I have a strong memory of an eighth-grade discussion, mid-June 1977, during one of the final ceramics classes of the year, all of us Mets fans. As we painted our clay mugs, we agreed that the now departed 41 would surely be retired someday. And 36. And 3. And 7. And probably 15. None of them had belonged to anybody except important, tenured Mets in our collective experience, so how could anybody else ever again wear them? We agreed we might have added 45 and 21 had they not been already reissued since their rightful bearers had been dispatched, which we assumed meant they couldn't be retired. (24 was a coach at the time, so it already appeared reserved in perpetuity.) None of us in our 14-year-old demo knew what it looked or felt like for a Mets player to have a number retired, but we had a sense of what it should be. Of course 41 led our conversation, given the mid-June 1977 event that inspired it. When 41 indeed became the first, it set an impossibly high standard to match. Calibration was in order if you ever wanted to believe the Mets organization cared about any of its greats. We in ceramics had been ready to go with the numbers we knew sitting around that table. I'm glad that the Mets have more or less caught up to our little mug-painting posse in spirit, prorating for the fact that the franchise has a lot more seasons behind it now, and the realization that there are important Mets and there are vital Mets. Two from the era of miracles. Three from the powerhouse days. One from a period of memorable successes. One whose significant lifetime achievement in baseball is a 100% match for his Met career. And one for the immortal of immortal players whose situation here is singular. Eight players as we near the midpoint of our seventh decade. I'm comfortable with every call the Mets have made. Anyway, I'm https://www.faithandfearinflushing.com/2024/12/13/highest-five/deighted for David.