"Can You Feel It?"

(PUBLISHED IN "THE NEW YORK DAILY NEWS" - April, 2, 2006)

My feet were moving but the rest of me wasn’t.

The route was set. Down the aisle, over the railing, onto the field. A straight, short, easy run. And I would have made it, too, if it hadn’t been for my dad’s hold on my shirt collar. He wasn’t about to lose his 12-year old first born son to the frenzied ball field celebration. I settled for watching the smoky scene from Section 47, which only an hour before provided the perfect view of Donn Clendenon’s home run as it hugged the left field line. I cried when that happened. Shea Stadium, October 16, 1969. I’ll never forget it.

Born from a Dodger gene pool – the Brooklyn kind – I’ve certainly gone to my share of Mets’ games over the years. Even after a family move to Western Mass., my folks were careful to keep our NYC baseball heritage intact by organizing frequent road trips to Shea to see the fledgling and often comical Dodger successors. Section 47 belonged to my Aunt Fritzie, the fan of all Mets’ fans and one of their very first season ticket holders. I was there for the clinchers against the Braves and Orioles in 1969. In 1973, I saw the Mets beat the Reds. What I didn’t see was the Bud Harrelson / Pete Rose fight - a Coke and hot dog were more important to me at the time. I saw my first night game on a punishing hot and humid evening. Bob Gibson dueled Tom Seaver into the 9th, Gibson’s drenched uniform coating his menacing body as it flew off the mound repeatedly. Gibson hit a home run that night, but Seaver got the 2-1 win. It was perfect.

Many games, many memories. And yet there’s one glaring hole in my Mets’ resume.
No opening Day.
That’s about to change.

Come on Mets’ fans. You can say it. Nothing to be afraid of, not this time. Of course, I know what you’re thinking. “Armed & Ready” and look where that got us. But, this year, no front-office spin is needed to tell and sell us the obvious. These Mets are special; the best we’ve seen in a long time. This team has a heart – a genuine nucleus. It’s soul, no longer rooted in panic-driven acquisitions a la Vaughn, Alomar, Baerga, Samuel, or Bonilla, this squad is about home-grown talent, raw baseball energy and savvy leadership. Superstars alone rarely, if ever, provide the chemistry needed to win. We’ve certainly learned that lesson the hard way.
Fewer slogans. More action. That’s the way we like it.

One night early last year my brother called me after the Mets pulled out a close one.
“1985,” he said. “Can you feel it?”
I knew exactly what he meant. Gooden, Strawberry, Dykstra, Mitchell, Darling, Fernandez, bolstered with the reassuring skills of Keith Hernandez and Gary Carter – and look what happened. Piece by piece, things slid quietly into place; a slow, methodical and powerful transformation. And isn’t that just like baseball? The slow build. Down by three runs in the bottom of the ninth. A leadoff walk. A botched ground ball. A 2 and 0 count followed by a bloop single. And then … slowly … a few claps, the crowd volume slips up a notch. A move to the seat edge with crossed fingers and legs. Neck hairs perk up as the heart pumps faster. Something’s brewing. And you know it … five steps before it happens.

So when did this “new Mets” rally begin? Was it the first time we watched a grinning Jose Reyes rip around the bases – arms flailing, head wagging, his helmet bouncing in a kicked-up dust trail? Or perhaps it was last April on a 38-degree night when Aaron Heilman pitched a complete game one-hitter against the Marlins (I was there). A six-foot dribbler was the only thing standing between Heilman and Mets’ history that night. David Wright’s quiet consistent power? His diving barehanded grab? Victor Diaz? Lastings Milledge? Mix in a little Pedro, Glavine, Beltran, Delgado and Wagner and what do you have?

The crowd is stirring.
The neck hairs make their move.
Can you feel it?

April 3. Here I come.