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.