Many Mets fans can agree that loving the Mets can be a lot like a bad relationship. For some, the events of the last few years felt like the last straw. Avoiding the park simply out of a feeling of betrayal from a franchise that wouldn’t resign one of our most beloved players in Jose Reyes and after squandering millions of dollars on a bad deal with a convicted felon.
We may never know how much the Mets knew about Madoff, but the whole affair left a bad taste in the mouth of some fans and questioning the baseball moves of the team seemed quaint as compared to the sick-to-your-stomach feeling that ownership might be involved in some very bad things.
Last night, I started to forgive and tried to forget. This season was not expected to yield much. A rebuilding year. A franchise coming out of the nuclear winter of financial ruin less devestated than worried they might be, but still battered. June 1st, a game out of first place, several games above five hundred than this late in some time.
And a miracle.
In some ways last night was almost as sweet as a World Series win, not quite, but so rare, for this team at least. Something the team has longed to achieve for 50 seasons. They’ve won two World Series championships. They never had a pitcher toss a no-hitter. You go through every game with the hope this might be the one. That’s a lot of games and a lot of longing. This was big. This was special.
Who knows what the rest of the season holds for this team, but something changed. This was a turning point for some people and allowed me to finally move on and enjoy it with the baggage a little less heavy.
Terry cried, I cried and I finally remembered what it was like to really truly fall in love with this team again.