Loving the Mets used to be an act of futility.
Like in the 1980s when there were only big answering machines but no cell phones and no voice mail and so you literally had to wait by the phone for that guy you had the perfect date with to call you
(omg it was so great and that kiss good night and he said "I'll call you", that's what he said and by the third day you start to wonder if you were crazy you could have sworn things were going well)
That's what it was like being a Met's fan.
Watching a World Series game against the Yankees in 2000 was like watching a million dollar Ming Dynasty vase fall in slow motion with no hope of leaping across 20 feet to catch it.
Call it building a team by Moneyball theories, or figuring out a way to survive Bernie Maddoff's ripping you off so that the Mets could stay in New York, call it a good general manager, or maybe it was just bringing up talented kids from minor league…
Or maybe all of the above…
Whatever it was, in recent times the days of no rhythm or reason, of nothing being predictable...
(the last game right before the 1994 strike everyone left Shea Stadium in the 8th inning because it was 1-0 Phillies and who the hell wanted to get stuck in traffic and we all sat there shaking our heads like you don't know what's going to happen and in the 15th inning the Mets lost 2-1)
…. have recently been replaced by steady slow almost consistent games. It's fun to watch them win, or at least lose less.
But, that feeling of never knowing what was going to come out of left field, literally or metaphorically, although never a joy, was familiar and even things that suck but are familiar are missed when not there.
At the new predictable, steady, consistent Citi-Field, lots of loyal fans of their beloved team paid good money to pour their love into chiseled stone. Let's Go Mets! and We Love You! pepper the plaza.
But the Nicolau Family remember a different time.
Now that's a cry of love.
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