Mandatory Credit: Brad Penner-USA TODAY Sports
I watched tonight’s match-up between St Louis and the Mets in tandem with the first part of ESPN’s 30 for 30 documentary, Once Upon a Time in Queens. I took in every game of the 1986 season – either in a bar, on my couch – or someone else’s – many at Shea.
The Mets were like a drug for me in the mid to late eighties. And if the game were crucial, you could be certain, I would go to any length to see them play.
During the 1988 National League Championship Series, while doing stand-up at a college in Connecticut, in between telling jokes, I watched the seventh game on my Sony Watchman along with a small crowd of college students.
Those days we rarely bought tickets in advance – we scalped our way into the seats most of the time, and occasionally, someone inside the stadium helped out a handful of comedians who were addicted to baseball.
My friend Lou had a connection to a guy who worked at Shea named Gus. For five bucks a head, he would sneak us through a side gate – sometimes having to repeatedly reseat us, in which he pocketed five additional dollars a pop.
The colorful characters on that ball club were perfectly cast by Mets GM Frank Cashen and manager, Davie Johnson – who fought to have flame-throwing Doc Gooden on the roster at the tender age of 19.
You had Keith Hernandez, the bad boy at first base, puffing on Marlboro Lights in the dugout in clear view of the camera. Like many of the ’86 Mets, Hernandez partied hard and was tough to tame. His astute fiancé had a classic response regarding their upcoming nuptials. When asked by a reporter the date of their wedding, she offered, “The 12th of never.”
Lenny Dykstra, the diminutive, chaw chewing centerfielder, was a bulldog on and off the field. Back in the day he and some of his cronies frequented the New York comedy clubs, and rumor has it Lenny liked to heckle. His interview was the most entertaining – the f-bombs alone should’ve been a drinking game.
Gotta love that Kevin Mitchell came out of the locker room in Game 6 without a cup and slapped a two-out single, eventually scoring the tying run with brilliant base running. He was also famous for styling his teammate’s hair, a gift he inherited from his grandmother.
And one of my favorite sideshows was Roger McDowell’s hotfoot hijinks in the dugout – and the fact that he was allowed to play with matches repeatedly during the middle of a game.
Every time I glanced at my phone to see tonight’s score, I went from feeling hopeful to hapless, to hopeful, too – you gotta be effing kidding me. In the 10th, when the Mets couldn’t cash in on a winning run at third with one out, I put the phone aside, because I knew St Louis wouldn’t fail in their next attempt.
Not wanting to ruin the high of watching this lovely walk down Mets memory lane, I refused to go back for the 11th inning. But the addict in me made me do it, and just like clockwork, three more runs crossed the Cardinals plate.
Damn! And to make matters worse, the Braves, Phillies, and Padres all took a dive. C’mon guys, you’re killing me.
Sometimes I wish the Mets would just lose without putting us through, a runner in scoring position, down by one with two outs and a weak batter clinging onto a 3-2 count.
Boy, do I miss the ’86 team.
