The Monster!

(Note: Double the content for you today. The first piece, by Sippy Momo, is about Mike Piazza's return to Shea and the magic that unfolded last night. The second, by guest columnist Cheddar Ben, compares Paul Lo Duca's current controversy with Piazza's several years ago. Enjoy.)

There is nothing worse in sports than when the WRONG thing happens.

In the 2000 World Series, Bernie Williams calmly drifted back on a Mike Piazza blast to centerfield, lifted his glove, and wrapped his glove around what amounted to a long, loud out, thereby securing the Yankees a World Series championship, delivering Sip some intense heartache, and making all Mets fans ask why.

Before the 2000 World Series I wrote a 7-page mission statement to my group of Met friends about why if there is a god the Mets would win.

This was good vs. evil

Rich vs. poor.

Underdog vs. Favorite.

If this were a movie, the Mets would walk into the rich tradition of Yankee stadium, overwhelmed and intimidated, only to come together at the end behind their fearless leader, steal the series, give people hope and give any person with a love for the game chills.

Imagine Rudy never getting on the field at Notre Dame

Or Parkman taking Vaughn deep at the end of Major League II.

These are just too wrong to fathom.

In simplest words, when things go wrong in sports they are truly terrible.

To the contrary, when the right thing happens, the thing that everyone hopes and prays will, we get inspired. It is this reason that we sweat thru game after game, season after season.

On June 30, 2000 I sat there with AFOMG and my pop Old Chip in the last section of the upper deck. This was Mets vs. Braves. We were facing our nemesis, the Braves, and their uber-villains, Chipper Jones and John Rocker.

The script was set.

The Mets went down 8-0. Kevin Millwood dominated as the underdog Mets looked like they didn’t belong. Then all of a sudden it happened. Hope kept us in our $12 dollar shit seats. Hope gave the Mets their first bit of legs and the Braves bullpen an abnormal bout of wildness.

All of a sudden the Mets were back in it. With every AB, I could hear a Jerry Goldsmith orchestrated piece getting louder in my head.

Chills ran through my body as I high fived my best friend and hero, my father.

Then, it happened. Mike Piazza, the Mets hero, savior, leader and star came to the plate with 2 on with the Mets down 1.

For years everything had gone wrong for the Mets. Just 8 months earlier we watched our season end on a bases loaded walk. All I felt was negativity.

Until that night.

Piazza came to the plate to the sweet sounds of heavy metal that amped up Shea like nothing you have ever seen. We all hoped and prayed that he could come through. Our hero making the biggest play at the biggest time.

And then a funny thing happened Something that we never really had seen before. That great thing actually happened.

Monster went yard. He jacked one off of Terry Mulholland to put the Mets up 10-8. He rounded the bases and pumped his fist creating an electricity at Shea that I had never in my life experienced.

Not even Armando could blow this one. Everything was just too right. It was just too beautiful. It was a movie-like ending. It restored my faith that something good could ever happen, that my team might actually win. I hugged my dad, high-fived AFOMG, and for that moment everything was just perfect.

That was one of the best moments of my life. It was everything right in baseball, right for the Mets, my favorite team and main hobby.

These last two days have just been the same.

For two nights of somewhat meaningless Mets baseball I have had chills. This is because the right thing has again happened.

This was Mike Piazza’s return. My cousin and AFOMG among others called me weeks in advance to try and get me to come back. We all knew the magnitude of these games. This was the player that restored our franchise. He made my favorite thing in the world better for 8 seasons. He was our hero and he was coming.

Now a little older and a mere glimpse of the star he once was, Monster walked into Shea.

Tuesday night he was greeted by a chill-inducing standing ovation. Mets fans handled this perfectly. It was a true showing of respect and love for a player that deserved that much and more.

If you were to ask me to write a storybook for this series this is what I would write. The Mets win, Piazza receives the biggest standing ovation imaginable and then goes on to have the game of his life, only to come up just short enough at the end to allow the Mets to win, like somehow he wanted it to happen.

Wednesday night I saw this storybook script play out in real life.

Pedro Martinez stepped off the mound for the Monster’s first AB, giving the crowd a chance to once again shower him with love. This was also Pedro paying his own respect, to the greatest hitting catch of all time and a future Hall of Famer.

Then Monster did it. The gods shined down on him and Piazza emerged as the hero. He mashed two yokes out of the pitcher-friendly Shea Stadium against the best pitcher of his era. He dominated the park that he had dominated for so many years.

There wasn’t a person in the world that didn’t want to see this happen.

Then the 8th inning came. All of a sudden this game meant something and Mets fans needed something different out of the Monster. We needed him to slow down.

So what does Monster do? Again, you couldn’t have drawn it up better.

Monster gave an Aaron Heilman fastball a ride. Off the bat it looked like it may be out and all of a sudden our balls sunk into our stomach. But then, as in the 2000 World Series, a center fielder drifted over, settled under the ball and let it sink into his mitt. Piazza was out.

Piazza claimed it was the temperature that kept his ball in the park.

I’m going to disagree. This was magic. The same thing that makes us love being sports fans -- the hope for that one perfect moment -- is what made Piazza hit a ball hard enough that he scared us and we remembered just how great he was, but just short enough to allow the Mets to win the game.

Mike is a Met. He loves the Mets and we love him.

He didn’t want to beat us and we didn’t want to let him. What we did want, though, was to see him be great again.

And great he was.

Welcome home, Mike.

I look forward to making my first return to Cooperstown since I was 4 years old the day that you're inducted.

Vaya con dios,

SM