Thanks for the Memories, Keith

There are two dates that will always live in the hearts and minds of Mets fans everywhere: June 15, 1977 and June 15, 1983. The former was the date that Tom Seaver was traded away to the Cincinnati Reds for a collection of players that were little better than triple A prospects. The latter marked the arrival of Keith Hernandez from the St. Louis Cardinals.

The years in between represented the darkest period in Mets history. Not even the first seven years of the franchise's storied existence (1962-68), in which they were known as lovable losers, comes close. At least those teams had an excuse. There was no excuse for what this fanbase had to endure from 1977 thru 1983.

It is difficult to explain to anyone who wasn't alive at the time just how depressing it was being a Mets fan during that period. They weren't just bad, they were the laughingstock of professional baseball. And what made it even more humiliating was the fact that the hated Yankees were winning World Series titles just across Flushing Bay.

After principal owner Joan Payson died in 1975, her daughter Linda de Roulette took over the day to day operations of the team and drove it right into the ground. Three times they flirted with losing a hundred games (1977, '79 & '82) and three times the baseball gods took pity on them. When the team was finally sold at the end of the '79 season, it took the new ownership group three years just to replenish the pipeline with talent, that's how bare the cupboard was.

When Whitey Herzog traded his gold-glove first baseman to the Mets in June of '83, the prevailing logic was that he was exiling him to the baseball equivalent of Siberia. Seriously, this was where ballplayers came to end their careers, not rejuvenate them. That's surely what Hernandez must've thought when he arrived at Shea Stadium.

But a funny thing happened on the way to Siberia. Far from being a graveyard, the Mets were developing some of the best, young talent in the majors. Players like Ron Darling and Darryl Strawberry were already starting to make their mark. And down in Tidewater, a young pitcher by the name of Dwight Gooden was turning heads. Hernandez liked what he saw and signed a five-year contract with the team.

The years 1984 thru 1988 were the most successful in Mets history. Two division titles and a World Series championship. The team averaged 97 wins and set franchise attendance records. For the first time since that miracle year of 1969, the Mets owned the back pages of the New York Post and the Daily News.

It was fun being a Mets fan back then. They were no longer the punch line of every late-night comic. Almost overnight, they went from being a perennial door mat to a contender. They, and not the Yankees, were the toast of the town. But none of that would've been possible if Hernandez had opted to leave after the '83 season, which was his right. His decision to stay gave this franchise something it hadn't had since Seaver was sent packing: respectability.

Hernandez just wasn't a good ball player; he was the consummate professional. He was by far the best first baseman I ever saw play the position. The way he played the game didn't just earn him gold gloves, it earned him the respect of his peers. His teammates saw in him a player who left it all on the field and they wanted to emulate him.

He had grown accustomed to winning in St. Louis and he expected this team to do the same. They came close in '84 and '85, finishing second both times to the Cubs and Cardinals respectively, before finally winning it all in '86. Had it not been for a freak gardening injury that sidelined Bobby Ojeda for the entire '87 season, they most likely would've repeated as World Series champs. And if baseball had had a wild card back then, it's entirely possible they would've made the postseason all five years, that's how good they were.

But I keep coming back to Hernandez. Yes, he had some help. The trades for Ray Knight and Gary Carter gave the Mets one of the most potent lineups in the National League. But apart from Tom Terrific, no other player who's ever worn the orange and blue has meant as much to this franchise as number 17 has. He walked the walk as well as he talked the talk.

That's why it was emotionally gratifying to see Hernandez being honored at Citifield Saturday afternoon by the organization he has been a part of for almost 40 years. It was shameful that Fred and Jeff Wilpon never retired his number. But then what else would you expect from Frick and Frack? If there was a way to screw up a sunset, you could always count on those two knuckleheads to do it. Whatever else you might think about Steve Cohen, he hasn't been shy about what his intentions are regarding this team. Retiring Keith Hernandez's number was the least he could do.

As a Mets fan, I can't thank Hernandez enough for all the double plays he started, the clutch hits he got, the example he set.

To quote the late, great Bob Hope, thanks for the memories, Keith.

Bill Buckner Didn't Cost the Red Sox the '86 World Series

"Little roller up along first. Behind the bag, get's by Buckner. Here comes Knight and the Mets win it!" - Vince Scully

As a Mets' fan, I have watched the above play from the bottom of the 10th inning in game six of the 1986 World Series hundreds of times. With the exception of the Giants' upset of the Patriots in Super Bowl 42 and the Rangers winning the Stanley Cup in 1994, it remains my favorite sports moment.

Up in Beantown, however, it was anything but a fan favorite. Bill Buckner's flub at first base became the latest in a long line of late season collapses that proved beyond a doubt that the Bambino curse was real. Buckner was the perfect scapegoat for frustrated Red Sox fans. It would not be until 2004, when Boston finally won their first World Series in 86 years, that the Fenway faithful would "forgive" him.

But looking back at the play, while it's clear that Buckner did commit the error that allowed Ray Knight to score the winning run, he was NOT responsible for the eventual outcome of the Series. There were two culprits who must share the blame. The first was the Red Sox bullpen, which was simply dreadful, particularly in the last two games.

After taking a 5-3 lead in the top of the 10th inning off Mets reliever Rick Aguilera, Calvin Schiraldi, who was working his third inning of relief, got the first two outs but couldn't close the door. One after another, the Mets kept the inning alive. First, Gary Carter singled, then Kevin Mitchell and Knight followed with singles of their own. With the score 5-4, manager John McNamara brought in Bob Stanley to get the final out, but Stanley wound up throwing a wild pitch allowing Mitchell to score the tying run.

Two pitches later, Mookie Wilson got just enough of the ball to hit a weak grounder down to Buckner. The first baseman, playing back and protecting the line, and no doubt worried about Wilson's speed, took his eye off the ball just long enough to let it slip under his glove. But here's the thing. Even if Buckner had come up with the ball cleanly, there's no way either he or Stanley, who got a late break off the pitcher's mound, would've beaten Wilson to the bag. In other words, the inning would've continued and the Mets would've had runners at the corners with Howard Johnson at the plate. The way Stanley was pitching, does anyone have any doubts at all that Johnson wouldn't have gotten a hit?

Lightning struck again in game seven. After being staked to an early three run lead, starter Bruce Hurst gave it back in the sixth. Enter Calvin Schiraldi, who picked up where he left off in game six by allowing the Mets to score three runs in a third of an inning and take a lead they would never relinquish. They would go onto to win the game 8-5 and the series 4-3.

But as atrocious as the bullpen was, McNamara's managing was even worse. It was his decision to go with four starters instead of three that limited Roger Clemens - the best pitcher in baseball that year - to only two starts in the Series. Oil Can Boyd started game three and, had it not been for a rain out which delayed the start of game seven, he would've started that game as well. Imagine, the most important game of the season and your best pitcher is unavailable.

And speaking of Clemens, why did McNamara pull him in game six after only seven innings? He was cruising along, allowing only two runs - one earned - and recording eight strike outs. Thanks to an error by Knight in the top of the 7th, which allowed Boston to score the go-ahead run, he had a lead to work with and only nine outs to go. You've worked hard all year to get to this point. Why on Earth wouldn't you give your Cy-Young award winner the chance to close out the Series? But no, McNamara pulled him and asked Schiraldi to get the final six outs. Schiraldi promptly gave up the lead in the 8th and imploded in the 10th.

But McNamara saved his best move for last. With his team up by two going into the bottom of the 10th in game six, instead of pulling Buckner for a defensive replacement, McNamara opted to keep him in the game, later explaining that he wanted Buckner to be on the field when the Red Sox finally won. The move, like so many others he made, was inexplicable. Buckner may not have been the worst defensive first baseman in the league, but he was hardly Keith Hernandez. No manager should ever put loyalty to a single player above the welfare of his entire team. As I mentioned above, the Wilson miscue did not cost the Sox the Series, but it definitely cost them that game. And as any sports fan knows all too well, when you blow a chance to close out a series - especially when you're on the road - it can affect the psyche of the whole team.

Bill Buckner had himself a pretty good career. He was a solid hitter and a clutch player. It's a shame that many fans only remember him for the one play he didn't make instead of the many he did. And had his manager and bullpen both done their jobs, he most likely would've been celebrated as a member of the team that broke the Bambino curse, rather than the scapegoat who prolonged it.