The Big One

Continuing my on-going series of commentary/reactions to Bill Simmons' book "Now I Can Die in Peace," I want to discuss two issues. When Bill proceeds to rehash his feelings during the 1986 playoffs, he mentions that everyone has a team from their teenage years with whom they lived and died. They can remember every pitch, every emotion, every bittersweet tear. For Bill it was the 1986 team that lost arguably the greatest World Series of all time to the New York Mets. Now, I was too young to know what was going on; I was only four, and I'm glad. I don't think I would appreciate baseball as much as I do now if my team had won during my formative years. Anyway, for Bill it was the 1986 Red Sox; for me it was the 1999 Mets. For the second straight year, the Mets, who were in good position to make the playoffs as the wild-card team had to endure a seven game losing streak at the end of September. In 1998 the streak finished us off, but in 1999, we still had a chance to at least tie for the wild-card spot if we could win two out of three on the the last weekend of the season. Anyway, the Mets did, and were forced to play the Cincinnati Reds in a one game playoff, the winner advancing to the playoffs. Al Leiter pitched his best game as a Met and they advanced to face the Arizona Diamondbacks. Two of the four games of that series took place on the Sabbath, so I couldn't watch them, but here's what I remember. On that saturday afternoon, my friend and I walked across the Queensboro Bridge to pass the time. I was wearing my Mets jersey, of course, and just as we were returning to my apartment building, a gentleman on a bicycle callously told us that the Mets had won and were advancing to the NLCS. Little did I know what was in store for me on SportsCenter that night. I got to see Todd Pratt clinch the series in the tenth inning with one of the greatest home runs in team history. Next stop: Atlanta, a veritable gehinom for the Mets over the last decade. There is not much to say about the first three games of that series. My hatred for the Joneses was at an all time high. No matter who was pitching you couldn't get the guys out. I think Chipper had like a .500 OBP for that series. Anyway, I was at the movies with my girlfriend for most of game four. I certainly don't remember what movie it was, but I do remember the yellow radio I had with me. (At this point my brother would insert a clever rejoinder like "still not married, huh?") When John Olerud's bouncer deflected off Rafael Furcal's glove to score the winning run, we almost had to leave the theater. I don't even need to write more than two words to describe my feelings about game five: "Grand Single." I don't think I need to write more than two words about game six either: "Kenny Rogers." Yes, the same Kenny Rogers who looked like he was a flame-throwing 24 year old in the World Series this year. When he walked Andruw Jones to force in the winning run in the ninth inning I was in utter despair. This was my team: Fonzie, Olerud, Rey, Al, Robin, Turk, Mikey. They were like my family; they were at my dinner table every night. Those were good days, innocent days. Geez, that was only seven years ago.

Anyway, the other issue I wanted to discuss was winning the big one. Even in his Red Sox book, Bill prints his article from when the Patriots won the Super Bowl in 2001. He describes his feelings as his team raised the Vince Lombardi trophy after Adam Vinatieri won the Super Bowl with the greatest kick of all time. That got me thinking, how would I react when my team wins the big one. Since I became a coherent, rational human being, the only time a team I supported won a championship was in 1994 when the Rangers beat the Canucks for the Stanley Cup. Now that doesn't count, because even at the time I could probably only name half a dozen of the players. The Giants have won, and the Yankees have won, but neither the Mets nor the Jets have earned the right to be called World Champs over the past 20 years. I don't know how I will react, but at this point I try to compare my relationship with my teams to my dating career. As I'm so fond of saying, you can strike out every time; you only need to hit one home run. Bill says that it's worth it. Keep supporting your team because eventually, they will win the big one. That euphoric feeling you get when your team reaches the pinnacle of its sport is worth all the heartache. So I'm going to write the Jets off for this year, and the Mets obviously broke my heart in October, but at least I still have the four most magical words in sports: "there's always next year."