The Sunday Memory Drawer - Meeting the Mets

 

The baseball season has started and the Mets look to be pretty ordinary from 3000 miles away.   I care less about them in 2024.  But when I first came to know baseball...welp, it was all Mets for me.

My journey with the Mets began when the now-demolished Shea Stadium opened. Truth be told, I had already attended a Met game the previous season while they were still at the Polo Grounds. I was part of a kiddie day camp and this was one of our field trips. We sat in the bleachers about five miles from home plate and, given I was still a baseball novice, I had no clue what was happening. 

And it would only have been slightly better if I could actually see the field. Since this was a day camp, we left by the fifth inning to board some yellow school bus.
But, thanks to Retrosheet.com, I have only recently discovered that my best friend from high school, ultimately my Shea Stadium seat mate for many years, was at the very same game. So, technically, it was our first Met game together. 

Separately. With one of us completely oblivious to the game.

My very, very, very first baseball game had taken place one month earlier. At Yankee Stadium. My father's cousin owned an oil burner company that had a season box. Since I had been home from school for about a week with an ear infection, I was not the ideal participant in this fun. But, my father, who had been a lifelong Yankee fan, wasn't going to miss this opportunity to introduce his son to baseball. 

Cotton balls were thrown in my ears and a Yankee hat was plopped onto my head. I was good to go. Retrosheet reminds me that Mickey Mantle hit a homerun that afternoon. I could have cared less. I was too busy making myself a nuisance by yelling into that Yankee megaphone which had been my popcorn holder.

For me, baseball was still something that pre-empted my late afternoon cartoons on WPIX Channel 11. What caused me to become a fan?

I got the German measles.

Cooped up again in the house for a week the following May, I was bored out of my mind. Having watched all the sitcom reruns I could in the morning, I sat in front of the TV set and turned the channel knob. Yes, folks, no remote control. I surveyed what was available on the six or seven channels. Yes, folks, only six or seven channels. I stumbled upon a New York Met day game being telecast from spanking new Shea Stadium. Hmmm. If nothing else, this would tide me over until the Popeye Show with Captain Jack McCarthy.

Staring at the black and white screen and listening to this guy named Lindsey Nelson, I started to pay attention to the action. I remember immediately being engaged when the Mets got two runs in the bottom of the first inning when somebody hit a homerun. Retrosheet tells me that it was Tim Harkness.

Gee, I'd only been following this sport for ten minutes and already my team was winning. How cool was that?

Ultimately, on that day, the Mets won 3-2 over the Cincinnati Reds. I had hung in for all nine innings. By myself. And I started to understand what was going on. 

That afternoon, the Popeye cartoons were even sweeter. I had myself a baseball team. I couldn't wait to tell my father.

Yankee fan Dad was nonplussed.

"You want to root for the Mets?? You know they stink."

Huh? They had just won.

"They're the worst team in baseball."

Huh? I liked them.

"Don't you want to go to another Yankee game?"

Huh?

Er, no, Dad, I don't. I'm a Met fan.

And so it began...

To be continued.

Dinner last night:  Orange chicken.