Twenty-seven years ago today.
I sat at my Manhattan office desk. The company I worked for was going through some renovations. My office was the size of a nice bedroom walk-in closet. You'd love one of these spaces to store your shoes. To get some work done? Not so much.
But, on this Monday morning, I didn't care.
The weather outside was schmutzy. That's a word my mother used to describe an annoying mist of a rain. It was the end of October but not as chilly a rain as you would expect. It was borderline humid.
But, on this Monday morning, I didn't care.
The day before had featured a deluge of precipitation. The kind where a short walk from your car practically submerged you up to your knees. I know. I had been out in it. Walking from my car to an Eastchester pub with my good friends Bob and Ellen and my high school best friend Danny. We had gone there to eat because we were all supposed to be elsewhere.
At Shea Stadium.
For the seventh game of the 1986 World Series.
So, the deciding contest was reset for Monday night after a monsoon created Lake Shea on the shores of Flushing Meadow Bay. And it's all I could think about that Monday morning.
The New York Mets had stormed their way through the season. But the postseason had proved challenging for my guys. It took almost two days to complete their winning the National League pennant one Wednesday afternoon in Houston. And, at death's door about a dozen times during Game Six of the World Series the past Saturday night/Sunday morning, the Mets had staved off historical asterisks to go for it all in the seventh game.
If you're a baseball fan, you don't need to hear all about Game Six again. Or do you?
"Little roller behind the bag. It gets by Buckner..."
And now we were here. Game 7. It should have been Sunday night. It was now going to be Monday night. Whatever. The time was now.
And, for the first time ever, I was going to be in a baseball park for a pivotal Game 7 of a World Series. One winner. One loser. And my team was still in the hunt.
I thought about the 1969 New York Mets. World Champions against the Baltimore Orioles. I wrote several weeks about the ticket snafu attached to my missing this miraculous moment. My father and a ticket application that may or may not have arrived in the mail.
Well, that was then and this was now. In 1986, I was determined to miss nothing. This year, I would go to not only the Mets home games in the World Series, but one up at dumpy Fenway Park as well. I had been there for the roller coaster ride of Game 6 and Mookie Wilson's dash up the first base line. The swing between extreme emotions that most human bodies should not have to endure. The depths of despair and the heights of exhilaration. Both achieved in the space of ten minutes.
There would be one more chance for a lasting memory in 1986.
I left work early that day to get home and get my car for the ride to Shea. During that October, I was always leaving early for some baseball-related function. Nobody gave it a second thought. I remember little of the trip to Shea. Oh, I probably picked up my friends. I likely cut off a driver or two trying to navigate down the Shea exit ramp as quickly as possible. And I recall very little of the downtime before the game. Danny and I were in the upper deck. First base side. Up a long set of stairs that would destroy my knees in 2013. Bob and his wife Ellen were about a section or two away.
The Red Sox got out to an early lead against Met starter Ron Darling. But, the way the Mets had come back on Saturday night, Boston could have scored 100 runs in the third inning and the game would still not be over.
Due to Darling's early exit, the Mets were forced to use another starter, Sid Fernandez, in relief. He was masterful in stopping the bleeding. There was a guy several rows ahead of us who coached Sid with every pitch. It was as if the dude was in the middle of sex.
"Yes, Sid, do it."
"Come on, Sid, you're the best. Make it happen."
"Sid, bring it to me, baby, bring it to me."
It's a wonder that all the fans in my section didn't have orgasms. I turned to Danny and asked if we should smoke after Sid.
The Mets would eventually tie the game. Ray Knight would ultimately break the tie with a solo homerun that literally had Shea Stadium testing the limits of the New York City building code.
Before we knew it, we had been standing as a group for three innings. It was the top of the ninth. Met closer Jesse Orosco was on the mound and we could taste it. Somebody got way too excited and hurled a smoke bomb into left field. Mookie Wilson walked through the purple haze as if he was the lone survivor in a Civil War battle. It delayed the euphoria but only briefly.
Upstairs in our seats that also doubled as a flight approach to LaGuardia Airport, lifetime Met fans Len and Danny had their arms around each other. So did maybe 55,000 other fans. And Danny uttered perhaps the most salient comment I have ever heard at a baseball stadium.
"We need to really enjoy. Because something like this doesn't happen a lot."
At some point, there was a final strike. And this happened...
Up in the literal and figurative stratosphere, four Met fans hugged in the walkway under the stands. Danny was right. This moment doesn't happen a lot. For me, it hasn't happened since.
I wonder if 1986 had happened in 2013. There would be lots of ways to relive the event. Cell phone cameras and videos. You Tube. Every fan there capturing the moment in his or her own way.
Back then, all we had was our memory drawers. Sure, we can relive it by watching game highlights on the Internet or DVDs.
But being there? With or without credit card...priceless.
Yep, that was twenty-seven years ago today.
Dinner last night: Turkey french dip sandwich at the Arclight.
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