In typical fashion, I’m writing this piece while watching the Mets play the Cardinals during Spring Training (we need player’s mic’d up for every game but that’s a discussion for another day). Although there is plenty to talk about out of Mets camp, today I wanted to share something a little more personal with you all.
Unfortunately, March 6 marks one year since we lost my grandpa, Tom Siragusa, to his brief battle with cancer. Pop was a die-hard Mets fan with a passion for baseball that dated back to his days growing up in Brooklyn, and cheering for his favorite player Jackie Robinson. I can’t even begin to describe the gleam in his eye and smile on his face whenever he brought up Jackie and recounted the many memories he had of watching his favorite player steal base after base from the bleachers of Ebbets Field.
It probably comes as no surprise that his passion for baseball and the Mets would be passed down to me. However, if I’m being honest, I loved whatever my grandpa did because in my eyes he was Super Man. If Pop liked it then it was certainly good enough for me…but I am thankful every day that it was our love for baseball that connected us.
I couldn’t even count how many games we watched together, whether it was catching the broadcasts or going to Shea then Citi…the number must be in the four-digit range. One big tradition Pop and I shared was attending Opening Day. We were lucky enough to go to six straight home openers together from 2005-2010. Every year he would pick me up from school early with a “sick note” and we would head to Flushing to cheer on the Amazin’s. In fact, we were lucky enough to be at a few meaningful games together while I was growing up: like Mike Piazza’s first game as a Met, Game 3 of the 2015 World Series sitting with the 7 Line Army (77 years old and didn’t sit the entire time), along with many others.
One game that will always stand out to me the most, though, was attending Game 7 of the 2006 NLCS together. Now you might think that’s a little weird considering it’s one of the most tragic losses in Mets history and we were there to see it all, but I look at it a bit differently now. In hindsight, we probably saw one the greatest games that either of us would ever see in person. We were also lucky enough to be about 100 feet away from the greatest postseason catch ever (love you Endy), which is something I will never forget. Now don’t get me wrong, being on the losing end of that game was DEVASTATING as a 14 year old die-hard (it started raining as we were all leaving Shea too just to throw the cherry on top).
Even despite that, there is no other person in the world that I would have wanted to be there with than with my grandpa. We walked in silence, in the rain; with hundreds of other stunned Mets fans on the wooden bridge to catch the LIRR. Pop and I walked side-by-side, with his arm draped around me the entire time. It’s a moment I’ll never forget and I’ve thought about a lot over the years. What I’ve realized is that even in the most gut-wrenching of moments, sports (especially baseball) still has the ability to bring people together, even when it’s a small gesture like a grandfather comforting his grandson after a brutal loss.
With all the games we watched, all the discussions about different players, signings, trades, coaches, ownership, etc. I always thought that would be the extent of our relationship with the Mets. Well, I was proven very wrong about that last year just before Spring Training. We got Pop’s diagnosis last January, with the awful realization that he would not make it to the start of the season. Considering this diagnosis came literally out of left field for us, you can imagine the thoughts I had racing through my mind. One thing kept repeating though, and that was to get Pop to Citi Field for one last visit together.
I realized this would probably be a tall-task considering it was late January and they were getting ready to make the trip down to Port St. Lucie for Spring Training, but I felt compelled to try and make something happen. I reached out to anyone and everyone that I could think of related to the Mets. After a couple days of non-stop messaging, I was able to set up a call with an amazing person named Will Carafello, who is the Senior Director of Social Media for the Mets.
We got on the phone and spoke about my grandpa, and our love for the Mets. I explained Pop’s diagnosis, and that time was of the essence to bring him to Citi Field one last time. Will could not have been kinder or more gracious, and assured me that they would be honored to have Pop come to the Stadium. Two days later we brought him to Citi Field for one last time.
To be honest I don’t know what I was expecting, I just wanted to give my grandpa something to smile about for a few hours. We arrived through the media entrance, and were greeted by Will and some of his production team to capture the visit for us (you can find the link to the video they made and shared on the Mets Twitter account here). They had his name plastered on every monitor of the stadium, and walked us through some of his favorite places like the Jackie Robinson rotunda and the Mets HOF/Museum. We made our way into the press conference room where Will’s team interviewed Pop about some of his favorite Mets memories.
We then ventured into the underbelly of Citi Field, and were given a tour of where our favorite players worked out, hit, and even ate. But the highlight (or so we thought at the time) was getting access into the Mets clubhouse. We were able to roam around like we were a part of the team, and they even let Pop hold Brandon Nimmo’s bat which was part of the display in his locker. How can you top that, right? Well they had one more surprise for us. While we were “waiting to go out onto the field,” the far doors of the clubhouse opened up and in walks Brodie Van Wagenen and Jeff Wilpon saying “We’re looking for Tom Siragusa.” We were absolutely stunned to see them in person. They walked up and presented Pop with a custom jersey, and spent about 15 minutes talking Mets and learning all about him.
Now before everyone goes wild about me painting Jeff and Brodie in a positive light, let me say this. Your feelings about Mets ownership and management are COMPLETELY valid and I share those same thoughts that as fans we deserve much better. I will never defend them as baseball people, hell my grandpa and I always complained about how the Wilpon’s should sell the team. What I’m trying to get at, though, is that Jeff and Brodie weren’t obligated to meet or spend any time with my grandpa, especially in such a hectic part of the year. There was no press with them, they weren’t trying to get some positive PR, it genuinely felt like Jeff and Brodie just wanted to do something nice for my grandpa and give us one last Mets memory together. So for that, I will be forever grateful to them on a personal level for the kindness they showed to my grandpa.
Ironically though, I think the one thing my grandpa loved more than watching than the Mets was watching me play (thank God he never had to pay admission for that). Pop was my eyes on the field, personal hitting coach, throwing partner, and my biggest cheerleader. Growing up we would spend HOURS in the street each day having endless catches, fly ball, and ground ball competitions. He really must have been Superman, because I don’t know many people in their late 60’s who could have kept up with such a crazy little kid who wanted to do nothing else but play catch with his grandpa.
I don’t think Pop ever missed a game of mine, from my first tee-ball game as a 6-year-old, to the last one he watched me play in August of 2018. It was because of his constant encouragement and passion that we shared for baseball that I never stopped playing competitively. He was the unofficial mascot of my men’s league team, the Long Island Cardinals. He would spend every Sunday sitting in his chair either behind home plate, or in our dugout cheering us on and every one of my teammates loved him. I’m not kidding when I say he never missed a game I had, literally in over 20 years.
I don’t think I realized, however, just how much I would need baseball after this past year. Pop, thank you for every story about the Dodgers, always reminiscing about the “Miracle Mets” and those bad boys of 1986. Thank you for sitting through every crappy game of mine, of which there were many. Thank you for always encouraging me to follow my dreams, especially that I could one day turn my passions for baseball and our Mets into a career. Most importantly, thank you for showing me just how beautiful of a game it is.
I think somehow you knew that I would need baseball to become my outlet to cope with losing you. It’s because of the passions you instilled in me that I’m able to gather the strength every day to keep moving forward. To think that just a year later, I’m lucky enough to have a platform to not only share my knowledge with so many awesome Mets fans, but share your story and the tremendous impact baseball had on us.
Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you, but I know you’re somewhere watching over me and our Mets. Thank you for being the best friend anyone could have asked for, I love you forever Pop.
