November 2003

If masochism may be defined as "a pleasure in being abused," then Metsochism has to be a pleasure in watching a team despite the realization that it will only cause you pain. And those of us who have continued to follow this team through its tortuous 2003 season can only be described as Metsochists.

Mets fans certainly had reason for optimism this spring, despite the team's dismal 2002 season. New manager Art Howe had a proven record of success in Oakland. Gary Carter was finally elected to Cooperstown's Hall of Fame. Atlanta's pitching ace Tom Glavine joined the team as a free agent. Mo Vaughn reportedly transformed himself into a lean, mean hitting machine during the offseason. Why shouldn't this have been a great year?

And yet, early on, there were indications that, as Miss Clavel repeatedly observed in the children's book Madeline, something was not right.

The Mets caravan pulled into town in January, featuring the team's new batting practice uniforms. They were orange. No, not orange -- make that ORANGE!!! The players tried to be good sports about it -- Mike Piazza joked that he felt like a creamsicle, while Al Leiter quipped that he had been tired, but then the uniforms woke him up. However, the players appeared uncomfortable in their bright new garb, and fans wondered whether they would need sunglasses in order to watch spring training games on television.

As spring training commenced, the signs of a rough season ahead accumulated. Pitcher Pedro Astacio was bothered by an inflammation of the right biceps tendon. Bullpen coach Rick Waits underwent emergency triple bypass surgery, while bench coach Don Baylor was diagnosed with multiple myeloma. Mild mannered Mike Piazza, whose patience and even temper are legendary, was practically psychotic with rage after the Dodgers Guillermo Mota hit him with a pitch in a spring training game. And, amid plans to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the 1973 National League pennant winning Mets team came the news that Mets Hall of Famer Tug McGraw, the man who coined the phrase, "Ya Gotta Believe," was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor.

Something was not right.

Then came Opening Day. Most of the time, when people discuss how painful it was to watch a particular game, they are referring to the mental pain of witnessing a rough loss. In this case, however, the pain was physical as well. The temperature hovered around the freezing mark, and a cold wind blew in to boot. Sure, I can recall being that cold at Shea before, but that was when I was a kid, and the Jets were still in town! Huddling under blankets is not the optimal way to watch baseball.

To make matters worse, there was mental anguish to accompany the physical pain of Opening Day. The new ace, Tom Glavine, was on the mound. And his first pitch was a strike. So far, so good. But it turned out that was the high point of Glavine's day -- he couldn't get a grip on the ball in the cold, and gave up five earned runs in 3 2/3 innings. The Mets went on to lose 15-2 -- not only was this the worst Opening Day loss in team history, but according to the Elias Sports Bureau it was the most lopsided opener in the majors since the Chicago White Sox trampled the St. Louis Browns 17-3 on April 17, 1951.

As the cherry to top the Opening Day humiliation, Aramark was serving beer that day in leftover mugs from 2002. Yes, they are nice cups with stackable handles. But come on! Reminders of the pathetic 2002 season were the last thing the Mets or their fans needed at the start of a brand new season!

As it turned out, quite a lot was not right.

The tough times continued in April. Piazza served a four-game suspension for the Mota incident. Hitting coach Denny Walling underwent angioplasty. And the excitement over Puerto Rican natives Roberto Alomar and Rey Sanchez playing pro ball on their home island was overshadowed by the Expos' demoralizing four-game sweep of the Mets. May started off no better -- Mo Vaughn, who wasn't nearly as lean or mean as we had been hoping he'd be, landed on the disabled list with an arthritic left knee, not to return this year.

This was the point of the season when my husband declared that it looked like the Mets had hit rock bottom, and that things could only get better. Unfortunately, he was very wrong.

On May 16, in San Francisco, Mike Piazza awkwardly tried to avoid getting hit by a pitch. In stepping away from home plate, Piazza tore his right groin muscle. Although Piazza ultimately returned to action August 13, the early reports indicated that he was possibly out for the season.

This was the point where the wheat was separated from the chaff. Any bandwagon fans who had hung on this long dropped their grips and were washed away. Only the diehards remained. The few. The proud. The Metsochists.

Do Metsochists enjoy watching the Mets lose? Of course not. So why do we stick around, even when it's apparent that it will break our hearts? As Tevye sang in Fiddler on the Roof, "Tradition!"

When the Mets were created, most of their fans were former New York Giants and Brooklyn Dodgers fans. The Giants only won one World Series in New York after 1933, and that was in 1954, while Brooklyn's only championship came in 1955. These fans were the masters of patience, and this patience was liberally given to the fledgling 1962 Mets. This was team that inspired manager Casey Stengel to say, "the only thing worse than a Mets game is a Mets doubleheader." And yet, in their eighth season, this inept group was transformed into the 1969 World Champions. A championship in New York is always sweet, but it was especially so for the fans who doted on the team back when Casey was asking, "Can't anyone here play this game?"

And such has been the tradition of the Mets and their fans. Those original fans, as well as their progeny, know that you can't truly enjoy the sweetness of victory unless you have stayed loyal to your team through its dark hours. The 1969 Mets fans who suffered in the Sixties knew that. The fans of the 1986 World Champions who suffered in the late Seventies and early Eighties knew that. And those of us who witnessed the horror of the early Nineties especially enjoyed the teams that won the 1999 Wild Card and the 2000 National League Pennant.

Thus, this is why we Metsochists stick around. It's not that we enjoy suffering. It's that we know that, after we've endured this cycle of suckitude, the Mets will prevail once again. And only those of us who stayed around when the going got rough will be able to truly appreciate and enjoy that time, when it comes.