Meet the Mets, meet the Mets, step right up and greet the Mets.
If anyone is ever wondering about my childhood, all I have to do is sing him or her those famed lyrics. The song is about those “Amazin’ Mets,” and it was written all the way back in 1961 by Ruth Roberts and Bill Katz. To this day, the song still echoes through the stadium during the seventh inning stretch of every home game.
Anyone who knows anything about sports knows that the Mets do not have a famed history in the MLB. In fact, they happen to be the butt of all New York sports team jokes. Never has it been more obvious than the past couple years, for they haven’t even scraped the surface of the playoffs.
But that’s why I love the Mets. Growing up, I worshipped them. Ever since their Cinderella run to the Subway Series in 2000, when I was only five years old, I have known every player on the roster. I memorized their numbers, their batting averages, and even the type of bats they liked to use. On perhaps the most proud day of my childhood, I was given the incredible opportunity of meeting several of my heroes at Mets training camp in Port St. Lucie, Fla.
These “heroes” weren’t the Mets that you would first think of. Champions like Tony Tarasco, Melvin Mora, and Timo Perez graced me with their 30 seconds of presence on that fateful day. Like a kid at a candy store, I proceeded to pummel them with various questions, ranging from their change in bat color preference to their children’s names. It was borderline stalkerish.
It didn’t matter that they proceeded to have five straight losing seasons. I was proud to be a fan because they would never let you down, for there was never any hype.
To get philosophical, I think that’s why I grew up such a devoted fan. I cherished the rare victories, excited to go to school and brag the next day. I loved the idea that nothing was ever expected of them, and there was honor in their lack of grace. It’s kind of like Nicolas Cage, in a weird sort of way. The guy is a mockery in the world of acting and cinema criticism, but everyone seems to forget he won an Oscar. Losers can win, and the Mets occasionally showed me that.
Sure, the 2006 season was phenomenal. For anyone who doesn’t know, the Mets were one pitch away from a World Series bid. I don’t want to get into that, however, because it will only result in a noise complaint from my neighbors.
This year, for the first time since 2002, the Mets truly have no hope. I say that with all the love in the world. Financially speaking, the term “in the toilet” is an understatement. Owner Fred Wilpon lost nearly all of his money to Bernie Madoff, and we couldn’t afford our most prized star, Jose Reyes.
As for the roster, it is a bunch of nobodies. And when I say nobodies, I really mean it. But that’s why I love them. There is something endearing about a team that is down on its luck. Don’t let the three game winning streak fool you—they’re seriously bad. As an example to all of you non-sports fans, it’s just like Florence Nightingale syndrome, the idea that a nurse has the ability to fall in love with her patients on their death bed, becoming intrigued with their lives before their eventual death. My love for the Mets is just like Florence Nightingale.
Let my undying love for the New York Mets serve as an example for all fans of lowly sports teams. And no Jets fans, I’m not talking about you. I’m talking to you, Wizards, Nationals, Browns, and Nets fans. I know it’s tough, but think about the memories you shared with those teams as a kid.
Some of my greatest moments growing up were throwing back a bag of Jolly Ranchers and a liter of Diet Coke, and watching the Mets getting absolutely crushed by the Braves. Looking back on it, I sometimes wonder why I loved the team so much.
But then I talk to a friend, a fellow Mets fanatic, and we reminisce about the SNY pre-game theme song, beloved outfielder Timo Perez, and everything in between. Don’t give up on the guys that were there when you started. I’ll always stand by the Mets, no matter how far below .500 they fall.
To end with a word of wisdom from our friends Ruth Roberts and Bill Katz, “bring your kiddies, bring your wife. Guranteed to have the time of your life! Because the Mets are really socking the ball, knocking those homeruns over the wall.”
Whether they are “socking” it or not, I’ll always love them.
