At the End of the Night, We'd All Seen Better Days
(Note: Sip's post-game reactions appear immediately below this post by A.F.O.M.G.)
It's just hard.
Leaving the stadium last night was like leaving a funeral. Stunned silence coupled with the wailing of others a little less reserved. 56,000 people alone, together.
It didn't really hit me until I put my head on the pillow after the long commute home. The season was over.
No more 4th inning hot dog-pretzel combos.
No more jubilant cheers of "Jo-se! Jose-Jose-Jose!".
No more games to rush home to watch at night, or stories to read desperately in the newspapers the next morning.
It's just a fact of life. If you're a baseball fan, sooner or later this time comes for you. One team wins it all, but even for them, even for their fans, the season is over.
I wonder sometimes what an offseason would be like if the Mets won it all. I'd be overjoyed, of course, but I still think I'd be sad somehow.
I just really love baseball. I love the routine of it. I love being out at the games with other people who live for it the way I do. And no matter how a season ended, I don't think there's any stopping my remorse over the fact of it being over. Win or lose.
But I can't pretend that this year was just the same as any other, that this finish didn't hit me harder than any other I can remember.
Last year? Of course not.
2000? Not really. I hate the Yankees, sure, but it was different. We lost in 5 games, the drama wasn't quite there.
1999 is the only year that compares. I was at Game 5 -- which, incidentally, was in serious jeopardy of being dethroned as being the best game I'd ever been to last night -- and just somehow you felt that they were going to do it. That they were going to climb all the way back from a 3-0 deficit and beat the hated Braves.
And then Game 6 rolled around and there they were again, erasing an early 5-0 deficit before losing horribly, improbably, on a bases loaded walk. And we were left waiting on a miracle that never came.
That was bad. Maybe it's nothing more than the immediacy of the moment, but this just feels worse.
The Mets were the best team in the National League this year. I really believe that. I don't think anyone really questions it. That was such a beautiful thing to watch all summer, but now it's a sad footnote to a season whose most triumphant banner reads "2006 National League East Division Champions".
I try to remind myself that at the beginning of this year, if you'd have told me that we'd win more games than any team in the National League, unseat the Braves, and outlast the Yankees, I'd have been pretty damn happy.
What I couldn't have imagined back in April is what each of those would have done to my mindset come October. It's not that a sense of entitlement set in. It's that you couldn't help but feel that this team was capable of more.
And I try to remind myself that we've got a good young core, and that we should contend for years to come.
It's all true, but again, it doesn't really do me a lot of good right now. Somehow I just felt like this was the year, if not to win the World Series, then to appear at least.
But no. There we were at a soggy Shea Stadium, 56,000 of us clapping until our hands were red, screaming until our voices were hoarse, waving our rally flags until our arms lost circulation; cheering, basically, until our whole bodies hurt.
The crowd never gave up, not for a moment. We'd all been raised to believe that miracles can happen, and the crowd sniffed one last night. Once again, we were left waiting for a miracle that would never come.
And that's all there is to it, really. I'm not going to rag on Willie for not bunting the runners over. I'm not going to get worked up about Beltran leaving the bat on his shoulders. We lost, and that's all there is.
And now it's over. No more games. No more cheers. No more getting that awesome mid-week rush on some random Tuesday night when the Mets pull off a great win. No more goosebumps.
No more Mets. It's just hard.
- A.F.O.M.G.
It's just hard.
Leaving the stadium last night was like leaving a funeral. Stunned silence coupled with the wailing of others a little less reserved. 56,000 people alone, together.
It didn't really hit me until I put my head on the pillow after the long commute home. The season was over.
No more 4th inning hot dog-pretzel combos.
No more jubilant cheers of "Jo-se! Jose-Jose-Jose!".
No more games to rush home to watch at night, or stories to read desperately in the newspapers the next morning.
It's just a fact of life. If you're a baseball fan, sooner or later this time comes for you. One team wins it all, but even for them, even for their fans, the season is over.
I wonder sometimes what an offseason would be like if the Mets won it all. I'd be overjoyed, of course, but I still think I'd be sad somehow.
I just really love baseball. I love the routine of it. I love being out at the games with other people who live for it the way I do. And no matter how a season ended, I don't think there's any stopping my remorse over the fact of it being over. Win or lose.
But I can't pretend that this year was just the same as any other, that this finish didn't hit me harder than any other I can remember.
Last year? Of course not.
2000? Not really. I hate the Yankees, sure, but it was different. We lost in 5 games, the drama wasn't quite there.
1999 is the only year that compares. I was at Game 5 -- which, incidentally, was in serious jeopardy of being dethroned as being the best game I'd ever been to last night -- and just somehow you felt that they were going to do it. That they were going to climb all the way back from a 3-0 deficit and beat the hated Braves.
And then Game 6 rolled around and there they were again, erasing an early 5-0 deficit before losing horribly, improbably, on a bases loaded walk. And we were left waiting on a miracle that never came.
That was bad. Maybe it's nothing more than the immediacy of the moment, but this just feels worse.
The Mets were the best team in the National League this year. I really believe that. I don't think anyone really questions it. That was such a beautiful thing to watch all summer, but now it's a sad footnote to a season whose most triumphant banner reads "2006 National League East Division Champions".
I try to remind myself that at the beginning of this year, if you'd have told me that we'd win more games than any team in the National League, unseat the Braves, and outlast the Yankees, I'd have been pretty damn happy.
What I couldn't have imagined back in April is what each of those would have done to my mindset come October. It's not that a sense of entitlement set in. It's that you couldn't help but feel that this team was capable of more.
And I try to remind myself that we've got a good young core, and that we should contend for years to come.
It's all true, but again, it doesn't really do me a lot of good right now. Somehow I just felt like this was the year, if not to win the World Series, then to appear at least.
But no. There we were at a soggy Shea Stadium, 56,000 of us clapping until our hands were red, screaming until our voices were hoarse, waving our rally flags until our arms lost circulation; cheering, basically, until our whole bodies hurt.
The crowd never gave up, not for a moment. We'd all been raised to believe that miracles can happen, and the crowd sniffed one last night. Once again, we were left waiting for a miracle that would never come.
And that's all there is to it, really. I'm not going to rag on Willie for not bunting the runners over. I'm not going to get worked up about Beltran leaving the bat on his shoulders. We lost, and that's all there is.
And now it's over. No more games. No more cheers. No more getting that awesome mid-week rush on some random Tuesday night when the Mets pull off a great win. No more goosebumps.
No more Mets. It's just hard.
- A.F.O.M.G.
posted by A Friend of Mr. Glass' at 11:24 AM
5 Comments:
i saw the last couple innings in a bar in midtown nicely peppered with mets fans, and did what i could to urge the team on (translation: roaring at the screen, drinking heavily, tipping everyone, even the hostess).
what an incredible game, though i am getting a wee bit tired of being on the short end of these epics. before the umpire had finished his fist motion, i was out on the street, walking to grand central, muttering "it hurts too much to laugh but i'm too big to cry." got home, slept as best i could, got up, and it was still true. a called strike three.
I can’t kill anybody on the team -- they tried so hard. (maybe that was the thing that did them in.) to endure molina’s homer -- the two-run shot endy couldn’t reach --- and still have the team rally to a bases-loaded bottom of the ninth game seven situation with your no. 3 hitter at the plate, well, who on earth thinks that ever really happens?
i wore my cap in to work today, though i noted that not many folks wanted to engage in sportalk. maybe they saw i was hurting; maybe they were hurting too.
A beautiful post dmg. Nice job.
Am I the only one who is annoyed by people saying what a great year they had, how far they went in the playoffs on such untested pitching, how they'll be back in the thick of it next year, etc? Am I the only one with a lingering fear that this was their year, that the door was opened and they failed to step through it? I appreciate that we did better than anyone could have expected this season, but the fact is we are still not built around strong young pitching and we don't have an elite closer. Everyone is comparing this to 1985--but what if it's 1988?
I'm the biggest Met-pessimist there is, and all points by BringBackBordick are valid and could come to fruition. However, I think that the Mets will have enough offense to get to October in 2007, and once in, they have a puncher's chance. As far as the pitching is concerned, I liked what I saw out of Maine (full season, game 6) and Perez (playoffs), although I have more confidence in Maine at this point, but who knows? Both could go either way. I also think Heilmann may be in the rotation, and the 8th given to Mota. Throw in Glavine, Pedro eventually, Pelphrey, Bannister, Humber, and the possibility of a free agent. Not bad. As far as a "lock-down" closer goes, I think Wagner had the best season of the four teams in the LCS. Nathan and Rivera were never in a position to help their teams. And Hoffman is a Hall Of Fame pitcher (maybe), but certainly not a Championship pitcher. As far as it being 1988, all I can say is the Mets came in second in the NL East in 1989 and 1990, and, these days, there's another playoff spot available.
I walked out of the stadium, maybe right next to you, with my two friends, probably didn't say a word the whole way home. I kindly resisted punching out the guy outside Shea who tried to sell me a Cardinals hat. I didn't watch or read anything about the game. I did peek a bit at the Series, but for me the season ended that night.
It was devasting, and after that I don't think i've ever looked forward to a baseball season as much as I have this one. I was itching for Spring Training by the New Year, I was excited once pitchers and catchers reported.
Once the first games rolled around, having been recently unemployed, I started a blog and started watching all I could of the Mets.
And I get one strong vibe from the Mets then and this year. It hurt them too. You can see it in games when they come out strong and clobber the Cardinals to start the sesaon, when they fight out that tying run against Colorado and win it later, or when they score 6 runs in the 9th against Arizona.
I've never bet on sports before, but I did this year. Mets in the East, Mets with a championship, Mets over 89.5. No-brainer in my mind. All of them.
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