A Thank You To My Amazins

They say that it’s time to pack it in. That there is nothing left to play for. That it is time to throw away those scorecards and throw on your favorite football uniform. There’s no denying that unless you are the Red Sox or the Yankees fan, your team’s role is that of the “spoiler”; the least glorified and most under-appreciated role in the pennant race, and one few fans want to be a part of.

However, as a diehard Met fan, I’ve never been as proud of my team as I have this week.
When the Houston Astros slipped by the coasting Cardinals Tuesday night with a 3-1 victory, it mathematically eliminated the New York Mets from Wild-Card contention, a circumstance that most would dismiss as little more than a formality, despite their current five game winning streak. However, I’m proud of my Amazins- and not only because they sent the fans in Washington, Florida, and Philadelphia home unhappy. These Mets are more than spoilers. Despite their aggravatingly inconsistent play all year, this team has proved all year that they are fighters.

While the rest of the NL East has decided to pack it in, the Mets have fought hard all week, despite knowing their fate was sealed. They battled to win close game after close game. They showed character, emotion, and guts. It didn’t matter to me that I knew that the odds were slim-to-none that the Mets would be little more than an afterthought come October. I woke up everyday with hope this week. And not just the typical can’t wait until February, lots to build on hope. I had this year hope, even though we all knew the effort was fruitless. And that is unprecedented for this sports fan. I usually am the first to jump ship, or change the channel, or throw my television out the window. But the Mets pulled me back on the ship. And I thank them for giving me that hope.

It came at a time when one of baseball’s legendary sluggers used a steroid-related media nightmare as an excuse to clean out his locker, possibly for the last time. At a time when one of Florida’s budding young arms was sent home early because of concerns about his attitude. At a time when New York’s “other team” is capturing the eyes (and hearts) of fans all over the city with every pitch.

Amazingly, the charge was led by a group of veterans that you’d hardly expect to be loyal to such a reward-less cause.

We saw fight from Pedro Martinez, who despite calling it a year with two starts to go, has been the consummate teammate, never challenging teammates or scoffing at the media, even after one of his stellar performances was tarnished with a bullpen collapse. From Tom Glavine, who before coming to the Mets was always prepared to pitch into October, and whose quest for 300 has been seriously put in jeopardy with his decision to come to Queens. We see Carlos Beltran, despite having yet to live up to his massive contract, desperately trying to burst through his season long slump to the very end. Even Mike Piazza, who undoubtedly will be wearing an American League Uniform this year, refuses to show his dismay at the harsh reality that he will not be around when the championship banner is finally raised. The perseverance is universal throughout the clubhouse, on a team that no longer earns even a full page in sports section of any New York Daily.

You may think I’m crazy for holding this inconsistent and inexperienced team in such high regard. However, in a sport full of quitters, where players that routinely pack it in early and start booking their tee times, where the sport’s biggest star turned a seemingly minor injury into a season long hiatus, and where one Baltimore star claimed his team was not just counting the days, but the hours, until the season ends, it’s nice to know that some players still care. Perhaps Willie Randolph, the new skipper whose on the field moves have been suspect all year long, is the leader that the Mets have been searching for since Bobby V left for the Orient. There is much cause for optimism for next year.

But I don’t want to hear next year talk yet. There are five games to go, and I’m watching every single one. I’m rooting for the Mets to catch the Phillies and claim second place, a seemingly impossible feat at many points this season. I’m rooting for someone to flirt with a no-hitter. For Aaron Heilman to rack up four more saves while embarrassing hitters with his changeup; For David Wright to cement his role as my hero; For Reyes to win the Stolen Base Title; For Cliff Floyd to keep being Cliff Floyd; For Beltran to emerge as the star he’s destined to be in this city; And for Mike Piazza to make one, or two, or three, last curtain calls. As sure as the Big Apple will rise again over the Center Field wall, I’ll be there on Sunday for fan appreciation day. And not just for the promotional hat given out at the gates.

So do me a favor. If you are a Met fan and want to immediately drown your sorrows on the gridiron, or even worse, in the Bronx, that is your right and I can’t stop you. Just don’t expect me to join you.

Not until Sunday.