i remember running in the woods, in late in the day on september 19th, 2024, and then out of nowhere and with near simultaneity, feeling a thump against my foot, hearing a pop, and seeing the soft cool earth rushing unexpectedly towards me and landing on my side. as i lay there, looking down at my leg, i knew instantly, i'd edwin diazed myself. and the thought that gave me the most strength in that moment, and still does over a year later was that at the time of my injury, that mother****er was out there pitching in the major leagues having returned to the mound less than a year after suffering the same injury in entirely different circumstances. and if he could come back from a torn patellar tendon, and still get major league hitters out in high leverage situations - yes, he'd lost a tick from 2022 and was shaky at times as he learned to trust his repaired and rehabbed knee, then i'd certainly be able to return to running long distances and being a relatively fast dude for my size and age. he was my avatar during the magical 2024 playoff run, and while he didn't know it - how could he possibly know it - every save, every time he got that big out, every time he worked out of a jam, and especially when he demanded to have the ball back in his hand after failing to cover first in the clincher against the braves, he did it for me, to be a model of resilience and recovery and hope and perseverance. and i think it gave my kids that same feeling that dad'll be ok, too. he will always be a part of my life from now on. and i love him for that. it's the most irrational yet perfectly rational take i can offer, and i'm crushed that the mets let him leave.