Chapter 91: Gary Carter, Safe at Home

Growing up, baseball was an enormous part of my life, and my favorite team was the New York Mets. Some people wore their team colors, but everyone understood where my loyalty was just by talking with me for a little while. I tended to speak about baseball all the time. Every tale of summertime had a pickup game in it. When my friends and I could think of nothing else to do, there was always a ball to toss around. And if it was raining, well, we had baseball cards.

I started really collecting during the summer of 1978. Most remember that as the season when the Yankees came back to meet and defeat the Red Sox. I remember enjoying Craig Swan mowing down the opposition and winning the ERA title. As a Mets fan, we had few things to root for. Ed Kranepool's pinch hits. Lee Mazilli and John Stearns sparking a rally. A visit from the Reds and Tom Seaver to remind us how things used to be.

But things changed in the 1980s. First, in 1980, there was a brief moment during the summer when the team reached .500, which is basically mediocrity. But for a kid like me, it meant things were looking up. We might break even this year. Then next year, if we win just a few more games, we could be in the playoff hunt. I wasn't interested in girls yet. Baseball was my true love.

I remember being thrilled when Keith Hernandez was traded to the Mets in 1983. He had been a champion with the St. Louis Cardinals in 1982 and a Most Valuable Player in 1979. This guy was a star. After the solid 1984 season, when Davey Johnson led the team to a surprising second-place finish, the Mets acquired Gary Carter. Now we had a superstar. Carter was the best catcher in the game. Sure, he was entering the second half of his career, but he was still solid. And the Expos were a strong club in those days. He had been part of a winning organization.

Much has been said about the Mets teams of the mid '80s, and little of it kind. They were brash. Loud. Cocky. And they won.

Carter was the class. He was the stability. He was what a catcher had to be: strong, confident, encouraging, dependable. He played the way I always hoped to play.

When I learned yesterday that the Kid had died, I was sad. To be honest, I expected it would happen soon. I'd read the stories about his brain cancer and how his most recent treatments had failed. I knew his mother had died from leukemia when he was a boy. And from what I'd read, he knew it wouldn't be long, too. He was a God-fearing man and was ready to head home. After all, he was a catcher. And home is where we belong.

Chapter 90.5: Turning on the Hot Stove

Ok, I have about three minutes to squeeze in a blog post (which is often the case, and a big reason why there are few posts here lately.) Anyway, I was just chatting with a work friend, who like me is a baseball fanatic.

He asked where I thought Luis Pujols would end up. I told him I expected that he'd remain in St. Louis, but I could also see him heading out to Anaheim, despite their young first baseman Mark Trumbo. "What St. Louis needs to ask itself," I said, "is whether signing a 31-year-old Pujols, who may be on the downward side of his career, or Jose Reyes, who is 28 but prone to injury." I don't think they have the capacity to sign both to the contracts they will command on the open market. Basically, do you sign a top-notch shortstop, a position very hard to fill with quality, or a Hall of Fame first baseman, a position that is easier to fill.

My friend talked about how Pujols might be willing to offer a "home-town discount." Of course, for a guy who's already earning upward of $20 million a year, a hometown discount is still more than $20 million a year! And I don't think Reyes could command that.

For the record, I don't think my Mets will resign Reyes. I also don't know that he's definitely staying in the National League. But his market will not be as large as some people seem to think. The teams that might be able to sign him mostly have a solid shortstop in place or are unlikely to be attractive to Reyes, who I woudl expect wants to go to a perennial contender.

What do you think?

Chapter 90.2: Volunteer Spirit

In a couple weeks, our nation will recognize the tenth anniversary of one of the most horrifying attacks on its soil. I live not too far from New York City. These days, I work in Manhattan, a quick subway ride away from the area now known as Ground Zero. Ten years ago, it was just "the trade center" and it describes a larger area than most non-New Yorkers realize.

Those who know me well are aware that I'm an emergency medical technician (EMT) and have been for more than half my life. So, 9/11 hit me differently than it did for a lot of other Americans. I lost a friend that day and remain very thankful I didn't lose more. But this year will be a little different. Not only is it the tenth anniversary of that fateful day, but I'm also assigned to my squad duty that day. I don't expect anything tragic to happen to mark the day. But if it does, I have my training and experience to fall back on as well as the assistance of many able fellow volunteers.

You don't have to be an EMT to serve your community; it's my way, I don't expect it to be everyone's. But I hope that if you're able you'll find a way to volunteer your time, either on that day or on other days. Regardless of what your political positions might be, volunteering is mostly about helping to better your community or society. We're still months off from New Year's Resolutions, but maybe you can resolve to squeeze in a bit of volunteering into your life. You may find it's a wonderful way to improve not only your community but your perspective. Good luck. Stay safe.

Chapter 90: Hot Stuff

While I was jogging this morning, I passed an attractive young woman who was chatting with a neighbor of hers. She saw me and flashed me a thumbs up sign. I smiled, waved, and said good morning.

I don't think she was flirting with me. I think she was acknowledging that we both suffer from the same sickness. You see, she had exercise clothing on, too. For all I know, she might have just come back from a workout at the gym. Mind you, this is before 7 a.m. As Met first baseman Lucas Duda said about playing yesterday in 90-plus degree heat, "It's freaking hot out there!"

Of course, that's why I was out jogging before the rest of my household (other than the cats) was awake. It's freaking hot out there and getting hotter!

Why is it that joggers feel the need to get those miles in, mile after mile? Is it a madness derived from wanting to know how far we've gone? I mean, most joggers I know keep logs of either time run, miles run, or both. Or is it possibly because we have some undisclosed need to torment our bodies? No, I don't think so. If I did, I'd be like I was in high school and run in the middle of the day during days like this, running sans t-shirt in the hope that I might impress someone. To my knowledge, the only remarks I ever heard were about how stupid it is to run in such deadly weather.

I don't run as far or as long as I did just a few years ago. Kids'll do that to a guy. Probably to a woman, too. But I still long to put those miles down, to mark the steps taken. To know that, for at least a half hour or so, I pushed myself on this day, despite the obstacles.

Crazy. It's just too freaking hot out there.

Stay cool, everyone!