yet I don’t ever recall any discussion about retiring # 21. For 12 years, twice as long as Keith was a Met, Cleon Jones was our first offensive hero. His 340 BA in 1969 stood as the highest single season batting average for almost 30 years-And still remains 2^nd highest in team history. It’s been over 35 years since Cleon played for the Mets. But in spite of that, he remains in the Top 10 of all hitting categories including RS, RBI’s, 2B and hits.

He was a fan favorite. But he didn’t leave the team with the legacy Tug did.

Tug displayed character, heart, He believed when no one else did.

For those of us lucky enough to see Tug pitch in his prime, it was a sight to behold. Seeing him warming up beyond the green RF wall in the 8^th inning meant the Mets were just 3 outs away from victory. There was electricity in the air as he rode in from the bullpen, walked to the mound. We cheered as he aggressively pounded his glove on his right leg after recording an out.

The Mets used to pride themselves on honoring our past, our history. We need to get back to that again and secure the fact that no other player wears #45.

In 1984, the Mets surprised the baseball world by winning 90 games and finishing in second place in the National League East.  After seven consecutive losing seasons, the Mets were a competitive team again.  The young pitching staff, led by a teenaged Dwight Gooden and featuring Ron Darling and Sid Fernandez, was starting to blossom and appeared destined for stardom.

However, despite the resurgence of the 1984 Mets, they were still outscored by 24 runs and felt the need to upgrade their offense during the offseason.  One area where the team lacked offensive punch was at the catcher’s position, where Mike Fitzgerald and Ron Hodges shared duties.  General Manager Frank Cashen noticed that the Montreal Expos were looking to rebuild after a disappointing 1984 season and were willing to trade All-Star catcher Gary Carter.  The deal was done during the offseason and the Mets instantly became a World Series contender.

In 1984, Mets’ top two catchers (Fitzgerald and Hodges) combined to hit .234, with 3 HR and 33 RBI.  They also only scored 25 runs between them.  If the Mets wanted to show that the 1984 season was not a fluke, they had to have an offense that matched the up-and-coming pitching staff.  In addition, they needed a veteran catcher who would help mold the young pitching staff and provide leadership and a defensive presence behind the plate.  The Mets satisfied all those requirements on December 10, 1984, when they sent Hubie Brooks (who had become expendable when the Mets acquired Ray Knight during the 1984 season), Mike Fitzgerald and two highly-touted prospects (pitcher Floyd Youmans and outfielder Herm Winningham) to the Expos for three-time Gold Glove winner Gary Carter, who led the National League with 106 RBI in 1984, to go with a .294 average and 27 HR.  Little did the Mets know that the trade would pay off instantly.

Twenty-five years ago today (April 9, 1985), the Mets opened up the season at Shea Stadium against the St. Louis Cardinals.  The Cardinals finished the 1984 season in third place, directly behind the Mets in the standings and figured to be one of the Mets’ main competitors for the 1985 NL East Division title.  1984 NL Rookie of The Year Dwight Gooden started the opener against Joaquin Andujar and neither pitcher was particularly effective.  However, the Mets did hold a 5-4 lead going into the bottom of the ninth inning and Doug Sisk was on the mound trying to secure the Mets victory.

Before becoming a target for the Shea Stadium boobirds, Doug Sisk had two excellent seasons as a reliever in 1983 and 1984, registering a 2.24 ERA in 1983 with 11 saves and a 2.09 ERA in 1984 with 15 saves.  However, Sisk was entering his third inning of work when manager Davey Johnson allowed him to start the ninth inning and the Cardinals’ hitters were facing him for a second time.  Perhaps fatigue was a factor or perhaps the Cardinals became familiar with Sisk’s pitches after he went through their lineup, but the usually dependable Sisk was anything but dependable in the ninth inning.  Two singles and a hit batsman loaded up the bases for the Cardinals.  Needing to retire one more batter to close out the game, Johnson left Sisk in the game and then had to watch his decision backfire when Sisk walked Jack Clark to force in the tying run.  It was then that Johnson removed Sisk (enter the aforementioned boobirds) and replaced him with Jesse Orosco, who was able to induce an inning-ending goroundout from pinch-hitter Tito Landrum.  When the Mets failed to score in the bottom of the ninth inning, the game went into extra innings.  It wouldn’t be long before the Flushing Faithful had something to cheer about.

After squatting through ten innings on a cold April day, Gary Carter moved into the on-deck circle as Keith Hernandez stepped up to the plate to face former Met Neil Allen.  It was Allen who was one of the key components in the trade that netted the Mets their first baseman at the trading deadline on June 15, 1983.  The matchup of the two players traded for each other resulted in a strikeout, with Keith Hernandez heading back to the dugout and Gary Carter coming up to the plate.

Although Gary Carter was one of the premier offensive catchers of his era, he had never hit a home run or driven in any runs in his career against Neil Allen prior to 1985.  All that changed with one swing of the bat, as Carter sent the frozen fans into a frenzy with a home run into the Cardinals bullpen.  The walkoff blast gave the Mets a 6-5 victory and showed Mets fans that the days of slap-hitting catchers at Shea Stadium were over.

Gary Carter went on to hit a career-high 32 HR for the Mets in 1985, to go with 100 RBI, but the Mets ultimately fell short in their quest to win the NL East title, as the Cardinals ended up not only winning the division, but winning the National League pennant as well.

As all Mets fans know, the trade for Carter paid off royally the following year, as the Mets captured their second World Championship.  The title might never have happened had Carter not started the famous tenth inning rally in Game 6 of the World Series with a two-out base hit.

Carter played his final game with the Mets in 1989, after injuries and declining production effectively ended his five-year stay with the Mets.  However, before his Mets career ended, Carter was named co-captain (joining Keith Hernandez) in 1988.  This would be one of many honors bestowed upon “The Kid” by the Mets and Major League Baseball, as Carter would be inducted into the Mets Hall of Fame on August 12, 2001, followed by his eventual enshrinement into the National Baseball Hall of Fame in 2003.

The Montreal Expos retired Carter’s number in 2003.  Although the Mets have not yet done so, it should be noted that Carter’s #8 has not been issued to a player or coach since he was enshrined into Cooperstown in 2003.

Gary Carter was an 11-time All-Star, won five Silver Slugger Awards and was rewarded for his defensive excellence with three Gold Gloves.  He was a complete catcher whose knowledge of the game and leadership skills were second to none.  He also helped mold one of the best pitching staffs in Mets history and was one of the key players in their run to the 1986 World Series title.  His affable personality and winning attitude made him a hit with the fans, but it was a long hit in his first game with the Mets in 1985 that endeared him to the Shea Faithful forever.

Twenty-five years ago today, on April 9, 1985, the man known as “The Kid” came up to bat in the bottom of the tenth inning against the St. Louis Cardinals, hoping to show that the Mets’ 1984 season was not a fluke.  With one swing of the bat, he not only won a baseball game for the Mets, but he won the hearts of Mets fans forever.  Carter brought out the kid in many a Mets fan that year and gave them hope that a new era of success was about to take place at Shea Stadium.

I think it’s ironic that these same two guys have a lot of nerve calling the team out now.  Certainly, there are issues, but for a guy who slammed his pitching hand in a door after drinking too much one night and used a sorry “hedge clipper” cover up story, and a dude who sadly battled many demons only to leave his best years in New York behind him, well, let’s just say I won’t take what they say to heart easily.

Lately, with the Mets lackluster second-half coupled with a less-than-impressive West Coast road trip, everyone is talking “leadership.”  Who is the leader of the team?  Is Jerry Manuel the right guy to lead this team?  Who is the go-to person in the clubhouse when a player is having problems at the plate? Can the pitchers talk to a fellow pitcher to ask about their game approach?

Let’s start with Jerry Manuel.  Let me state for the record that I don’t necessarily have a problem with Manuel’s type of managing.  He’s the quintessential “player’s manager.”  He puts out the lineup and let’s the guys play.  Unfortunately, his style of managing does not translate well into the team he has today.  A good manager makes adjustments, and it’s clear to me that Manuel does not have a clue how to make those adjustments.

We may never see a team like the 1986 team play again, ever.  Not just the Mets but in baseball in general.  Players today have been coddled since they’ve been in Little League.  They’ve played on teams where they get trophies simply for “showing up” as opposed to being the “best” at something.  While that has worked wonders in building up the self-esteem of some youngsters, the fact is, there is no attitude, there is no hustle because they know at the end of the day, they get paid and that’s that.

I’m certain some players care about winning.  However, they are not TAUGHT how to win.  Manuel puts out a lineup and expects everyone to go out and do their jobs.  Unfortunately, like the MBA in the old FedEx commercials, they need to be shown how.  When Keith Hernandez was traded to the Mets on June 15, 1983, he came with a chip on his shoulder, an MVP award under his belt and years of participating on winning teams in St. Louis.  He brought that attitude to the young players who were being cultivated on the Mets farm system.  In fact, he said himself when he saw Dwight Gooden, Ron Darling and Darryl Strawberry being brought up through the ranks, he knew the Mets were going to be something special.  When they added Gary Carter to solidify calling the game and his rough-and-tumble style of play helped round-out Hernandez’s field generalship, magic happened.  Hernandez’s respect amongst his peers and managerial staff made him the first captain in Mets history, and Gary Carter was named co-Captain.

Of course, Mets manager Davey Johnson had a lot to do with the so-called “swagger” of those teams.  However, he was smart to understand what and who he was working with.  He told them, famously, after not winning anything in 1984 to falling short in 1985, that they would not only win but they would DOMINATE.  Can you imagine saying that not just to the Mets but to ANY team these days?

My problem with the suggestion that, for instance, David Wright should be elevated to some figure head status in that he’d hopefully make the team his “own,” is this:  He is far too young…heck, he hasn’t even had that many years in the majors, let alone even won a championship, save the NL East pennant in 2006.  He could always walk after his contract is up.  I don’t think he would, however. I’m not saying if the Mets were to give a Captain’s “C” to someone, he could be the figure head someday, he could be good at it, just not now.  Let’s allow him to mature and BE a leader simply by doing, and not just because the management said, “This is your team, do what you want.”

He needs to be taught how to win.  None of these guys know how to do that.  Not Carlos Beltran, not Jose Reyes, not Luis Castillo.  Maybe Johan Santana.  That is evident after the team tends to win his starts these days.

This team needs to lead by doing.  I am not one to suggest a change in management will do anything tangible but in this case I highly endorse getting rid of Jerry Manuel immediately.  It’s clear that this team needs a manager who will LEAD, set a game plan, understand the roles of each player and not just hope for the best.

Hope is not a plan.