G-Fafif

batmagadanleadoff wrote: Looking back with hindsight, I'm surprised the '98 yearbook cover didn't celebrate the Introduction of the Mets horrible black uniform tops. Noteworthy that they're wearing the snow whites, which were supposed to be Sunday-only when introduced in 1997. They first wore them for Jackie Robinson Night, a Tuesday, and, in a foreshadowing of the black jerseys, got carried away with their new wardrobe (much as managers become obsessed with their new-toy relievers and use them to excess). As much black as they wore from 1998 forward, the snow whites, until late in their run that ended in 2014, generally got Opening Day, with the pinstripes all but disappearing from consciousness.

A Boy Named Seo wrote: Greg's comparison made me like each of them a bit more. So who is Basement Bertha? A Gallo recurring character? Based on a real someone or no? Bertha was Gallo's Everyfan, his vehicle for commenting on the better-known figures he was portraying. With a first name like Basement, you knew she'd be (ahem) drawn to Casey Stengel's cellar-dwelling Metsies from the get-go. Her outfit and persona weren't exactly contemporary way back when, but she probably didn't seem as alien to Gallo's readers c. 1962 as she might to somebody suddenly seeing her today.

I'm pretty sure the congregation that constitutes the 1998 cover came from the home plate congratulating of Bernard Gilkey, who had just blasted the game-winning three-run homer in the eleventh inning, Saturday, September 13, 1997. It was a dramatic home run if not the most dramatic of the day. That one belonged to Carl Everett, whose ninth-inning grand slam tied things at six, after the Mets entered the frame down 6-0 and Everett was on strike two with two outs (and had sent one deep but foul in the same at bat). Fonzie was the on-deck hitter, which explains the batting helmet. I think I detect Olerud's ears on the left; he was removed earlier in the game, which would explain why they're not adjacent to a hard hat. It was an overcast late afternoon start; looks a little bright for a game that ended in twilight, but I imagine they had ways of adjusting contrasts and whatnot. If I'm correct in placing it, it's a very genuine photograph, worthy of Topps In Action status. And like those Topps In Action cards, the action sometimes comes off as a little static. An angle in which we see a few more faces would really help its cause, but the high-fiving says a lot. This picture was also part of the 1998 Mets' outdoor advertising, with buses, phone booths and other media exhorting us to BELIEVE! and SHOW UP AT SHEA. I interpreted it as COME SEE ALFONZO, which worked just as well from my perspective, as Edgardo had become my favorite Met by then. The home run and victory kept the Mets' pulse registering in their chase of the Marlins for the Wild Card, another plus. Historically, 1997 was the year the Mets legitimately revived, setting the stage for the acquisition of Piazza and transformation of the franchise, so this is a milestone moment. There's no 1999/2000 without 1997 (as chronology would suggest). This game still gives me chills. It was the apotheosis of the season that elevated my fandom approximately 97 stories from the skyhigh state it already existed in. In the realm of "I'll never forget," I really never will forget that when Everett's would-be grand slam went foul, Mrs. F, not particularly engaged by the action, detected my disappointment and reminded me, "You gotta believe." And then he hits the actual grand slam. I wish the picture's pedigree was more blatant, because basing 1998's marketing on the pure joy of the best of 1997 would have been brilliant and beautiful. Here it's more a hint that the Mets were briefly enthused in each other's company. To the outside world, that's all those Mets looked like. We know better. *** Ah, Bill Gallo. I thought he was hot stuff. Or I thought the fact that the Daily News printed sports cartoons several times a week was fantastic. It wasn't until relatively late in his extended tenure that I hoped he'd bow out because after a passel of decades, oy. But we should all stay in demand as long as our ability to do what we do remains decently intact. Circa 1981, Bill Gallo was still a welcome presence in the paper as far as I was concerned, and for the Mets to bring his handiwork to their yearbook cover struck me as a stroke of genius. 1980-1983 were boom times for Mets yearbook cover puckishness: the Norman Rockwell homage, Gallo, Saturday Evening Post, that goofy Canadian portrayal of Seaver as a hitchhiking vampire. They weren't all round-trippers (and, as with retweets, this isn't necessarily an endorsement of any of them in this tournament), but I loved that they were trying things. They were all in the traditional space where baseball illustrating was concerned, but it was a departure from the Mets yearbooks I knew from the '70s. I wasn't aware of Willard Mullin's yearbook covers until the middle of this period, so the idea that we weren't simply getting pictures of Several Popular Mets was almost wild. Basement Bertha and Yuchie were Mets fans from way back. Torre (albeit lacking characteristic swarthiness and scruff) is recognizable as heck. Rusty is clearly Rusty. The other guys are close enough to themselves. The blue and orange cuffs and collars are missing, but I didn't let that bother me in 1981. I swear to you, years later when I'd once in a while hear somebody yell midrally, "Can you smell what the Mets are cooking!?" I thought it was a reference to this cover. I didn't know from the Rock, so I just naturally assumed folks at Shea were referencing a piece of art from nearly 20 years before. The recipe bit veers toward the cringey, but it gets the idea across. After 1980, the Mets were getting cooking. Interesting that though it's "A Recipe for Mets Magic," and this was the year they introduced the Mets Magic top hat with the apple, they didn't really oversell the Magic is Back Again in hit us over the head fashion. *** Both covers were drafting off the goodwill of their previous season. 1980 was 1997 minus 21 wins, but the emotion of "my god, we're actually better than universally assumed" was real. 1998 was subtle about invoking the progress. 1981 was rather obvious. Maybe hamfisted. ("Cook hamfist on 350 degrees for 162 games, garnish with Kingman.") Yet I'm swayed in the end by the legend of Bill Gallo and the Mets yearbook finally joining forces. It was like we existed outside the confines of Shea.

A start for Jose, and the pitcher bats ninth. Nimmo CF Cabrera 2B Céspedes LF Bruce RF Frazier 3B González 1B d’Arnaud C Reyes SS Harvey RHP

Benjamin Grimm wrote: If this Yearbook Cover Derby has nothing else going for it, G-Fafif's daily comparisons of the two competing covers is always worth the price of admission. Maybe even worth twice the price of admission! Thank you for providing such a stimulating exercise. As much fun as Mets baseball, and weather isn't a factor.

The marketing department had a tough task after dreadful 1993. Theoretically they could have imitated the 1985 cover. They still had a first baseman, a manager and Doc, if not the racing stripe. But times had changed too much to make that appealing, thus the turning back time to 1969 via that closeup of the patch. When I saw it 24 years ago, I had the same thought I did when I first encountered 1979's yearbook: I guess they don't want us to think about the state of the current team, so they'll mesmerize us with a logo. After commemorating the 25th anniversary in the 25th season, they commemorated the 25th anniversary of their first championship in the actual 25th anniversary year. (Math, huh?) As with the logo they wore in 1986, seeing the Miracle Mets patch always takes me back to what 1994 there was. Compared to 1993, it was a wonderland, and I don't mind being reminded of it, despite the strike that ended it prematurely. Still, like '79, it seems like a give-up on the present -- and if they were really that concerned with celebrating '69, maybe offer up the specter of Seaver and company in conjunction with that patch. Also, as long as I'm staring at it longer than I ever have before, the MLB 125 insignia plus the UPC mark makes everything a bit too boxy at the bottom of the page. The 1985 cover struck me then and now as solid. Remember, this was the first season in ages in which the Mets entered a season with a sense of accomplishment directly behind them and a ton of confidence about what lay directly ahead of them. Surprising, after seeing how they've retrofitted other acquisitions over the years, that they didn't make new Met Gary Carter a part of the scene. It's as if they were fully loaded and had plenty to choose from. Maybe not the most thrilling of designs, but it gets the job done. The Mets have the most explosive young pitcher in the game, a first baseman who has led them to recently unscaled heights and a crafty manager overseeing their rise. And, per Homer Simpson when he entered the nuclear power plant design competition for children, this racing stripe here I feel is pretty sharp. Needless to say, 1985 doesn't need to divert focus to other seasons. Helluva season when the yearbook was new, helluva season in the rearview. I appreciate 1994 working a deep count, but I'll take 1985's single to right.

The salt: spreading the hits around, grinding the runs out. It's a long season. These guys require diversions.

Even though the snow stopped well in advance of scheduled first pitch, I applaud the postponement. An early April night at Citi Field is no joke. Plus Gary can give his full attention to the NCAA finals, which seems important to him.

To clarify, Noah and Jake are where they were all along. It's really just a matter of Lugo getting bumped.

Harvey still the scheduled starter Tuesday, but Syndergaard moves up to Wednesday and deGrom gets the Gnats on Thursday. No Lugo for now. Weather permitting, of course.

A gimme in the best tradition of most 16s vs. 1s. Bilingual Mets '92 seems to be our University of Maryland-Baltimore County, except for the shocking the world and upsetting an overwhelming favorite part. The $3.95 cover price gives it away as a newsstand product published by somebody else. I can't recall the Mets ever pricing their publications as such. The cover isn't inspiring (even if we allow ourselves to return to the innocence of December 1991 and the idea that signing Bobby Bo was a win), but I like that somebody thought multiple demographics required additional Met reading. I'm reminded of this sort-of renegade 1989 Mets yearbook, published by Inside Pitch: Decent cover. I liked the 1987 cover in its day. Classy, understated, no mistaking what the Mets were defending. I like it better than 1970 for making clear what the Mets' most recent accomplishment was. Perhaps they could've done more (I guess we'll see the revised edition down the line), but I have no complaints. And like the World Champion 1986 Mets for the balance of six months, this yearbook in this round has no competition.

They start testing the runner on second rule (and all the others) at the major league level today.

The vibe around Kooz's 20th may have been the last genuinely warm moment to emanate from the Mets family as we knew it from 1962 onward. The announcers talked about it like everybody's son had done something to make us all proud. Not that baseball wasn't always a business, but at heart, under Mrs. Payson (and, presumably, her heirs in the year after she died), the Mets felt like a family affair, wherein everybody who wasn't traded or released was part of that family -- even the cranky, stuffy uncle who pretentiously stuck an initial in front of his name. "M. Donald Grant? Oh, you mean Uncle Don? Oh, he handles the books for mother. Don't worry about him. He's not very sociable, but she seems to trust him." Perhaps it was fitting that the 20th win and its attendant hubbub happened in the last month of the last season before there was free agency. Jerry Koosman was always a Met, was always going to be a Met, the team was always going to be owned by benevolent millionaires who were going to send champagne to the clubhouse to toast one of their players when that player did something special, just as they'd send gifts from Tiffany when players' wives would give birth or bouquets for other occasions. They'd invite the kids to play a game with their fathers on the field, and invite the former players to put on uniforms and play a game with each other, and the regular players would always be good enough to win at least a few more than they lost. We were all part of the big Mets family and we knew we could count on each other. When I first saw the 20 collage, it was as an inside page in the revised edition. It seemed more appropriate inside than outside, but Kooz was one of us, and 20 was a huge deal for a starting pitcher who'd never gotten there before and we all celebrated together. It was a great story as '76 ended. Why not celebrate it to start '77? What else was there that wasn't generic? The Mets had gone on a tear in August and September, but were so far behind the Phillies, it didn't matter. Kingman had chased Hack Wilson, then ended up behind Mike Schmidt. Lee Mazzilli belted a couple of big home runs down the stretch, but we weren't officially in a youth movement. Nobody was acquired in the offseason. Seaver...management isn't too sure about Seaver anymore. How about Koosman? One player's noteworthy if not landmark accomplishment as focal point of the cover of the next year's yearbook? A well-liked, long-tenured player, to be sure, but hardly its most salable star? The fact that they did that for Jerry Koosman was, in Metrospect, wonderful. They wouldn't do a cover quite like that again. The Mets weren't a family quite like that again. *** Back when the Mets reached out to bloggers, they would have a preseason off the record dinner without about two dozen of us representatives of the quasi-media, held in the room they use for press conferences. Adorning the walls in there are framed, blown up covers of past yearbooks. Many of them are in the hallway leading to the clubhouses, but the ones from 2000 and beyond are in this room. As the dinner was winding down, one of my blogging colleagues -- or blolleagues -- had one final question. He pointed to the 2003 cover and asked, "Who signed off on this?" Looks like Kooz just got another win.

#CardinalWay

Mets will wear a patch for Rusty: black circle, his autographed first name (Rusty, not Daniel) in orange. Would look better against a field of deep Mets blue, but the thought is a good one. Kinda wish the Glider were getting his due as well, but I suppose there are perceived levels to franchise royalty.

Speaking of distasteful transactions, the MFYs have signed Oliver Perez to a minor league deal. The tasteful version would be the MFYs signing 2010 Oliver Perez to a major league deal.

batmagadanleadoff wrote: I just felt like sticking up for him, some, because Mets fans of that generation sure do have it in for him. Lolich, in '76 was an extremely solid back of the rotation pitcher for what was baseball's best staff. I believe I learned the phrase "snakebit" from Bob Murphy that season, because he applied it so often to Lolich's lousy luck, pitching well, not getting run support. He'd be using it for Koosman a year later.

batmagadanleadoff wrote: Poor Mickey. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't. Just tough to look at the '76 yearbook this week and think about who's not in there. I was at a fever pitch the entirety of the 1975 season. Staub-for-Lolich, as soon as it happened, brought everything down a notch in advance of '76. But not Lolich's fault, just as it's not Mr. Bicentennial Met's.

G-Fafif wrote: Carlos Torres cut by Cleveland. Signed by Nats to minor league deal. Traitor. Torres called up by Nats. Double traitor.

Edgy MD wrote: Of course, before the year was out, the whole organization would become not-so-charmingly DIY. My only reticence in voting for 1976 came from knowing there is a page within devoted to Mickey Lolich inside instead of a page devoted to Rusty Staub.

The i-word seems apropos here: the 1976 cover is iconic. There's no doubting what year its from. It could have been cribbed from some kid's banner, and that's a compliment. Plus, you've got that mailing address. It's just so good-spirited...the Spirit of '76! There are two particularly appealing images within the 2004 grid, both of them unfortunately presented, like all the others, as postage stamps. had they featured either the Shea 40th anniversary patch or Piazza accepting walkoff congratulations (which ended a game I had to leave early), it could have been a contender. Hell, if they had composed the cover with the Leiter pitching picture facing the Piazza swinging picture -- two verticals -- it would have been not only featured your two stars, but it would have echoed the neon figures from the Shea patch. Instead, it comes off as homework hurriedly completed on the bus. This one will cover the spread and then some on merit. In this battle of election years, the vote is for 1976.

So in the years when we had the chance to celebrate the concept of Opening Day twice, with the season's Opening Day on the road (because no matter where the Opener is, it's a cause for celebration) and then a Home Opener distinct from Opening Day, it went down like this... Win Opening Day on the Road and Win the Home Opener: 6 times 1977, 1982, 2001, 2004, 2007, 2015 Win Opening Day on the Road and Lose the Home Opener: 9 times 1970, 1979, 1981, 1986, 1988, 1992, 1994, 2008, 2009 (Plus the 1981 Second Season Openers) Lose Opening Day on the Road and Win the Home Opener: 7 times 1968, 1974, 1995, 1999, 2000, 2005, 2016 (2000 Opening Day was in Tokyo, when Mets were designated the home team, but it was on the road) Lose Opening Day on the Road and Lose the Home Opener: 5 times 1962, 1964, 1984, 1997, 2011 In doubleheader terms, score it 6 sweeps, 5 swepts and 16 splits (17 with the split season)

d'Kong76 wrote: Lazy Q: Does anyone know (or have an easy way of figuring it without going through 55+ games) what the Mets Opening Day W-L record is? Additionally since I'm being really lazy, what the Home Opener record is? The Home Opener record -- not counting Opener 2.0 in 1981, counting only the Shea Opener in 2000 (and not the Tokyo Opener in which the Mets were the designated home team) -- is 37-20. In Home Openers that weren't season openers (again, not including the second season of 1981 nor Japan), the Mets' record is 15-12. For the record, the Mets lost their "home" game in Tokyo (Season Opener), won their Second Season Opener in 1981 (at Chicago) and lost their Second Season Home Opener (to Philadelphia).

dgwphotography wrote: Charlie Samuels should have been sent to prison just for forcing them to wear the black so often. Thank God both he and those black unis are gone It's not so much that they had black uniforms or wore black uniforms to excess (though they did) -- it's that they thought they were such hot stuff. The only yearbook cover celebrating a National League pennant between 1987 and 2016 and it's not one to savor, due to a great extent from the blackout.

I think they were going for something of a futuristic vibe in the 2001 edition, even though we were past Y2K and learned life had gone on pretty much like every other century. I'm sure I was happy to pick up this edition on Opening Day seventeen years ago, my favorite Opening Day I've attended, when the weather was perfect, the flag went up, Piazza homered twice and Shinjo (in his debut) belted one out as well. But what an uninviting look now. The 1978 yearbook was the first I ever bought at retail away from Shea. It was shocking to me that the Cozy Nook luncheonette carried it among the magazines, as if a Mets yearbook could be obtained through such conventional means. This wasn't People frigging magazine -- this was the Mets yearbook! Featuring All-Star John Stearns on the cover! It is bright and sunny, versus dark and foreboding, even though the accomplishments celebrated by the cover of the 2001 yearbook were bright and sunny, while most of the 1978 Mets season was dark and foreboding. At the time I bought the yearbook, a yearbook signifying such success probably seemed 23 years away. I'd have gladly traded the cover for a pennant to be named sooner rather than later. But the covers fell where the covers fell, and the 1978 cover finishes comfortably ahead in these standings. The play portrayed appears to be from the first game of a doubleheader, Sunday, September 18, 1977, based on day game, Stearns catching, No. 20 of the Cubs sliding in ahead of the tag and Leo Foster looming in the dugout. No. 20 was Mick Kelleher, and Retrosheet reports this happened in the top of the fourth at Shea: Kelleher singled to center [Ontiveros scored, Gross to second]; R. Reuschel tripled to right [Gross scored, Kelleher scored] If that isn't a runner from first scoring on a triple by the pitcher, I don't know what is. Paid attendance wasn't much above 5,000 that afternoon, but in ye olden days, the good seats got filled in first. Maybe they made like the L.A. Coliseum for the first Super Bowl and asked everybody to squeeze in tighter to make it look fuller on TV.