The Interviews of a Lifetime

(Sorry for the late post, busy day.)

Interesting story in today's New York Times. Reporter Corey Kilgannon tells the tale of one Ryan Leli, part 18-year-old life-long Mets fan, part Frank Abagnale Jr.

It seems young Ryan had made a habit out of forging media passes so as to gain entry to parties and proximity to celebrities, meeting Sean "Diddy" Combs and Tom "Jesus" Cruise and posting the pictures on his MySpace page (OMG!).

Last August a different opportunity arose. Mike Piazza returned to Shea as a member of the San Diego Padres, so Leli forged himself a fake press pass and made his way into the visiting clubhouse where he proceeded to ask an annoying line of questions, the likes of which Kilgannon does not divulge.

It all got me to thinking; in the 24 years I've been a fan of this team, there really have been some great personalities. Divided into the 7 eras of Mets baseball over the past 24 years as I remember them, here are some of the players I would make a bogus press pass just to interview, and some questions I would ask. These aren't the only ones I'd want to speak with, mind you, just the first who come to mind:

1982-1986 - Building a Winner: Keith Hernandez

It was either Keith Hernandez or Raf Santana for me. I love Keith as a Mets broadcaster, as a Just for Men pitchman, and as a Seinfeld guest star. The truth is though, I don't know the man as a player, or as the emotional leader of a championship club.

Keith was with the Mets through 95 games of a dreadful 1983 season that saw our boys win 68 games. The next year it 90. Might have had something to do with Doc, sure, but Mex was a catalyst as well, batting .311 with a .409 OBP and 94 RBI.

If I could ask him one question: Did you ever, at any point in your career, consider the possibility that you wouldn't make the Hall of Fame?

1987-1990: Dynasty? What Dynasty?: Dwight Gooden

Dr. K. I can only imagine the excitement in this town when Gooden first came up, when he was winning Cy Young Awards, striking 260-plus batters out per year, winning ERA titles. I can't imagine how exciting that would have been.

In the years after the championship and before the team completely fell apart, Doc still had good years, but he wasn't what people had expected him to be. The sheer dominance was gone, as drugs began to wreak havoc on the good doctor.

1990 was his last hurrah as a Met. Seven years of at times stellar, always good production out of a guy should be enough. With Doc it never would be.

If I could ask him one question: What would you give to go back in time and refuse that first hit?

1991-1996: Holy shit this team is bad: Carl Everett

There's an old SportsChannel ad that used to run back in the day. The set-up was the Mets had just arrived at their hotel, and Everett was mobbed by fans asking for autographs. One fan hands him a ball, the next a glove, the next a card. Then someone hands him a kitchen sink, and as casually as the ball, glove or card, Everett lends his signature. It was bizarre but perfect; I don't know that I've seen a more humorous Mets ad since.

God knows Jurassic Carl wasn't my favorite Met from this era, nor was he the most notorious. But I have no doubt that he'd be a hell of an interview, whether discussing the Pentecost or the Pleistocene.

If I could ask him one question: Explain it to me one more time, what makes you think the dinosaurs never existed?

1997-1998: Resurgence: Rey-Rey

Remember when Rey Ordonez first came up? There was once a Continental Airlines featuring Bobby Valentine and Joe Torre. They were on a plane, unexpectedly sitting right next to one another. A series of statements flashed on the screen, a series of things the skippers didn't agree on before stating that they agreed on Continental Airlines.

In any event, one of those things was "They don't agree on who's got the best shortstop in town." Think about that. Any Met fan who was at Opening Day 1996, when Rey Ordonez threw out some Cardinal or other from his knees, loves Rey-Rey to this day. But honestly, there was never any debate here. Ordonez was a one-dimensional, basically shitty player with an entitlement complex. He was a Met.

If I could ask him one question: Rey, in 1999 you dyed your hair orange and proceeded to raise your average to .300. You hit .246 for your career. Did it ever occur to you to keep your hair orange, if only for the sake of superstition?

1999-2001: Legit again: Robin Ventura

This is a tough one as I find Bobby Valentine one of the most fascinating figures in recent Met history. Robin though, what a personality. There's the time at Yankee Stadium when he put on a fake mustache and did his Mike Piazza impression. There's the O.O.T.G.C.O.A.T., when Robin made two outs in one inning and said he did it so that the fans could see some fireworks. There's "L.A. Woman."

I think there's a generation of Mets fans out there who would love to sit down with Robin have a cold beer, talk some Mets, talk some Nolan Ryan.

If I could ask one question: Robin, did you ever see anything out of Piazza in the clubhouse that made you wonder if, you know... ahh forget it.

2002-2004: Holy shit this team is bad, redux: Cliff Floyd

This one needs no explanation. From all accounts he was the most entertaining interview in the Mets clubhouse the last 4 years, or if nothing else, the most honest. Cliffy spoke his mind, more than once irking management, but never more so than when he delivered his famous "There is no light at the end of the tunnel" declaration.

I'm glad to hear that a deal with his hometown Cubbies is most likely in the offing. The Cubs have spent a ton this offseason, and figure to be an interesting team in 2007. A solid clubhouse presence like Cliff always helps. He'll be missed.

If I could ask one question: Do you still have visions of hitting a game-winning 3-run homer against Adam Wainwright in Game 7 of the 2006 NLCS? 'Cause I still do.

2005-2006: Next Year Is Now: Pedro Martinez

I was tempted to say Jose Reyes, but look, Mr. Glass and me are friends -- I don't need no phony press pass to talk to him.

But then there's Petey. Cute, loveable Petey, the man with the abnormally long fingers for mowing batters down and the implausibly green thumb for wrecking shit on the flora tip.

Only the arrival of Mike Piazza before him had remotely the kind of impact that Pedro's signing with the Mets did. Both moves transformed the franchise. The Mets were down and out at the end of 2004, but then Omar got Petey to sign, then Carlos Beltran, then Doug Mientki... well, you get the idea.

Overnight, the Mets were sexy again, dead sexy. And it all started with a jheri-curled trickster whose halcyon days were spent curled under a mango tree far, far away.

If I could ask one question: When you leave an organization and a town that loves you, what is that like?

* * * * *

And that's it for me. If you could speak to a Met from these or other eras, who would it be?

- A.F.O.M.G.

(Images courtesy of mlb.com, sportsresourcezone.net, and thefinkfile.blogspot.com)