But alas, 1987 came along, and taught myself and countless other Mets fans that teams come back down to earth, and that that special magic that occurs with certain teams is difficult to replicate. And who was this Kevin McReynolds guy, and why was he seemingly able to play baseball without a pulse? Dwight Gooden was busted for drugs and had to sit out the first month, and Bobby Ojeda missed most of the season following surgery. The Mets were good again in 1988, but not good enough to beat an inferior Dodgers team in the NLCS. By 1989, they had become another team altogether. Keith Hernandez and Gary Carter (my favorite player) were old and reduced to bench players. Guys like Dave Magadan and Kevin Elster had become infield mainstays.
Then in June of 1989, the Mets inexplicably traded Roger Mcdowell and Lenny Dykstra for Juan Samuel. It was like some sort of cruel joke. Not only were the Mets trading their leadoff man, centerfielder, and all-around sparkplug, but also the man who had been their most reliable bullpen arm possibly ever. The two players with the most visible and likeable personalities were being traded- within their own division– for the human strikeout machine Juan Samuel. Unsurprisingly, Samuel hit .228 as a Met and was summarily driven out of town at the end of the season. This would turn out to be the first in a series of utterly horrific trades by Mets “brass” that would end up driving me away from the team. My once beloved Mets were now a mishmash of bad hitters and underperforming young talent, and began showing a propensity towards streaming in washed up old veterans.
In 1990 they fired Davey Johnson. All the familiar and likeable faces/players were gone by now except Hojo, Gooden, and David Cone. By this point, David Cone was about all I had to root for. I had taken to pitching in little league, and Cone had now become the anchor of the Mets’ staff- the new Gooden but without the bells and whistles (and drug problem). 1991 the Mets finished under .500 for the first time since I became baseball-conscious, and I was having a hard time watching and rooting for the Mets.
I was not the only disheartened and disillusioned Mets fan in Metdom though, and attendance had begun to falter. The front office predictably panicked and made several moves prior to 1992 to attempt to make the Mets contenders again: they traded for Bret Saberhagen, signed Bobby Bonilla, and brought in manager Jeff Torborg.
None of it helped. In 1992 the Mets were even worse, and finished 2 games out of last place. The last straw for me came when they traded David Cone. Their return for the ace of their staff, a man who was had averaged 220+ ip per year, who had gone 80-48 for the Mets ? Jeff Kent and a player to be named later. That “player” would end up being Ryan Thompson.
I’d had it. What had they done with my once beloved Mets? Were they trying to drive fans like myself away? Who was I supposed to root for? Daryl Boston? Over-the-hill Eddie Murray? Joe Orsulak?
In my late 1992, post-David Cone trade haze, I began to take notice of the Milwaukee Brewers. The Brewers at this point were an upstart team- not expected to contend, but a gritty mix of veterans (Yount, Molitor, Bosio) and intriguing young players (Listach, Surhoff, Eldred, Fetters) had kept them within arm’s length of the leading Toronto Blue Jays. I’d never really known what it was like to root for an underdog before, and with the Blue Jays heavily favored and loaded with better players (most of whom I disliked), it seemed like a good fit.
The Brewers came up short that year, but even after it was over I still felt more attracted to this middle-of-nowhere upstart team of no-names than my hometown misfit, egotistical, overpaid Mets. No-names, that is, to most everyone else but me. Because by 1992-1993, I had begun intently following ALL of baseball- every team, both leagues. I had started playing fantasy baseball, and reading Baseball Weekly, even reading up on minor league player. Where, I wondered, does it say that because I live in the NY/NJ area I have to root for the Mets or Yankees? The concept of rooting for a team like the Brewers became almost as appealing to me as the Brewers’ actual team itself.
John Jaha, Dave Nilsson, Pat Listach, B.J. Surhoff, Cal Eldred, and (a year or two later) Jeff Cirillo…all of them had excelled in the minors (according to the numbers, anyway) and I believed would serve as the Brewers core for years to come. Sure, Molitor was traded in 1993 and Teddy Higuera was done after countless arm surgeries, but Dave Nilsson had hit .366 in the minors! Pat Listach had won rookie of the year in 1992, Cal Eldred had assumed the role of staff ace after an incredible 11-2, 1.79 rookie season, and John Jaha…what a name! Ok, not just the name. Jaha was a quiet, beefy, slugging first baseman who had caught my eye by hitting .344 with 30 hr in the minors in 1991 and now had 1b all to himself.
Unfortunately, the Brewers were still a small market team, and didn’t have the greatest front office either. As a matter of fact, it turned out to be a terrible one. But I didn’t care. I had left the Mets and their bumbling ways in the past and had latched on to a team that was about 1,000 miles away, whose games were never on television in New York, and who, after Robin Yount retired in 1993, probably had zero recognizable players to anyone but the most ardent baseball fans.
Maybe I liked it this way. Maybe I liked proving my overall baseball fandom and knowledge by rooting for a team full of players no one had ever heard of. Maybe I figured that if I had to watch and follow losing baseball, that the best way to do it was from afar. Or maybe I just enjoyed being different and pulling for a team that literally no one else around me was. After all, by this point I was a teenager. Probably a combination of all of the above.
I stuck with the Brewers through losing season after losing season, with the occasional glimpses of hope mixed in. On July 23, 1996, they were 50-49, only 4.5 games out of the AL wild card. In 1997, on September 2, the Brewers were 70-67, just 2.5 games out of first. But they would never actually win anything. Not for a long while, anyway.
At the end of 1999, the Brewers parted with the last of the core players that had drawn me to them in the first place. Dave Nilsson was let go after hitting .309 with 21 hrs, something that still boggles my mind to this day. But the real stinger was the Brewers Cone-esque trade of my beloved Jeff Cirillo, along with pitcher Scott Karl, in a 3-way deal that netted a sum total of Jimmy Haynes, Jamey Wright, and Henry Blanco. Again, for me this was not second-guessing or hindsight. The moment I heard about the trade my (baseball) heart sank. I knew this was the end of my Brewers fandom. Just as I had faced with the Mets, who was left on this team that I could be reasonably expected to root for? By this point, I understood and could appreciate the concept of “rebuilding,” but normally rebuilding a major league franchise involves stockpiling and developing young talent. This was something that was lacking in both the Brewers now and those Mets of the early ’90s. The Brewers were now scrapping the next several years, were a National League team, and were still essentially owned by Bud Selig. And by this time I was in college and old enough to know that I disliked him. It was a recipe for finding yet another new team to follow.
Well, by this time I had developed quite a hatred for the Yankees. They were good now, they were winning championships, and worst of all Yankee fans were acting like they were the greatest thing ever. I had always disliked them, hated Steinbrenner, and most of all hated their fans. They weren’t so loud back in 1986 or 1989 or even 1992. But now they were a playoff lock every year and Yankee fans were loud and everywhere. It didn’t seem practical to be an “anti-Yankee” fan and nothing else. I singled out Derek Jeter as representative of all that I hated and thought was overrated about the Yankees. He was good, but as far as I was concerned, Nomar Garciaparra was better. Nomar’s first 4 full seasons avg: .306, .323, .357, .372. He had power that Jeter didn’t have, and to me exhibited the sort of intangibles and charisma that Yankee fans were constantly praising Jeter for.
My instincts won out. That, and watching the 1999 ALCS rooting vehemently against the Yankees and thusly for the Red Sox with a true-blood, born and raised Red Sox fan, convinced me it was time to jump to “the Sox.” (Also I had taken my first trip to Fenway in 1998, for a couple of Yanks-Sox games and absolutely fell in love with the stadium) Perfect- I could root against the Yankees and for the Red Sox, and I wouldn’t be alone! Other than Yankees or Mets fans, Red Sox fans were the most prevalent in the northeast. Why didn’t I think of this before? Well, ok they never had a Nomar before. Or Pedro Martinez, who put up a couple of the most incredibly dominant seasons by a pitcher in history after being traded to the Red Sox.
And by this point, wasn’t I entitled to root for a team that was a contender? Where does it say that I HAVE to stay rooting for the same team my whole life? I grew up watching the skyrocketing of player salaries, players jumping from team-to-team, championship teams being immediately broken up, and baseball in general following suit with the rest of sports/the world in general by becoming business and money first, everything else second. If teams are not beholden at all to the wants and needs of their fans, then why should I feel obliged to follow the same team year after year, no matter what? Teams change, players change, managers change…hell, even owners and general managers change pretty damn quick compared to the old days. I’m a fan- I should be able to choose who I root for and why. And shouldn’t I be entitled to root for a winning team occasionally?
The Red Sox had (and thankfully, still have) an absolutely beautiful ballpark, they had great players to root for, and great players that could matchup against the very best in all of baseball, including the f*cking Yankees. They were a team on the way up, who were quickly closing the gap that had kept them from being able to stand toe-to-toe with the evil Yanks.
In 2003, their sixth consecutive season finishing second to the Yankees, the Red Sox finally secured another wild card and found themselves facing the evil empire again in the ALCS. In 1999 the Yankees (with a little help from the umpires) dismissed the Sox fairly easily, 4 games to 1. This time felt different though. This time the Red Sox had a team that could legitimately be considered a powerhouse.
Now by this point I had graduated college and was living in Chicago, on the northside, in the Cubs backyard. Obviously, being a huge baseball fan and by this point an all-around baseball fan, I immediately began following the Cubs. I watched them, I went to Wrigley, I followed them daily. Sure, I followed the Red Sox just as intently, but being surrounded by Cubs fans and Cubs news, and having only Cubs games to watch, it was only natural. And as fate should have it, not only did the Cubs have a similar (but even longer) streak of winlessness and a historical gem of a ballpark, but they also had improved themselves to the point of being legit contenders by 2003. They had amazing young pitching- Wood, Prior, Zambrano. I couldn’t help but root for the Cubs. Was I a Cubs fan? No, I didn’t and don’t think so. I was just along for the ride as long as I was in town.
At some point in 2003 it struck me- What if the Cubs actually break their curse and win it all while I’m living in Chicago? That would be pretty awesome. As big a baseball fan as I was, I had never been immersed in a city and a team that had as much history- losing as it was- and such passion for that team as the Chicago Cubs.
I got swept up in pennant fever in 2003, pulling simultaneously for the Cubs in the NL and the Red Sox in the AL. In October, it started to look like one or possibly BOTH teams could reach the World Series. Friends asked me “Which team are you rooting for?” “Both” I’d say, “I’m a Red Sox fan but as long as I’m here I may as well pull for the Cubs too.” As you can imagine, people thought I was a front-runner.
As we all know, both the Cubs and the Sox fell short in ’03, both in different but equally heartbreaking and supremely depressing fashion. The Cubs were a huge disappointment. But the Red Sox sent me into a major depression. After the Sox lost the ALCS, I sat in shock and befuddlement for about an hour. I went to sleep for about 12 hours and when I woke up didn’t want to get out of bed. People in Chicago were still jonesing over the Cubs having choked again, but all I cared about was the Red Sox. That was probably the longest the baseball offseason has ever felt, 2003-2004.
In 2004, the Red Sox finally did it. The most amazing postseason series I’ve ever seen in my life, and I don’t expect it will be ever topped. 3-0 down, losing in the 9th, to four straight and beating the Yankees in their own building. And I can truly say that after game 3, I didn’t give up. Stranger things have happened, anything can happen, etc. More than just the standard cliches though, the thought crept into my mind that “Coming back from 3-0 down has never happened before. The Red Sox have not won a World Series in 86 years, and have never beaten these Yankees. If any team is ever going to overcome that 3-0 deficit, it only makes sense that it would be the Red Sox doing it to the Yankees, on their way to winning the World Series and exorcising two demons in the process.” A deep thought, I know. And improbable. But somehow this is what I thought. And it happened. The World Series itself in 2004 is mostly a blur to me. The Yankees were always the biggest obstacle. And how satisfying it was to watch the Yankees and their fans face such a crushing defeat.
Inevitably there was somewhat of a letdown in 2005. What was left? The Cubs had reverted to their feeble, cursed selves (although I blame most of it on Dusty Baker ruining Mark Prior), and the Red Sox had beaten the Yankees. I was still rooting for the Red Sox, but it just didn’t feel the same. During the Sox’ postseason push of 2004, they had traded away Nomar Garciaparra. Pedro Martinez and Derek Lowe were allowed to leave as free agents the following winter, and I was reminded of what happens to baseball teams. Every year is a new year, faces change, players get old, contracts end, and teams have to constantly work to put the best team- and product– on the field. The Red Sox, despite having broken an 86 year old curse and looking like a possible dynasty-in-the-making, were no different. There is no room or time for resting on your laurels.
Which pretty much leads me to the present day, 2009. I don’t consider myself a true Red Sox fan anymore. But then, I don’t consider myself a true fan of any team these days. I’m back living in the New York area now, so I follow the Mets and the Yankees. Obviously, I prefer the Mets. And I pull hard for the Red Sox when they face the Yanks. There are players I like, and there are teams that I enjoy watching, but there’s no one team whose hat I wear. Like lots of other avid baseball fans out there these days, I consider myself an armchair general manager and analyst. The internet, MLB extra innings, MLB network, and fantasy baseball all allow for instant information and thorough coverage. Nowadays, it’s not as simple as “Oh they stink. We need a first baseman.” Now it’s “What is Minaya thinking? Delgado is old and even if he does come back this year, he’s a free agent. He’s already dealt Mike Carp, and there’s no first basemen in the minors who is close. We need to trade for Nick Johnson.” The look, feel, and core of a team can change sometimes with just a trade or two.
I wish I could root for the Mets, but honestly, I can’t even at least consider it until Minaya is fired. I’ll save that for another blog entry. Sorry this turned out to be so long. Thanks for reading.
Bullpen Cloach 