G-Fafif

Became a big shot at ESPN after his long stint in promotions and PA. Loved his Mets, though, in good times, bad time and when the cycle repeated. This from Chicago Tribune, in 1992, as the cycle turned downward yet again. "We were spoiled. Every year, the Mets drew over two million in attendance. And every year after '69, we knew that because of the pitching, and depending on how that year's third baseman did -- be it Joe Foy, Jim Fregosi, whoever -- we'd be in contention. But I remember going to spring training in '78 and looking at Willie Montanez and saying: 'My God, he's our best player. We have no shot.'" RIP.

Don't tell Kingman, but I borrowed his dog for this wacky picture.

I was gonna invoke the slang term for Dachshunds, but I'll resist going there.

A trip to St. Pete puts a Spring in Marty Noble's step. Love the flow his reminiscences take. Memories of reality remain despite all the renovations. The three-tier chain link fence that surrounded much of the two-field acreage has been replaced by a shorter, less imposing fence, so the challenge of hitting a baseball 450 feet and over a 15-foot barrier is no more. But Strawberry took Bob Forsch over the barrier -- to center field, no less -- in a morning "B" game in 1985. It was after that home run that Lenny Dykstra christened his teammate "Awesome Strawsome." And Darrell Johnson, the former Red Sox and Mariners manager who later scouted for the Mets, swore Mantle routinely hit batting practice pitches into a lake 100 feet beyond the right-field fence in the early '50s. Johnson was the Yankees' No. 3 catcher at the time, behind Yogi and Elston Howard. He had time to monitor Mantle's in-the-cage swings. "But everyone watched when Mickey got in the cage then," Johnson said. Ruth probably hit 'em just as far, but no one was around in the '70s to tell of them. His locker still was around, though. It stood between two doorways. And, as the stories go, DiMaggio preferred not to use it. Years later, Herbie Norman, the Mets' clubhouse guy, contacted Pete Sheehy, the Yankees' clubhouse guy from Ruth through Reggie, and determined Mantle has used that locker. It was assigned to Keith Hernandez for his four Mets camps. Few hits were left in that cubicle for Orioles personnel. Across the room from Hernandez's locker was where Mookie Wilson sat and wondered aloud whether his vision would be compromised after a rundown drill throw had shattered his glasses and imbedded pieces of a lens in his eye in '86. Nearby was the locker Dwight Gooden used as a frightened, 19-year-old in 1984. A year later, he owned the place, proudly driving his blue 'Vette -- with "Doc" stenciled on the windshield -- to camp. Parked next to it one day were the wheels of Doug Sisk with a wonderful bumper sticker affixed. It read "This is not an abandoned car." Hernandez's locker was close to the manager's office, twice identified as "Gil's office" by Seaver when he returned to the Mets in 1983. Gil Hodges was 11 years gone by then, but Seaver sensed a presence. George Bamberger was the manager in the springs of 1982 and '83. He used his office as a stage; he loved to tell stories. After making the first cuts of the Mets camp in '82, he told one of his favorites that had occurred years earlier when he was managing the Brewers. A young pitcher from Latin America didn't respond well when, in late March, he was assigned to the Minor Leagues. "I told him 'Son, you've got great stuff. You're going to help us win. You just need some more time to polish what you have,'" Bamberger said. "Then the kid reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a knife. 'You cut me, I cut you.' Hondo was Frank Howard, 6-foot-8, 315 pounds of body guard wrapped in niceness. A remarkable man. He could have been a story every day. He hit Fungo fly balls with such stunning might that he had to move against the backstop or lose eight of every 10 fly balls he hit. Howard occasionally stayed behind when the team played road games to work the outfielders. After a half-hour of foul-line-to-foul-line Fungo chasing on a March day in 1982, Joel Youngblood objected to what he considered borderline abuse. He removed his glove and cap, placed them on the outfield lawn and headed for the clubhouse. He'd had enough. Then he heard from Howard: "Young man, you might want to think twice about leaving. We're not done yet." Forty minutes later, Youngblood trudged off the field, spent. Hondo congratulated him and said "See you tomorrow." Other threats existed. In 1981, Dave Kingman, Doug Flynn and Youngblood occasionally brought dogs to camp. Flynn had a happy sheepdog named Woody that everyone enjoyed. Youngblood had a German Shepherd that wasn't so popular. And Kingman, appropriately, had a menacing Doberman. Showered players didn't wrap themselves in towels in those days. They walked immodestly to their lockers. But never when Kingman's pet was in the clubhouse. Marty: a) shows unabashed appreciation for all he witnessed; shares irreplaceable institutional memory.

Tom Seaver vs. Losing His Raincoat, via Ira Berkow in a really enjoyable podcast at Bergino Baseball Clubhouse. Worth your eartime.

Mazel tov to the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup of Mets information!

Opening this Friday, festival favorite Gimme The Loot, in which the Apple takes center stage: A 1980s local-access cable clip shows graffiti artists boasting of �bombing the apple� � painting their signature tags on the giant apple that appears at Shea Stadium whenever beloved baseball team The Mets scores a home run. Nobody has achieved this rare feat in the 20 years since. But Malcolm (Ty Hickson) and Sofia (Tashiana Washington), two teens eager to establish themselves as street-art legends, are determined to change that by tagging the apple at Citi Field, the Mets� new home since 2009. Driving them is their rivalry with the Woodside King Crew (WKC), a bunch of punks from Queens who stepped on their turf and sabotaged their work. Key plot point revealed early in this trailer.

If there was ever a good time to put on the bunt, this is it. Here's to "normal" Tom, who will always be Terrific.

metsguyinmichigan wrote: Ian O'Connor is dying to write: "Wright turns in Jeter-like performance...." Although Derek Jeter never eviscerated international pitching in a tournament setting like David Wright is doing through the current World Baseball Classic, Jeter is Wright's implied role model for his sizzling WBC star turn. With America only now coming to grips with Jeter's absence from Team USA, the nation can at least breathe easy that Wright plays in the same city as Jeter and has probably met him on several occasions. Wright and the Mets should thank their lucky stars for Interleague play and the chance to mix and mingle with what's left of the Core Four. Just being in the presence of Derek Jeter makes a good guy a better man -- and, perhaps, a more dangerous hitter. But of course everybody in every country has a long way to go before living up to the sterling reputation of the original Captain, a role once personified by Lou Gehrig yet perfected by Derek Jeter, whose persona this WBC sorely misses. Wright, alas, will have to do for a nation craving its Jeter fix.

Jordany says he's learned his lesson and will make every night Collector's Cup Night, so to speak. The beauty? You know he won't. 'Cause he's just that way.

Edgy MD wrote: I know there was a conflict once or twice between Seaver and his lower-profile teammets, when he opted not to take his last start in a season when a win might have meant the difference between perhaps second and third place, which would have meant a meaningful bonus for the borderline players. Seaver passed up a start on the last day of 1970 when he was 18-12 and not feeling all that great. His teammates reportedly grumbled that his not going (against Ferguson Jenkins, the winning team finishing second) could have cost them at least a thousand bucks per man, even though Seaver was in a miserable slump as the season wound down; Jim McAndrew started and the Mets finished third. A year later Tom was 19-10 and went for No. 20 on the final day of the season. There were some whispers that, oh sure, with 20 wins on the line he's going for it. Then again, Tom winning that last game ensured the Mets a third-place tie and some of that sweet Jack Heidemann cash.

GAH with another big hit tonight against Puerto Rico. TAKE THAT, American commonwealth!

Couldn't find 1973 (so much for Mr. Miller), but here, from the December 6, 1975, issue of The Sporting News is the 1975 breakdown of how the tied-for-third place Mets divided their approximately $5,700, including what they voted their partial-season teammates. A full share for those 82-win fellows was $136.70. Jerry Moses, who never played but was on the roster for a spell, got a one-fifth share.

Nieuwy in center looking like a longer shot. And Murphy might want to get a few swings in already yet, lest Martino look deep into his eyes and see them burn with mischief.

Baseball team "officials" and "insiders" are certainly a chatty bunch. And Martino and his fellow scamps make for quite the row of clucking hen gossip columnists. I doubt Santana will be booed on Opening Day, mostly because he seems destined for that purgatory known as Extended Spring Training. I doubt he'd be booed with any force anyway. That June 1 performance yielded a vast reservoir of goodwill and most of this spring's "controversy" has been B-level stuff. If the worst Johan does is answer questions in taciturn fashion, he's not going to stoke enough of a fire to resonate on a mass scale, a few vocal cranks notwithstanding.

This one goes out to Jordany.

seawolf17 wrote: Wasn't there talk a year or two ago about the Red Sox acquiring a starter from us just to make the start in a potential play-in tiebreaker game? Capuano, the day Chris started the game in St. Louis that became a monumental comeback from him starting.

Whereas Candelaria and Medich would be here and gone, Miller stuck around in 1974 and led the staff in appearances. He got his first win in April, a far cry from his experience in 1962, when he had to endure a dozen losses and a second Bob Miller before chalking up a W on the second-to-last day of the season. The World Series share question is usually answered with everybody gets something, even if it's not a lot. In days of yore, the "first division" clubs each got something to divide. Not sure if they still do or, with five teams in the playoffs, they're the only ones. The Sporting News used to print the divvying up of shares, and you'd see $8.29 awarded to some September callup on a team that finished third.

Truly weird and truly late: Doc Medich taken off waivers from Seattle on September 26, 1977. Made one start for the last-place Mets (which he lost) and that was that. I vaguely recall some talk that bringing him in would somehow give the Mets a leg up when he entered the free agent market...which it didn't, in case the Mets were thinking of signing him, as he went to Texas. Medich pitched for the A's, M's and Mets in '77, three 98-loss teams. If that's not a record of some sort, they shouldn't start now, 'cause it's just too depressing.

And while we're talking language, one wonders if baseball's vocabulary will be, uh, altered from here on out. Let that be a lesson for all you kids out there: always wear a cup if you don't want to get hit in the Valdespins.

If David weren't winging around the World Baseball Classic saving America's bacon, I wonder if he'd be actively Captaining Jordany's word choices.

From Girls, 3/10/2013: Bartender at party to Adam: �Did ya hear that? The Mets are up, 3-2.� (Adam says, �No.�) On The Simpsons, same night, there were references to the Astros moving to the American League (in Ned Flanders's vision of hell), being a Cubs fan as explanation for being a bully (Kearney's, I believe) and a Harry Shearer/Vin Scully riff during a lengthy rain delay about the baby ducks Mel Ott raised in Louisiana -- which thrilled me no end as Mel Ott was, in fact, from Louisiana. (Don't know about the baby ducks.)

Tiger announcers sounded concerned, relieved that the young man (as I think they called him) was able to walk off on his own power. Which is considerable this Spring.

I swear I thought Mole was asking how players like Nieuwehnhuis and den Dekker have gotten this far without learning to have easier names to spell.

This happened in April (April 10...or 10 April, depending where you are), not March. The book came out the first week of the season. It happened in Port St Lucie. The Klap went to ST to give team management advance notice of the book. edit: On the other hand, you may be correct. The Klap's article is ambiguous. Next-day coverage from Chicago Tribune, April 11, 1993. Times coverage here, same date. Plus I remember watching it reported that Saturday evening after the loss to Houston.