On October 27, 1986, the Mets defeated the Boston Red Sox to win their second world championship. They were coming off a dramatic win in Game Six, as recapped here by MMO’s Brian Wright.
Most Mets fans are well aware of how things went down on those two October nights in Queens. I am among the lucky, in that I was able to attend both of those games. I’d like to share the emotional rollercoaster of emotions that took place during those 48 hours.
Game Six
I had a good feeling going into Game Six, as the Mets had rebounded to win two of three on the road to keep the series going, and were headed home where they had an advantage all year, posting a 55-26 record at Shea.
Here are a few things that stand out about game six. First, the skydiver (Michael Sergio) who literally dropped in during the first inning. The reaction in the Mets dugout (after Sergio was apprehended) wasn’t one of disgust (as one might expect). Rather, Ron Darling and Mel Stottlemyre (among others) were seemingly amused. As a nervous fan, I was not amused, and couldn’t wait to get the game going again.
Bob Ojeda yielded single runs in the first and second innings, and those confident feelings quickly dissipated. The Mets were held silent by Roger Clemens through four innings, and the anxiety began to skyrocket. The Mets finally tied the game in the fifth, setting up the bizarre events to come.
When Ray Knight committed an error that led to an unearned Red Sox run in the seventh, things became very uncomfortable. It was getting late, and the possibility that the dream season would end in unfulfilling fashion was becoming very real. But the Mets always found a way, that’s what I kept telling myself. The bottom of the eighth came, and the Mets were down to six outs.
Lee Mazzilli (who was a very valuable piece during the postseason and a great pickup by Frank Cashen) began the inning with a single. Later in the inning, the Red Sox walked Keith Hernandez to load the bases, bringing up Gary Carter with one out. “The Kid”, a proud player, clearly wanted to make the Sox pay. I was panicked that he’d expand the zone, and either strike out or worse, hit into a double play.
Carter worked Calvin Schiraldi to a 3-0 count. Davey Johnson, showing trust in his veteran catcher, gave Carter the green light. Carter hit a rocket directly to Jim Rice in left field. I only wish the exit velocity was available on that one. If Carter had gotten under that ball just a little, it would have been a grand slam. The Mets had to settle for a sacrifice fly and tie game. The play at the plate was not really close, but I remember being a bit spooked that Mazzilli did not slide, as Rice’s throw home made it on the fly (through a little late and slightly up the third base line).
The tension grew as the game went to the bottom of the ninth. The Mets got the first two runners on, and it just felt like a walk-off was coming. They could score off Schiraldi here, right? They didn’t. We all know that a blown situation like this can turn the momentum. This one did (for a brief time).
Rick Aguilera, who had pitched a clean ninth, faced Dave Henderson to start the tenth. When Henderson homered, I was sure it was the end. Remember, Henderson had hit a key home run in game five of the ALCS when the Red Sox were on the brink of elimination.
Well, 1986 was going to be their Cinderella story. The same guy works the same magic in both post-season series. That was it. The Mets were done. The wrecking ball Mets were outmaneuvered by a fairy tale team from Boston. The additional run Boston scored in the tenth appeared to be window dressing.
The first two outs in the ninth seemed to confirm the theory above. When Carter singled, I was almost annoyed. Just end it. Please, let my mourning begin. However, the Mets had, as they say, a puncher’s chance.
Kevin Mitchell and Knight singled, and I still thought, even with a run in and the tying run on third with two outs, it was a big tease. Mookie Wilson was coming up, and he was a strikeout waiting to happen (72 in 381 official ABs during the season).
Bob Stanley was on the mound at this point. When he uncorked the wild pitch that allowed Mitchell to score, I remember yelling “slide” from my Loge seat as Mitchell streaked down the line. That play seemed to take five minutes. I had a vision of him being thrown out at the plate to end the game, the season, and the dream. But he crossed the plate easily. The emotion was one of relief. The Mets would live to fight another inning.
When the ball “got by Buckner”, I think I had nothing left. Sure, I was excited. Sure, I hugged people I knew and many I did not. But for me, the wild pitch was the pinnacle moment. To this day, I get greater chills at that point of game replays than at any other.
Being a Mets fan, even as the frenetic hugging was happening, I had one thought: “They still have to win tomorrow. They’re the Mets. Nothing is certain.”
Game Seven
On Sunday, October 26th, we made the drive down to Shea, only to be turned around because the game was postponed due to rain. This is unfair! I can’t take another day of waiting…
We left at 3 pm to make the hour drive for an 8 pm game on Monday, October 27th. It had to be better waiting there than at home. At least there would be more people around to engage in nervous chatter.
The game started in a light mist. Right away, the Red Sox made it clear they did not have a hangover from game six. They scored three runs off Ron Darling, and led 3-0 in the third inning. Darling had a rough fourth inning, and was replaced by Sid Fernandez, who made it out of the inning unscathed.
Fernandez did provide a spark for the crowd, striking out four batters over the fifth and sixth inning. That’s fine, but the Mets were down to 12 outs and had just one hit off Bruce Hurst (who had kept them in check in games one and five) going into the bottom of the sixth. With one out, Lee Mazzilli stepped to the plate as a pinch hitter to try to get the Mets going.
Mazzilli singled, and after a Wilson single and a walk by Tim Teufel, Hernandez got in the box with the bases loaded in a role made for him. The Mets needed a quality at-bat, down 3-0. In my same Loge seat, I was worried about an inning-ending double play, but Hernandez singed in two runs and Shea was rocking. Even though they were still down a run, even the most pessimistic fans (I was among them) started to “feel it”.
The Mets tied the game, and in the seventh, took a three-run lead. All was good, or so it seemed. The Red Sox got to Roger McDowell for two runs in the top of the eighth, and they had the tying run at second with no outs. I was done. I left my seat, and transversed the Loge level, stopping at concession stands to watch every pitch. When Orosco got Don Baylor to ground out to end the inning, I returned to my seat, to the raucous laughter of my group at how the moment had gotten too big for me.
The Mets added two runs in the bottom of the eighth, with one coming on a Darryl Strawberry home run and the other on a hit by Orosco. Now, they needed three more outs. I left my seat again, and sat on the filthy cement stairs. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Leave me alone…
In the ninth, someone threw a smoke bomb on the field. Great, let’s break Jesse’s concentration, after all there’s nothing on the line here.
When Marty Barrett stepped to the plate with two outs, the fairy tale worm had turned from the night before. Barrett had tormented the Mets all series, and it was poetic justice that he made the last out.
The celebration was on. Collectively, Mets fans were talking dynasty. What would be good? Three championships in ten years, five, what’s the number? This is going to be great!
We know the Mets have not won a championship since that night, 35 years ago. If and when they do, cherish it, folks. It’s an Amazin’ feeling, but you never know how long it will be until it comes around again.
