The day the Amazin’ Mets came to town
The first Major League Baseball game I attended was on July 24, 1969. To this day, my father summons the name of Tug McGraw as the paragon of Mets’ relief pitchers. I reminded my dad a few years ago that on that summer night at Shea Stadium, Tug gave up a gamewinning homer to the Reds’ Tony Perez in the 12th.
I had to look it up, as I was napping at the time.
Nevertheless, it was the perfect prelude for that miracle October to come, which instantly flipped the Mets’ reputation as one of the worst professional baseball teams to ever walk on a diamond.
It remains the definitive baseball underdog story, with a script that could have been written by a 6yearold. I read andreread Maury Allen’s “The Incredible Mets” (OK, I mostly looked at the pictures), which was published weeks later and remains an unmatched document of the season.
For me, the moment was encapsulated by the image of third baseman Ed Charles capping off his career as he jumped for joy while pitcher Jerry Koosman leapt into the arms of catcher Jerry Grote. While talking to Charles at CitiField’s opening in 2009, I asked if I could take a photo of his World Series ring in his open palms. He silently removed it and placed it on my finger.
I’ve also enjoyed collecting memories from fans who were there that day. As he laid out newspaper pages in our old composing room, Tom (“Sarge”) Maloney would lament about fans ripping the field apart while he remained in his seat, fearing the fate of his car, which had become visible with the collapse of the outfield wall.
But as the calendar marked the 50th anniversary of the Mets capturing the crown Thursday, my memories pivoted instead to their reunion 25 years ago on a more humble stage, Havemeyer Field. Instead of looking out on the
Flushing horizon from home plate, batters aimed at Greenwich Town Hall during a charity softball game to benefit The Mead School.
Since the Mets’ exploits were so welldocumented, I turned my preview game story into a scouting report on the opponent, the socalled “Amusing Meads.” The game took place Sept. 24, 1994, which happened to be the 25th anniversary of the Mets clinching the National League East crown.
“I didn’t even realize that,” Art Shamsky responded when I shared that piece of trivia a few days before the game. “Hopefully, we’ll play off that.”
That was as much of a game plan as the Mets had. In addition to Shamsky, Grote and Charles, their lineup consisted of Ron Swoboda, Bud Harrelson, Tommie Agee, Cleon Jones, Donn Clendenon, Wayne Garrett and Ed Kranepool.
Those with home scorecards might notice a gap in the lineup — no pitchers. This reunion didn’t draw McGraw, or Koosman, or even Ron Taylor. Nolan Ryan, remarkably, had just ended his major league career the previous September. Greenwich’s most famous New York Met, Tom Seaver, didn’t make it that day.
I asked Shamsky about his strategy to fill the empty mound.
“We’ll just toss a coin or something.”
The Amusing Meads, meanwhile, had a lineup that included Guy Bailey, Jim Russek, Norman Baron, Rick Woodman, Dave Gunnip, Jeremy Grob and Barbara Allen, who smashed the gender barrier as an 8yearold in 1962 in Buffalo, N.Y., by tucking her hair under her cap and earning a spot on her Little League roster. Given that this was 1994, when the Mets finished at 5358, they were also mostly Yankees fans.
There weren’t many baseball fans anywhere that September. If those season numbers for the Mets don’t add up, it’s because the players’ strike had canceled fall baseball. This was truly the only game in town.
The Meads did have secret weapons. While the physical education teacher confessed to not playing much ball, Bailey had turned down a contract with the St. Louis Cardinals in 1968.
The Meads also drafted Greenwich resident George Foster, whose 358 career dingers with the Giants, Reds, Mets and White Sox outgunned everyone on the opposing bench.
They even had a pitcher, former Boston Red Sox Bill “Spaceman” Lee, whose Leephus pitch resembled the arc of a softball toss. Lee was also unpredictable, hence the nickname for behavior such as threatening to bite off the ump’s ear during the 1975 World Series.
Once the game was played, though, the highlight for me was the presence of another Mets legend. Announcer Bob Murphy, who lived in Greenwich for a spell, called the playbyplay with the same reliable cadence, good humor and reverence as though it was Game 7 of the World Series.
Murphy got his famed “happy recap.” The Mets squeezed out a 43 win and I got to see my favorite Met, Agee, back in pinstripes.
The 1969 Mets proved, definitively, that upsets are not limited to the plots of too many bad baseball flicks. That’s why I became a Yankees fan in 1970. After all, the Bombers finished 1969 at 28 ½ games out of first place. It’s more fun to root for underdogs.