March as 'Mostly Mets Reading Month' is the new 'March Madness' starting with fantastic 'Faith and Fear in Flushing'

Veteran education writers know that the real “March Madness” has nothing to do with basketball, but rather the wild and crazy stunts principals will do to challenge their students to read books during March, which has assumed the title of “Reading Month.”

I've escaped the duties of writing about principals banished to the roof or having their heads shaved, though those events were always fun photos.

But that doesn't mean we can turn our focus away from reading during this special time. As usual, we do things a little differently here. The month is rebranded "March is Mostly Mets Reading Month" and we need to celebrate!

Each day of the month, we’ll highlight a wonderful book – in addition to the R40 Countdown, bad postcards and adventures of a traveling gnome.

One caveat: I tend to favor non-fiction. 

Actually, my pleasure reading is fairly limited to non-fiction about the Mets and presidents. I did read, and enjoyed, the Harry Potter books and my daughter made me read all three Hunger Games books before I was allowed to see the first movie.

But the Mets-presidents section of the bookshelf has many good stories, and you can feel free to share some of your favorites. It's also possible we will divert to non-presidential, non-Mets books of some kind on some days. Anything is possible.

Let’s start with an obvious classic:

March 2: “Faith and Fear in Flushing” by Greg W. Prince

Published in 2009

Greg is one half of the writing duo that fills the blog of the same name, and it’s a daily visit for Mets fans who like their baseball with heart and who don’t need an hourly fix of Dillon Gee trade rumors or Matt Harvey elbow updates, not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Greg’s a fellow Long Island native who tells his personal story of following a team we all know and love through its numerous ups and extended downs. Greg explains how our lives are not centered around the baseball team, but that the Mets are right there with us like a beloved relative who is prone to breaking our heart, making the good times shine so much more brightly.

A person who doesn't know a thing about baseball could still enjoy this story and a fan of the sport – and especially this team – will appreciate the bond that we all share with the Mets, and with our fellow Mets fans.

Plus, Greg might be the nicest guy ever.

Happy birthday, Tom Seaver!

"The Franchise" turns 66 today. How are you celebrating?

Greg Prince of the always fabulous Faith and Fear in Flushing counts some of the reasons why this should be a national holiday.

Maple Street Press' 2010 Mets Annual not something to fear

It is, quite possibly, the most frightening thing I’ve seen – at least since we pulled out that Rusty Staub Hostess card a couple months ago.

Right there on pages 42 and 43 of the Maple Street Press’ 2010 Mets Annual is a chart showing the 2009 season day-by-day, depicting in blood red the days each player spent on the disabled list.

There’s more blood red on those pages than in your typical Jason movie, and by July the Mets season was just as predictable.

Movie: Camp counselors go off for nookie, Jason arrives, carnage.

Season: Mets player steps on field, carnage.

Luckily the 2010 Mets Annual is a lot more than a recap, because here’s where the Mets and Jason part ways – and I don’t mean the new acquisition, Jason Bay. There were about a dozen Jason flics, and I never want to see a sequel to the Mets 2009 disaster.

Full disclosure here. I’m partial to Jason Fry’s stunningly awesome look at a dozen Mets bloggers. Mostly – but not entirely -- because I’m one of the dozen writers Jason profiled.

Hmmm, another Jason, but this one wears a Mets cap instead of a hockey mask.

It’s fun to learn more about the Mets blogging family, because as Dana Brand of Mets Fan Blog told Jason, “The Mets seem to attract stubbornly individualistic, somewhat unusual people.”

Guilty.

Jason introduces us to Eric Simon of Amazing Avenue, Dana Brand of Mets Fan Book , Steve Keane of the Eddie Kranepool Society, Matthew Cerrone of Metsblog, Caryn Rose of Mets Grrl, Shannon Shark of Mets Police the mysterious person of Mets Walk-offs www.metswalkoffs.blogspot.com, Mike Steffanos of Mike's Mets, John Coppinger of Metstradamus, Taryn Cooper of My Summer Family, and, of course, his effort with writing partner Greg Prince, Faith and Fear in Flushing, Faith and Fear in Flushing.

Speaking of Greg, he offers a look at the near-glorious 2000 team that went all the way to the World Series. Hard to believe it’s been a decade since we started waking up in a cold sweat yelling, “Run, Timo, you knucklehead,” and “Watch out, Mikey! Clemens is homicidal!”

Jason Vorhees, not Jason Bay. Or is it Roger Clemens?

Greg’s book “Faith and Fear in Flushing” was published last season, and fellow authors Matthew Silverman and Jon Springer also are represented in the Annual.

The Annual isn’t quite a book, and it’s sturdier than a magazine. Plus, it’s packed with resource material like stats and schedules, something I will refer to throughout the season.

I like how there are also extensive sections on the minor leagues, so if Jason reappears and assorted Mets end up on the disabled list, we can be familiar with the guys who might come up from the farm to take their places.

Counting our many blessings -- and the turkeys, too

I just finished preparing the mashed sweet potatoes and the steps that will lead to my turkey’s stuffing, events that can only signify that my favorite holiday is approaching.

I love Thanksgiving because I have so much to be thankful for, and I appreciate them all. I’m blessed, and I realize it.

So let’s launch into the annual list of all that is good – and the accounting of the turkeys who try to spoil all the fun.

I’m thankful that I have a job that I love. One and a half, actually. I don’t take this lightly, because Michigan is hurting bad. It’s been a rough year in my state and in my profession. We’re hanging on, and don’t think there isn’t a day when I don’t thank the Lord for this blessing. And I’m glad that I can continue my adjunct teaching job in the spring semester. Working with such wonderful students tells me there are still talented young people who are dedicated to journalism and have hope for the future.

Turkey! Hallmark. People mocked in the past when I bemoaned the Hallmark Christmas Ornament Curse. But I was distraught when I learned that Johan Santana was this year’s decoration. Of course, he had season-ending surgery just after the ornament was released. And he took most of the team with him, leaving us with an especially dreary season.

I’m thankful that I was able to see our beloved Mets three times this season, twice in the spring and on Aug. 5 in our Citi Field debut. And amazingly – considering my past -- the Mets won all three. The 9-0 destruction of the Cardinals in August was viewed from spectacular seats provided by my parents – awesome – and was marred only by Jon Neise being carried off the field to join the DL party. But my son was able to see his first Mets game in New York, and I got all weepy seeing my glorious FanWalk brick, provided by Cousin Tim, who was there to join the celebration. And we all caught up with blogging buddy Greg Prince at the game, too. It was a very, very good day.

Turkeys! The ESPN Sunday Night Baseball crew of Jon Miller and Joe Morgan. Look, I like Miller, one of the best voices in the game. But Morgan is killing me, and he’s an anchor around Miller. When Morgan is not reminding us that he “played the game,” he’s praising Derek F. Jeter. Jeter doesn’t even have to be playing at the time. But it’s darn near embarrassing when he is. How many times have you heard this scenario: A weak, routine five-bouncer to short, which Jeter gets only because it’s hit right at him, then promptly throws to first base, bouncing twice along the way. “Look at Jeter get to that ball,” Morgan will exclaim. “He makes that play look easy. Derek just brings that something special every time he steps on the field. He makes everyone around him better. I know how players do that, because I played the game.” Gag.

I’m thankful for my iPhone, which is very close to surpassing my iPod as the greatest device ever. It is life-altering. The apps are incredible for both work and home. I’m especially thankful for the “Lose it” app. All I’m saying is that I installed it on July 7 and now I’m 50 pounds lighter. Really. And there’s the app that tracks how far and fast I can run, with the pause button so I can flick over to the maps app so I can get unlost while running in Texas and find my way back to Aunt Darlene’s house. Yes, this happened.

I’m thankful for lax security in the Astrodome and tour guides who don’t mind giving individual tours of Minute Maid Park. That trip to Texas offered all kinds of adventures.

I’m thankful that the Baseball Hall of Fame is taking the task of adding executives and pioneers more seriously by adding a keen and brilliant mind to the selection committee. That would be Tom Seaver, who is being lured from the vineyards next week to make sure these knuckleheads don’t mess things up again.

Turkeys! Sadly, the Hall still managed to goof things up. The committee to consider managers and umpires includes Tom Verducci, the infamous Yankee hack who actually declared that cyborg/reliever Mariano Rivera should start the 2008 All-Star Game so applause could fall on him like soft rain. I almost gagged on the turkey just typing that again. But seriously, this is a bad idea. Is there any doubt that “The Duce” will start the meeting by protesting that there are non-Yankees on the ballot? Do we not believe that Verducci will, with a straight face, make a case that Billy Martin should have a spot in Cooperstown, then try to slip in Ralph Houk and Joe Girardi and goodness knows how many once and future Yankee managers into the Hall? Then he'll move along to Yankee coaches and bullpen catchers and the grounds crew and Derek F. Jeter's parents for their role in making the world a better place. I, for one, hope that they don’t put Verducci in charge of counting the ballots.

I’m thankful that the Mets are not totally screwing up the new uniforms all the way. We love the team. You know that. But sometimes it makes questionable decisions when it comes to tinkering with the astonishingly great uniforms the Mets were blessed with. This week the team announced it would feature cream-colored pinstripes intended to honor the 1969 champs. I’m down with that, even though the typical Mets pinstripes are the best uniforms in baseball. But for reasons I can not figure out, they are leaving the black drop shadow on there. Help me figure this out. If you are going to recreate a uniform from 1969, why exactly are you keeping the feature from the past decade? We know the Mets. The team makes progress in increments. That’s why we’re getting a Mets Hall of Fame a year after the ballpark opens. As long as we’re headed in the right direction, it’s all good.

I'm thankful that I was allowed to coach the greatest church coed softball team ever. One a communication-forced forfeit prevented us from smashing through the playoffs. We settled for the consolation championship -- excellent -- and lots of wonderful fellowship. And now I can start planning and plotting for next year.

I'm thankful that I was able to hear Audio Adrenaline's Mark Stuart and Will McGinnis one more time. One of my favorite bands, Audio A called it quits a couple years ago when Stuart started losing his voice. Now he and Will tour as Audio Unplugged, and share their stories as they play a few songs, which is easier on Mark's voice. I had the chance to meet them after a recent concert, and share how much their music inspired me, especially when I was looking for ways to connect with the middle school youth groups. They probably hear that kind of thing all the time, but maybe not. I didn't want the opportunity to say "thank you" slip by.

I hope this holiday finds you happy and healthy and in appreciation of the blessings the Lord has given us. Even in the toughest of years on and off the field, may we never forget what is special about our lives, and the people we get to share them with.

Counting our way through Citi Field, part 2

Been a crazy couple days recovering from the glorious New York roadtrip and catching up at work.

But it’s time to get back to the Citi Field punch list!

11) Locate the knish stand. My favorite author confirms there are two locations, and since we’re there on a Wednesday, they’ll be open. Explain what a knish is to my son. Yum!

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! In fact, there were several stands, and Cousin Tim made sure we were able to knish nosh. They were excellent! Tim, however, opted for a pretzel. He dropped it at the concession stand, and was bummed. But the Mets employee said, "No problem!" and gave him a new one. We’re convinced the real Mets employees have been replaced by pod people.

12) Visit with my favorite author and ask him to sign a copy of "Faith and Fear in Flushing."

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! And I credit Greg for being persistent and looking for us when the iPhone suddenly couldn’t get service. Actually, not all the ballpark employees are as helpful as Tim’s pretzel vendor. Greg tells the story so much better than I could.

My copy of "Faith and Fear" now resides next to Robert Caro's "The Power Broker" on the "prized and signed" section of the book shelf.

13) Cross the black bridge in rightfield that they still haven’t named.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! The bridge was much more impressive in person than in the photos, a very nice feature. Greg thinks it should be named after Willie Mays. I don’t disagree, but I want something named after Tom Seaver first.

14) Locate the controversial Dwight Gooden signature, sprawled on the wall of the Ebbets Club, removed, framed and now allegedly on display for all to enjoy.

DENIED! Our first failure. I looked all over the place, and even checked with numerous employees. Some very helpful folks even gave me an phone number to call — which is how we discovered the phone issues. Another employee did some checking, and said it was out for a while, but is now under wraps until the Mets Hall of Fame or something along those lines is created. Not holding our breath, of course.

15) Pose with Mr. Met. My friend Dave Pelland says the World’s Best Mascot makes time to greet fans in the area near the Wiffle ball field, which we also shall attempt to crash.

MISSION PARTIALLY ACCOMPLISHED: We didn’t actually pose with Mr. Met, but we did see him close-up from our seats in the sixth row. We ventured out to the Wiffle ball field, which is very cool. It was camp day, so there were a million kids. We had no chance at getting into the batter’s box to take some swings, but we were able to watch a little.

16) Locate, but not pose with, the infamous Cow Bell Man. Just need to see this guy after hearing about him all these years.

DENIED! I’m not distressed about this. It would have been interesting, but there were other, more important things to do, see, and eat.

17) Purchase something with the awful rectangle Inaugural Season logo, know that it is historic. No team can possibly create a worse logo.

DENIED! This stunned me. The only thing I saw with the horrid patch was the patches themselves at the team shop. Rather than pay $15 there, I bought one for half that on eBay.

But there were many things with the far superior logo that has the rotunda, and I snagged some outstanding caps for our celebrants.

This shows me that the Mets are aware of just how brutal that patch is — national ridicule will do that — but were already locked in to having them on the jerseys.

18) Walk past the Aylssa Milano "Touch" boutique. Openly wonder why it exists. Lament that the ballpark has a Aylssa Milano "Touch" boutique but not a Mets Hall of Fame.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! I did indeed stumble upon the Touch boutique while heading up to find Greg. I did lament. But it sort of out of the way, and not as bad as feared.

19) Find out if we can get down into that field level area in right field under the overhang. Discover what the game looks like from Jeff Francoeur’s perspective.
You can see he rightfield corner under the Model's sign. But it's more fun to see the Home Ron Apple rising after David Wright's blast!

DENIED! We didn’t get there. I don’t know if the area is off-limits. It was a matter of priorities at this point. Maybe putting 20 items on the list was a little too ambitious. Last year we had the benefit of a long rain delay that have me an extra hour or so to wander around Shea. This time there was so much to see and enjoy that we really didn’t to get to explore as thoroughly as I thought. Hmmm. Might have to go back again!

20) Sit back and enjoy seeing the Mets with some of my favorite people in the whole world. Last year was about reliving memories and saying good-bye. This time is about making memories and saying hello!

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! In the most spectacular fashion, I must say. Taking my son to his first Mets game in New York — he attended the first inter-league game at Tiger Stadium as a 5-year-old back in 1997 — was very special, especially being able to do it with Dad and Tim, and Greg, who counts as family.

Next we’ll get to some of the non-punch list observations from our wonderful visit.

Good books and impressionable kids, a Mets fan's choices for March is Reading Month madness

These first-graders could have been Mets fans by time I finished reading -- if I came with the proper book.

I was a celebrity reader at a Grand Rapids elementary school today, which might prompt some to say that they need to raise the bar on who qualifies as a celebrity.

But that’s OK, because I had a wonderful time with the first-graders.

Of course, you can’t just show up and start reading. You have to approach this in the proper fame of mind.

These are young, impressionable students.

They might not have been exposed to Yankee hype.

This was an opportunity to offer them a glimpse of the promised land that is Mets fandom.

Luckily I had two new weapons at my disposal.

First is the "2009 Maple Street Press Mets Annual." It’s not quite a book, but it’s bigger than your basic magazine, with a thicker cover and no ads. That makes it hard to describe, other than to say it's really good to have.

It’s got a little bit of everything to prepare you for the season, from individual player profiles to features on prospects.

I liked the story about the Mets’ new Triple-A team in Buffalo, and there are even schedules for the minor-league teams.

There’s a nice interview with Keith Hernandez, and some trivia concerning Shea Stadium’s firsts and lasts — included designated hitters. Think about how that could happen. The first was in 1974 and the last in 1998 — among the many indignities inflicted on Shea when the Yankees borrowed it.

But the best part is blogger Greg Prince’s contribution, which uses a series of key words to walk us through the wondrous 1969 season — 40 years ago this year, if you can believe that.

I was thinking that would be perfect for the first-graders, enthralling them with tales of Tom Seaver and Gil Hodges, Tommie Agee and Jerry Koosman.

My wife noticed my copy of "Mets Annual" on the dining room table as I prepared to leave the house.

"You’re not going to read that to the kids, are you?"

Usually when she says something like that, the "are you?" on the end is included only to be a polite. It’s a command, dressed up nicely as a question.

OK.

Well, I did get another amazing book in mail this week. Speaking of Mr. Prince, it’s his "Faith and Fear in Flushing."

Like the blog he shares with Jason Fry, "FAFIF" isn’t just a collection of stories about the team, or even an autobiography.

Instead it’s a tale of how the team provides a common touchstone for our lives to intersect. Our lives don’t revolve around the Mets, but, like family member, they’re an important part it.

Sometimes we are angry at or hurt by relatives, and they can also provide great comfort and joy. As Mets fans, we know both hurt and joy. Yankees fans just know shame. At least they should.

Alas, Greg’s book is 320 pages of glorious history and memories, and I had only about a half hour with the kids.

My options were to read really, really quickly or just hit the highlights. Option one seemed impractical, and there are probably too many highlights to pick from. Once I started, the kids, now completely absorbed in the glory, would be begging me to keep going, and the teacher would no doubt be cursing "March is Reading Month" and I’d never get invited back.

My caring wife sensed where all this was headed and become involved in the selection process.

We narrowed it down to "Skippyjon Jones in the Dog House" and "Teammates," by Peter Golenbock, which is about the day Pee Wee Reese put his arm around Jackie Robinson at Crosley Field.

Robinson is a personal hero, must be a Met in some way since Citi Field has a whole rotunda dedicated to him.

I was greeted at the school door by a new friend, who held a beautiful sign reading "Bienvenido, Mr. Murray" — it’s a bilingual school — and handed me off to another student, who took me to the library where some pre-selected books were on a table.

The librarian said that while she was sure "Teammates" was a fine book, she suggested the first-graders might better like something called "Hippo-not-amus" by Tony and Jan Payne.

The kids indeed laughed at "Portly," the young hippo who looked like Mo Vaughn without the limp and was tired of eating grass and laying around in the water and decided to see what it was like to be other animals.

As you can guess, hilarity ensued and Portly learned he is fine just the way he is. A nice message, to be sure.

We also talked about what reporters do, and how students can become better writers. The class was engaged and well-behaved, which is what I expected.

And I did sneak in a little baseball.

Baseball Place No. 16: Mickey Mantle's Restaurant

We all have skeletons in our closets — deep, dark and twisted actions that we would love to disavow or forget.

But sometimes the stain of shame is too great. The memory will rise up out of nowhere and poke like dull wooden skewer.

It is said that confession is good. Now, gentle reader, I shall open the closet door and just pray that you do not think differently of me.

Here goes.

I once went to Mickey Mantle’s restaurant.

It gets worse.

I bought a T-shirt.

Darn you, Josh Pahigian, for naming Mickey Mantle’s as place No. 16 in the "101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out."

I was 25, young and foolish — but not as foolish as Michael Phelps and ARod.

I don’t recall the occasion, and I have only a slight memory of walking into the place, located between 5th and 6th Avenues on Central Park South.

And I have no idea what possessed me to purchase a T-shirt.

I’m not saying this isn’t horrible, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. The name "Yankees" did not appear anywhere. I can proudly say that a Yankee hat has never sat atop my head.

It was a dark blue shirt with Mantle’s signature in white, and the frieze from their stadium.

Maybe I was recalling that magical day in 1985 when Tom Seaver claimed that stadium for his 300th win. I just don’t know.

Josh talks about memorabilia lining the walls, but I recall none of it. The place had only been open a year, and I’m not sure any of that was up. I remember it being kind of dark. I bought the shirt and skedaddled.

Now don’t go calling me a Jeter-hugger. I renounced the shirt and all it represents. It’s long-gone.

And as a penance I wear a much better shirt to places near and far.

I speak, of course, of the classic "Faith and Fear and Flushing" T-shirt, stylish with its Mets’ retired numbers boldly placed across the chest.

And not too many blocks north of Mantle’s place, I spent a much nicer time in 2006 with Faith co-writer Greg Prince at a place on Amsterdam Ave. called The Dead Poet.

I was attending an education writer’s conference, and a rare Saturday day game foiled my plans to get to Shea. Greg went, and joined me later for dinner and fellowship.

A table on the street on a beautiful, busy September evening talking baseball with a friend absolutely trumps sneaking into an old Yankee’s greasy spoon!

"101 Baseball Places" a good way to work through these tough times

This week I purchased what is probably the third-coolest book ever.

The first, of course, is “Mets by the Numbers” by Jon Springer and Matt Silverman.

Second place goes to “Faith and Fear in Flushing” by Greg Prince, though I suspect he will vault into a tie for first place when the book is published this spring and I get a chance to actually read it.

But third is “101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out” by Josh Pahigian, which came out last year. I discovered it at the Gerald Ford Museum, which just wrapped up an awesome baseball exhibit.

Pahigian has written several books about baseball road trips, and this tome seems to be a list of the top 101 places he discovered along his various treks.

They’re not just stadiums, and not just museums, though there are plenty of each. But he also has an eye for the quirky, off-the-beaten path kinds of places that only a true obsessive must see and experience.

In other words, he’s one of us. Actually, he’s a Red Sox fan, so he’s not quite one of us. But he probably hates the Yankees, so he’s fairly close.

Flipping through the book, I realized that I’ve been to bunch of these places. I haven’t added them up, but I bet I’m closing in on half of his list, usually with a pretty good adventure along the way.

So why haven’t I given some examples?

Because I want to use this space to work through the book place by place, sharing some of those adventures and photos along the way.

And there are some glaring omissions. Dude is a Sox fan, after all. And sometimes he appears not the hate the Yankees as much as he should, though that might be pandering to appease the Yankee fans who can read. But I can fill the gaps with those places.

Why take this path?

Because it’s a long way to Opening Day, the Mets roster is pretty much set and I’m really tired about hearing about Yankee books, Scott Boras shenanigans, Citi Field naming disputes, Shea’s destruction, Olympic bongers, Barry’s legal woes and the never-ending snow in these parts.

In short, we need to celebrate all that is good in life.

We’ll start tomorrow with Baseball Place No. 1. Here’s a hint. Tom Seaver gets in for free, Bat-chucker will have to buy a ticket, if there is any justice in this world.

If Bob Klapisch ran the All-Star Game

Brilliant blogger Greg Prince pointed out that Yankee-loving columnist Bob Klapisch is confused and thinks All-Star Games are held "Primarily if not exclusively for the benefit of the host team."

Klap’s gushing — you can read it here, if you dare -- would be vintage Klapisch if he had only worked in a handful of cheap shots directed at the Mets. You know he had some pent-up outrage over the Willie dismissal to insert, but probably would have needed to trim some of the Yankee adoration and just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Klapisch seems to think that Yankee closer/cyborg Mariano Rivera should be allowed to start the game. I’ll let him say it, because I couldn’t make this stuff up.

"No, the real way to commemorate Yankee Stadium in what could be its final marquee event is to let Rivera start the game: Allow him to bask in the thunderous standing ovation, and let him know what it feels like to have a million flashbulbs go off in his face upon delivery of that first cut fastball.

"But Rivera would only throw one inning; that would be the stipulation. One inning, and he gets to stand on the mound and let the ovation cover him like a soft rain. It would be a reminder of better times in the Bronx, back when the Yankees really did rule the world. And, technically speaking, it wouldn't be an entirely foreign assignment for Rivera. He did begin his career with the Yankees as a starting pitcher."

Wow. And I think Klapisch showed restraint. Given his druthers, I bet Klapisch would make wholesale changes to this year’s All-Star Game.

It’s dangerous to try to get in the head of a Yankee-hack. But it’s safe to imagine that this might be Klapisch’s top 10 changes:

1) Why not simply invite the entire Yankee team, and have them play the American League All-Stars? Who cares about the National League anyway? Everybody knows the AL is better.

2) Derek Jeter should be allowed to keep taking swings until he finally gets a hit. Nobody is paying $10,000 a ticket to see St. Derek hit into a 6-4-3 double play.

Note the intanginbles.

3) Any ball hit within 15 feet of either side of Jeter shall be declared an out. Jeter won’t be able to hear the "ovation cover him like a soft rain" if fans are whispering "Derek has the range of a bloated roadkill raccoon."

4) The rest of the Yankee batters get four strikes before they are called out. Well, six in Jason Giambi’s case, just to be fair.

Joba getting another dose of "Yankee Magic" applied by a True Yankee.

5) The opposing team only gets two strikes. No need to make Joba work harder than necessary for an exhibition game.

6) No opposing batters will be allowed to take an extra base on any ball hit to Johnny Damon. No need to remind the crowd that weak-armed Damon couldn’t reach second base without the ball taking four bounces and rolling 20 feet.

7) All opposing players must wear No. 26 in tribute to the 26 world championships the Yankees have won. Did you know they’ve won 26 world championships? That’s right, 26. This will be mentioned over the loud speakers between each half-inning, which is only slightly more frequently than normal. I repeat, 26 world championships. But don't mention that they’ve lost the last two World Series in which they’ve appeared -- both times to expansion teams.

8) The opposing team is not allowed to field a first baseman, as a tribute to Lou Gehrig. No non-Yankee is worthy to stand on the same dirt as Lou Gehrig.

9) The basepaths are to be rearranged so that opposing players must run through Monument Park and pay homage to every plaque and monument between second and third base. That also gives Bobby Abreu time to pick up the ball, miss the cut off man and have the infielders scramble to recover it in time to tag the runner sometime before he gets to the Elston Howard plaque.

10) If somehow the Yankees are losing, they will be allowed to hit from a tee for the final three innings. If the Yankees were to lose the final marquee game in their stadium’s 33-year history, it would be an abomination!

That’s right, I said 33 years. There’s virtually nothing left form the original stadium after the 1974-75 renovation, a fact all these Yankee-hacks conveniently leave out when they go on and on about the sacred ground.

Meanwhile, I hope Rivera does get to close, and I hope David Wright is elected as the "final man" and Wright does to Rivera what he did in that glorious Subway Series game. Now that would be a fitting tribute to Yankee Stadium.

Pausing to reflect and give thanks -- and take note of the turkeys

I think it’s a shame that Thanksgiving has become something of an afterthought for many people, lost in the crush of shopping and football.

I’ve always liked it. I’m thankful the Lord has blessed me in many, many ways and I don’t say “thank you” enough. I have my health, my family, a career I enjoy, a wonderful church, friends, blogger buddies and, of course, the Mets.

So let’s take a moment one again to reflect on all that was good this year – as well as the turkeys who get in the way.

I’m thankful: That we all got to enjoy a monumentally exciting 2006 baseball season with the Mets finishing in first place for only the fifth time. Wow, was that fun! And I think we’re the favorites to finish on top again in 2007.

Turkeys: Baseball writers who deemed Carlos Beltran only the fourth most-valuable player in the National League. I realize that writers are infatuated with homers for batters and wins for pitchers, and typically just look to the leader board in those categories to cast their votes. But fourth? Excellent blogger Greg Prince of Faith and Fear in Flushing posted on the Crane Pool Forum that he wonders if anyone has ever:
*Won a Gold Glove
*Won a Silver Slugger
*Started in the All-Star Game
*Tied his franchise's record for home runs in a season
*Broke his franchise's record for runs scored in a season
*Played on the team with the sport's best record
...and finished as low as fourth in the MVP voting. Alas, like the no-hitter, and MVP award continues to be elusive for Mets, even when they deserve it. And I’m also angry that Willie Randolph was denied the manager of the year award, too.

I’m thankful for: Costco. Or to be specific, the warehouse store’s liberal returns policy. As you might remember, my beloved 20-gig iPod went muerto last April, plunging me into depression and desperation and without the receipt demanded by Hewlett Packard to use the warranty. My clever Mom told me to go to Costco and see if they could produce the needed document. Once I arrived, the clerks said the just return the dead iPod to them and they would give me store credit to buy a new one. Needless to say, I’m the proud owner of a new 30-gig pod and sing the praises of Costco whenever appropriate – and sometimes when it’s not!

Turkey: Yankee hack Tom Verducci. Speaking of being plunged into depression, Verducci couldn’t believe that his beloved Yankees were unceremoniously dumped from the postseason by the Tigers. Verducci then wrote that “baseball is giving us an October with almost no drama, no moments for posterity and no storyline.” And worse, “If the 2006 baseball playoffs were a sitcom or talk show --- hate to break it to you, folks, but we're sitting through the Arsenio Hall of postseasons -- it would have been cancelled long ago." Apparently, if the Yankees are not involved, Tommy declares the postseason boring.

I’m thankful for: My pastor, the Rev. Paul Krupinski. Paul is a magnificent spiritual leader and has a knack for knowing when I’m down and knowing exactly what to do or say. But check this out – he’s a huge baseball fan! He’s a Cubs guy, which is OK since they’re not exactly a threat to anyone. But he formed a computer fantasy league what plays games based on stats from the previous year and a couple Hall-of-Famers we can add to the rosters. One Sunday before the service, Pastor Paul came over and said the next round of stats was available and on his desk. “I’ll get them after church,” I promised. “If you get them now, you can look at them during the service,” he responded. I’m never going to find a better pastor than that!

Turkey: Kenny “Bleeping” Rogers. We Mets fans know that Rogers can do spectacularly horrific things in the postseason. So it sure seemed suspicious when The Gambler started moving down Yankees and Athletics in the Division Series and ALCS like he was the second coming of Christy Mathewson. Then a Fox camera picked captured the image of a mysterious smudge on his palm during Game Two of the World Series, and ESPN produced photos from other games with similar smudges. Manager Jim Leyland didn’t want to send Rogers back out in front of the Busch Stadium fans – not exactly known for being bullies – and the Tigers didn’t win another game.

I’m thankful for: Speaking of the World Series, my folks presented me with an awesome early Christmas present, a ticket to Game One at Comerica Park. Sure, it would have been better to have the Mets there. But attending a World Series game – any World Series game – is a treat of a lifetime. I’ve been blessed to see Game Six in 1997, too.

Turkey: Guillermo Mota. It’s one thing when Yankees are accused of taking steroids. We expect such things. But it’s another when an active Met gets a 50-day unpaid vacation for testing positive. Now we lose the moral high ground as well as a decent pitcher for the first month and a half of the season

I’m thankful: That I had the opportunity to meet Buck O’Neil at the Negro Leagues Museum during a business trip to Kansas City in February. Buck, as everybody knows, passed away in October and was a beloved ambassador for baseball. O’Neil fell one vote shy of being inducted into the Hall of Fame, yet still made it to Cooperstown for the induction ceremony in August.

Turkey: Braden “Bleeping” Looper. Looper’s lucked into two World Series rings, and Mike Piazza has none. That’s fair. Loops lost his closer’s job to Ugeth Urbina when pitching for the Fish in 2003. This year, he was caught on camera mocking the Jose Reyes chant in the Cardinals’ post-game celebration after the birds got past the Mets in the NLCS. One might suggest to Looper that perhaps the Mets would have been in the postseason last year when Looper was on the team had he not blown eight saves.

I’m thankful for: Audio Adrenaline. My favorite Christian rock band is disbanding this year because singer Mark Stuart is having vocal problems. But I salute the band for helping me grow in my faith since I discovered its music in 2001. The song “Hands and Feet” has been an inspiration for me as I try to spread His word, and time and again I was able to use Audio A songs to illustrate lessons for the middle school youth group I lead.

I’m especially thankful for: You! And other readers who find this corner of the blogosphere. I’m humbled that people come to check out this space. I appreciate all the people who read and post comments. I hope to make it worth your while. I’m grateful to the other bloggers who include me in their links.

Have a wondeful, wonderful holiday!

Know your blogs, watch your DVDs

The fine folks at A&E television must be Mets fans. They gave me two copies of their new DVD featuring Mets World Series highlight films from 1969 and 1986 to share with fellow fans.

My job was to come up with some kind of contest worthy of these glorious tales of Mets history.

Since everyone here is a reader of fine Mets Web sites, I thought it would be fun to come up a contest to test your blog knowledge.

Here are 10 questions. The first two folks to e-mail me the correct answers will get a copy of the DVD. Good luck!

1) Two fine writers produce the awesome Faith and Fear in Flushing site. Who are they?

2) Former Mets trainer Bob Sykes gives us magnificent inside peeks inside the baseball world and especially the Mets 1986 championship team. What’s the name of his blog?

3) This gut-busting prognosticator maintains a list so we know who to hate. Who is he?

4) I’m not the only Mets fan living away from the Homeland. Dan’s in Texas and Mike V. is in Greensboro, N.C. What are the names of their blogs?

5) This Mike also lives outside of New York – but not that far! What’s the name of this Nutmegger’s blog?

6) Researcher Mark writes about a specific kind of Mets victory. It’s also the name of his blog. What is it called?

7) Blogging isn’t limited to the guys. Jessica digs a certain kind of game, and another lady picked a good time to spend her “first year as a baseball fan.” What are the names of their blogs?

8) Chris Wilcox has one of the best-looking sites around, and scared us all with a defection to the Yankees – until we realized this miracle revelation was posted on April 1. What’s the name of his site?

9) My Quiznos subs are like this Joe’s often hysterically funny site.

10) My best friend and baseball co-adventurer gets mentioned in this space all the time. He runs www.baseballtruth.com. What’s his first name?

There you go! Send the answers to metsguyinmichigan(at)yahoo.com

The DVDs are great. The 1969 highlight film is a hoot because they recreate all the bat sounds and crowd noise. You’ve got to love seeing the flannel uniforms, Yogi coaching first base and the little colorful panels decorating Shea.

And the 1986 highlights are just as good. I can watch Batchucker weeping in the dugout all day. And I must say that Darryl’s trot around the bases in Game Seven was even slower than I remembered. No wonder Nipper drilled him the following spring!

If you’re not one of the winners, you can still get the DVDs at shopaetv.com and this link.

Thank you for participating, and thanks to the folks at A&E for making this possible. Hopefully they’re staring work right now on a 2006 highlight film!

Mourning My Morning Routine

You all know Bart Giamatti’s quote about baseball being designed to break your heart. I’m beginning to think the same is true about bagel stores.

New Yorkers will back me on this. The bagel is the perfect breakfast food, if not perfect food altogether.

And I’ve learned that once you get outside the New York area, bagel quality drops sharply. That is unless you’re in some parts of Florida, which might as well be the sixth borough.

Out here in the Midwest it’s especially rough. There aren't that many bagel places to begin with, and the ones that are here just don't make the grade. They bestow the bagel title upon any round breaded thing that’s not a donut.

My first four years in Grand Rapids I suffered through a place that dared to call itself "Big Apple Bagels." They were too hard and too thin — but it was all I had.

Then one glorious day about two years ago a place called "Brooklyn Bagels" opened right near my house and on the way to work.

It was darn near perfect. Framed prints of the homeland — including a sweet photo of Jackie Robinson stealing home — hung on the walls, the sandwiches were named after New York landmarks and the bagels were as close to Long Island as I have encountered since crossing the bridge.

Reflecting on Jackie Robinson's greatness is a good way to start the day.

So it didn’t take long before I got to know the entire staff on a first-name basis. They were my morning family. They'd talk about my stories in the papers, I'd ask about the son serving in Iraq or the daughter in school. My wife, on the few times she accompanied me to the store, was amazed that I’d know all about everyone’s kids and they knew mine.

And they’d have my order ready when they saw the silver Saturn pull up. A poppy seed bagel, toasted with butter, and an extra-large cup that I’d fill with Diet Pepsi. I strongly prefer Diet Coke, but everything else was so good I could overlook this flaw.

On days when I was feeling really wild I’d get a sesame seed bagel. This boldness would be a topic of conversation for the rest of the week.

I'm a creature of routine. I have a short, 12-mile commute and traffic here is nothing like it is back home. It's actually a peaceful time. I eat my bagel in the car, and it lasts most of the trip.

Work can be a bear, especially lately. There's something nice about starting the day with the same friendly people and the same wonderful snack. When everything else was in chaos, the morning routine was blissfully constant.

Then last April the unthinkable happened. The morning family had to break it to me gently that the owner had over-extended himself and was going to be closing the store.

There was much weeping and gnashing of teeth. On the last day they sent me off with two-dozen poppy seed bagels I could freeze for a transitional period.

It was a very difficult time. I don’t want to dwell on it. Let’s just say many new places were tried, all failed. Mornings were started unsatisfied and grumpy.

Occasionally I’d drive by the bagel store and put my nose up against the window to see if there were any developments. I held out hope because even though the store was closed, nothing inside had changed.

Then one day in the summer, signs appeared in the window saying a new cafe-deli was to open. The name was different, but there was reason for optimism, if nothing else.

And on a beautiful afternoon I saw that the open sign was lit. I pulled right over, went in and was thrilled to see all the old friends were there. The new owner had hired nearly all the previous employees.

It was a happy reunion, and my morning routine was saved. Me, the friends, the poppy seed bagels and extra-large Diet Pepsis -- it was all good. I could start the day with that extra little bounce that only comes with a happy routine.

Now, when you are in a place every morning, you notice little things. The new store was never as crowded as it was in the previous incarnation. Some of the friends would leave and not be replaced. There were fewer donuts, cookies and other menu offerings available. Some days there weren’t even poppy seed bagels. I started to get worried.

One day last week I bounced into the store and my friend Becky softly told me the news. The latest version of the store was closing. They lasted just seven months.

On Friday they gave me two-dozen poppy seed bagels to put in the freezer and start the transitional period, again.

In Other Words:

Speaking of beverages and morning routines, one daily ritual is not going away, and that's reading Faith and Fear in Flushing. Greg is resurrecting his awesome Friday Flashback series to tell us about the glorious 1986 season. You can read it here.

It's a Wonderful Life -- And the People Who Made it That Way

It’s a December ritual to watch Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed in "It’s a Wonderful Life."

My pastor this week told us how he can’t keep from being emotional when the angel saves George Bailey from jumping in the river and shows him what Bedford Falls would be like had he never been born.

I get emotional because I think there are indeed angels.

Maybe not like Clarence in the movie, looking to earn his wings. But I think there are people who come into your life for a short time and change it forever.

And looking back, you can’t imagine what your life would have been like had that person not been there at that time.

Let me tell you about one person in my life, Robert Block, a history professor at Nassau Community College.

In 1983, I was the editor of the college paper. I practically lived at the college, which was strange considering it doesn’t have dorms.

Nearly all college newspaper editors are rebels. I was different because instead of rebelling against the administration, I rebelled against our faculty adviser (who was incredulous that I wouldn’t attack the college president).

So when it came time to pick a school to transfer to for my junior year, the adviser was not going to be any help. And, in fairness to him, I would have rejected anything he suggested.

So I was tentatively planning to transfer to a university on Long Island. It’s an excellent school, but it doesn’t have a national reputation for journalism.

Block’s European History class was one that I really enjoyed, and one day he asked me to follow him back to his office a couple doors down the hall.

"What are your plans for next year?" he asked. I told him the university I was thinking about.

"No," he firmly said. "If you’re serious about journalism, there is only one place you want to be looking at. University of Missouri."

I thought he might be kidding, but he wasn’t a joking around kind of guy.

New Yorkers will back me up on this. We have kind of a Big Apple-centric look at the world. There are many states — probably about 47 of them — that are just not on our radar. Heck, we don’t always acknowledge that New Jersey exists, even though we can actually see it sitting there across the Hudson River. In my world, other states were there so the Mets had places to play road games.

New York, and some of the states we kind of acknowledge existing.

I told him that I didn’t think my parents would go for the idea. Heck, I thought it was crazy. New York is full of excellent colleges. I’m not sure anyone in the extended family had left the state for college, much less gone a half-continent away.

But he told me to research the school, and offered — all but insisted — to talk to my parents.

Flash forward 20 years, and I can see Professor Block knew what he was talking about.

I attended the University of Missouri School of Journalism, got my bachelor’s degree and it opened doors for an internship at a good-sized paper that hired me full-time after I graduated. Met my future wife at Mizzou, too. And I’m still close to my roommate, a role model and friend after all these years.

Being a reporter has allowed me to meet people from presidents and billionaires to the homeless and to experience things that I will carry with me forever. Through stories I like to think that we’ve been able to shape some decisions that have helped some small parts of the world or even just brought a smile to a reader’s face.

At the end of one hectic and eventful day last year, I was chatting with an editor and said, "Sometimes I just have to pause and say we get to do some really cool things. For all the griping we do, this really is a fun job."

"It’s a life lived," he responded. "We see things and do things that other people just don’t get to see and do." And, of course, our job is to be their eyes and ears and share those experiences with them.

I’ll never know how things would have turned out had I attended the other school. Perhaps things would have been better.

But I do know that I am plenty happy with the way things have played out. I’ve been blessed. And I can trace it back to a professor who, for reasons I can’t explain, one day took an interest in me.

I tracked him down this year to let him know how things turned out and to say "Thank you."

And I even learned that other states do in fact exist, and some of them are kind of nice.

In other words...

Greg Prince's "Faith and Fear in Flushing" is always a great read. But he's topped himself with his latest post, a reimagining of the song "These are a Few of My Favorite Things" from a Mets perspective. Give yourself a holiday treat and read it here.

Off-Season Blues

A deserted ballpark is a sad thing.

"It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it goes .... And summer is gone."
- A. Bartlett Giamatti, former baseball commissioner

Game No. 162 is in the books. This is one of the saddest days of the year for me.

You see, I am a creature of routine. That would freak some people out, but I’m OK with it. For instance, I like that I go to the same bagel store for breakfast every day, and that the clerks start preparing my order as soon as they see the silver Saturn pull up. Sometimes I mess with them by requesting a sesame seed bagel instead of a poppy seed. That’s about as wild as I get.

And Giamatti’s right, mostly. It’s not just summer that’s gone. It’s the routine. Being a baseball fan isn’t just a casual commitment.

The football writer at a paper I used to write for used to bash baseball in a column once a year and he’d always complain that the season was too long. He didn’t get it and probably still doesn’t. The beauty of the baseball season is that it is so long.

Baseball weaves itself into your life, day in and day out. A week in football is three days of hype, game day followed by three days of rehash.

That same week in baseball is seven games. OK, six games if there’s a West Coast travel day or a rainout. But generally, you get seven games, and that's seven opportunities to get excited, or to get depressed. Seven opportunities to cheer David Wright and boo Chipper Jones. Seven chances to marvel at Jose Reyes and curse the Yankees.

And if Braden Looper blows a save or Kaz Ishii can't find the strike zone with a map, we can wallow for just a day because the next game isn't too far away.

From late-February to the first week in October, my routine includes looking at the box scores to chart the daily progress of my Mets. When I was a kid, I’d check the paper on the doorstep each morning. When I was older, I’d check the AP wire on my terminal first thing at work.

Now, thanks to the Internet, I can find all the details of the game as they happen – and enjoy the recap, ranting and revelry of my friends in the blogosphere.

The games serve as a backdrop for the other things going on in our lives. I love Greg Prince’s “Flashback Fridays" feature on his Faith and Fear in Flushing blog where he takes a season and tells the story about what happened on the field, but also how it related to what was going on in his life. Of course they’re connected.
Shea goes into hibernation starting today.

So now that the Mets are packing it up for the winter, my routine is shattered. The playoffs and World Series, not counting the six years of my life when the Mets were included, serve as a transition period so we don’t have to go cold turkey. Though the thought of listening to Tim McCarver drooling over Derek Jeter all October makes me want to try.

And baseball has an active off-season. The awards are dripped out over a couple weeks in November and Hall of Fame balloting takes place in December with results announced in January. Free agents and trades stoke the hot stove discussions. But you can’t build a routine around those events.

So now, like Giamatti said, the game designed to break our hearts leaves us to face the fall and soon, the snow. But you know…. pitchers and catchers report in early February, the box scores will come back and we can start this all over again.

Hall of Fame Atrocities

I’m hearing a lot of bellyaching about Rafael Palmiero and whether he should go into the Hall of Fame.

Of course he should, unless you want to exclude every other slugger from the juiced era. Raffy may be the first to actually get caught -- not counting leaked grand jury testimony -- but I think no one at this point will be shocked to find out that every great slugger of this era except Mike Piazza was having, ahem, accidental doses of flaxseed oil.

And besides, there are far, far worse things defiling baseball’s sacred shrine in Cooperstown.

I'm talking, of course, about the complete lack of respect to players belonging to a certain New York team -- and some completely unworthy adulation heaped upon another New York team. Some of these omissions are fixable, and we’d better get to it before it’s too late and our hallowed Hall starts to resemble that tacky truck stop in Canton that football calls its hall. The integrity of the baseball Hall itself is at stake, so let's get busy.


Phil Rizzuto: Why does this plaque exist? Enshrining Scooter alone almost forces the place to change its name to the “Hall of Fame Plus an Unworthy Guy Added When the Veteran’s Committee Relented to the Yankee PR Machine.” If Scooter was so good, why did it take 38 years after he retired to put him in? He won an MVP. Well, Dale Murphy has two, and he’s on the outside. The presence of this plaque among true heroes like Jackie Robinson, Tom Seaver and Ted Williams should allow anyone paying admission to demand a refund. I realize that the Yankees would like us to enshrine all their players, even weasels like Derek Jeter, and they darn near get away with it. But we've got to draw the line somewhere, and that line should have been drawn in front of Scooter.

At least this Scooter fiasco is easily repairable, given a crow bar and a few distracted security guards. Some of these other atrocities will be more difficult to fix. I submit the following:


Reggie Jackson: Why is this man wearing a Yankees cap? Baseball’s all-time strikeout king – as a batter, mind you – played 10 years for the Athletics and won three World Series and an MVP. He played five years for the Yankees, a tenure largely remembered for getting Billy Martin fired a couple times and one evening where some rubber-armed Dodger hurlers playing away from their pitcher-friendly yard allow him to doink a hit or three into the cheap seats in a World Series game. And that’s supposed to get him in Lou Gehrig’s company? And we all know what Reggie does when you ask him to sign your Hall of Fame ball. You can read about it here.


Willie Mays: Why is Willie wearing a San Francisco cap on his plaque? Mays started in New York, and he closed his brilliant career in New York, playing a couple seasons – well, 14 of them – on the West Coast. The Hall could have made both Giants and Mets fans happy by using a New York Giants cap, which, of course, bears a striking resemblance to the Mets cap. But no, Metsies are given the short end of the Hall stick. I’m not a big conspiracy guy, but this happens a lot, as you will soon read.


Yogi Berra: I’m fairly confident Yogi is rightfully wearing a Mets cap on his plaque. You just can’t see it -- another slight! And I can’t blame him for dissing the Yanks after the way the team treated him. Yogi played his entire career in pinstripes, became their manager, took them to the World Series in his first year as skipper and they went and fired the guy. So the Mets brought him over, coaxed him out of retirement for four very important games in 1965 and put him at the helm when fatherly Gil Hodges unexpectedly dies. Of course, Yogi took the Mets to the series, too. Now, look at his plaque: “Managed Yankees to pennant in 1964.” Hello! What are we forgetting? Who’s writing this stuff, Bob Klapisch and his Yankee apologist buddies? I know, I know, Yogi was elected to the Hall in 1972, before the 1973 “You Gotta Believe” team. But that’s what happens when you start adding managerial stuff to plaques when a guy is still managing.

Nolan Ryan: Another clear example of the Mets not getting the love. Ryan pitched five years for the Mets, the same number as he did for the Rangers. His tenure with the Mets is best remembered for a win in the first-ever NLCS and a fine performance in the World Series, earning the only ring of his 27-year career. Meanwhile, his time with the Rangers is remembered for bitch-slapping Robin Ventura. And we have to keep in mind that the Mets made the ultimate act of charity by giving Ryan to a poor, struggling Angels team in search of an identity. For all that, we don’t even get a mention in the text of his plaque. I could forgive the non-reference if he was at least donning that classy interlocking NY on his plaque cap.

Gary Carter: The Expos' abstract logo is hard enough to figure out when it's in color. But in bas relief on a plaque? Forget about it! I can picture a young fan in the not-so-distant future admiring the plaques of baseball's heroes and saying, "Daddy, why does this guy have a moose footprint on his cap? Isn't this the guy who started the Miracle of Game Six with a base hit?" The father will say, "Well, son, it is true that Gary Carter is known as a Met and even wanted to go into the Hall as a Met. But the people running baseball were feeling guilty for screwing up what was a great team in Montreal through a series of inept owners, including the commissioner. Yes, he owned even another team at the time. Sometimes that's called a conflict of interest. But we can read about that on his plaque. I think he's wearing a Yankee cap. Anyway, the guilt-ridden people running baseball wanted proof that the Expos existed, so they strong-armed the Hall into putting the Montreal logo on the cap."

There you go. I have issues with the plaques of Richie Asburn, Warren Sphan, Casey Stengel and Eddie Murray, but you see the devious tend at work here.

Luckily there's still time for us to start pressuring the Hall for the proper cap to be proudly displayed on the plaques of Rickey Henderson, Tom Glavine, Mike Piazza and Pedro Martinez.

In other words...

Speaking of Pedro, he's only the latest Mets pitcher to have a no-hitter foiled. The guys at Faith and Fear in Flushing have a great article about the rogue's gallery of dream-killers here.