Ready? Set? Go!!!
Quick. Name FIVE San Diego Padres to have their number retired.
A few weeks back I needed to get recharged and drove one hour north of Las Vegas to Valley of Fire State Park. One of the many things to see amongst the 42,000 acres of red sandstone formations, shifting sand dunes and dinosaur fossils is Atlatl Rock.
I climbed the stairs and took in the ancient petroglyphs that were whittled into stone by the Anasazi Indians who occupied the land between 300 BC and 1150 AD. There was the likeness of what I thought was a medicine man and wildlife of some sort. Being an X-Files fan one depiction resembled a UFO. Also carved into the rock face was Mark and Tiffany inside a heart. A little lower I noticed Ricky was here a few inches above a candy wrapper and a rusted Coke can. I shook my head. I thought it sad how people have no respect for the past. How society in general has no appreciation for history, for where we came from.
I thought of Baseball. I thought of the Mets.
October 31 of last year I turned on MLB Network and watched the Giants victory parade winding through downtown San Francisco. Hundreds of thousands dressed in orange and black braved crisp temperatures and a persistent Bay Area drizzle to honor their heroes. Executives and front office personnel took their position on the steps of City Hall in preparation for the festivities alongside Giants legends from yesteryear. The Say Hey Kid. Juan Marichal. Willie McCovey. Dave Dravecky. Jeffrey Leonard. Orlando Cep…whoa, wait a sec. Did I just say…Dave Dravecky and Jeffrey Leonard???
Over the last few decades older cavernous stadiums were razed and replaced with smaller, cozier, fan friendly venues with abundant luxury boxes. Flavorless Memorial Stadium was replaced with Camden Yards, one of the most beautiful venues in Baseball. Gloomy Cleveland Municipal Stadium gave way to attractive Jacobs Field. Three Rivers Stadium in Pittsburgh, an enclosed pile of dreary gray concrete surrounding an off-green artificial turf, was imploded.
The Pirates’ new home now offered spectacular panoramic views of downtown rising behind the Roberto Clemente Bridge. Even the hallowed grounds of Yankee Stadium went away. The House that Ruth Built became The House that Swisher Built. I’m not positive but I think Nostradamus predicted the end of mankind would come after lights were installed in Wrigley Field and the Red Sox put seats on TOP of the Green Monster.
Eventually our own beloved Shea met the wrecking ball as well. The stadium bearing the name of the man influential in bringing NL Baseball to New York was gone. The Mets now would play in a park boasting the name of a financial institution.
From the outset fans and the media criticized management. The focus of Citi Field was a tribute to Fred Wilpons’ past, not the Mets past. The façade resembled Ebbets Field, a place very few of us set foot in. Upon entering, fans immediately came upon a rotunda honoring a great American, a great ballplayer, but a man who retired six years before the Mets ever came into existence. Thankfully over time Citi Field has ever-so-slowly started to feel more like home. But ownership still has a long way to go.
I feel it’s time for management to step up and honor Mets tradition.
No, we don’t have the storied history of our crosstown rivals. Their all-time HR leader is The Sultan of Swat, the Bambino, The King of Crash, the Colossus of Clout. Ours is a Strawberry. But Mets fans are proud of our tradition. We don’t need no stinkin’ Monument Park.
But…we do need something.
Outside many of the newer parks, hometown heroes are exalted like Greek Gods. Busch Stadium is chock full of statues honoring Gibson, Musial, Hornsby and many more. In Atlanta, a bronze Hank Aaron recreates going deep for number 715. Carlton Fisk will stand for all eternity outside US Cellular Field in Chicago while in Kansas City second baseman Frank White appears in mid-air turning a double play.
You can see fathers and grandfathers crouching alongside their sons or granddaughters, relaying a story and linking past generations of fans to future generations of fans.
Sadly, at Citi Field there is none of that. No connecting Tom Seaver to Matt Harvey, no tie from Jerry Grote to Gary Carter to Mike Piazza. There is nothing honoring treasured outfielders, be it Strawberry, Staub or Swoboda.
If you want to see the spot where Jesse Orosco dropped to his knees after tossing his glove to heaven or where Tom Seaver pitched for 12 years in what he called ‘my office,’ you can see the pitching mound marked in the parking lot… assuming there’s not a 12 year old Dodge parked on top of it. If you wish to stand in the same location where 155 pound Buddy Harrelson showed Pete Rose that NO ONE pushes the Mets around, you have to hope no oil from a beat-to-hell Ford Taurus has soiled second base.
Perhaps it’s time to cordon off these areas. Sacrifice a few parking spaces so one fan can say to another “I’ll meet you at the Gooden statue.” Maybe on the concourse along first base there can be a sculpture of Mookie beating out an infamous slow roller. On the opposite side perhaps a monument showing Ray Knight rounding third heading home into the jubilant arms of teammates. Beyond right field, wouldn’t it thrilling to see Ron Swoboda fully extended while a few hundred feet away Tommie Agee can be immortalized making a snow-cone catch against a wall. Beyond LF can be a replication of Cleon Jones down on one knee…or Endy Chavez making a leaping grab.
The Mets came into existence more than half a century ago. Nearly 1,000 men have donned the blue and orange. Yet, only one player’s number is apparently worthy of being retired. Entering in 1962 along with the Mets were the Astros (originally named the Colt 45’s.) By comparison, in the same amount of time, Houston has retired nine numbers.
Now that some time has passed, were you able to come up with five Padres? Sure, Tony Gwynn was a given. Trevor Hoffman was easy. Betcha you didn’t think of Dave Winfield. The Hall of Fame outfielder played 23 years in the majors, but only 8 in SD. Yet, the powers-that-be felt he deserved recognition. Number 6 was retired for Steve Garvey. The steady first baseman’s career spanned 18 seasons but less than one third of that in San Diego.
The fifth number retired was 35 for Randy Jones. Yes, Jones was a Cy Young winner and two-time all-star. But his career lasted just 10 years and when he retired he had a losing record of 100-123.
If San Diego can find it in their hearts to honor Randy Jones, can’t the Mets do the same for Jerry Koosman or Mike Piazza or Tug McGraw?
Of the other 29 MLB teams, 22 of them have more numbers retired than the Mets. And every team that has been around as long as the Mets have more players honored than the Amazins do.
It’s time for the men in the gray flannel suits (or sweater vests) to pay homage to some of our most beloved Mets.
How awesome would it have been to show up for the home opener in April, and instead of the $1 million dollars they spent on a bigger scoreboard, you were wowed and greeted by a majestic statue of Tom Seaver firing a fastball to home plate?
Or an iconic sculpture of Casey Stengel looking up to the sky with outstretched arms in his rumpled uniform? Or any of a dozen other great choices for statues immortalizing our all-time greats or most memorable moments?
Fred, Jeff, Saul… Seriously… It’s time.
