The date was October 2, 2005.
With the exception of the heartbreaking collapses that would come
down the road in 2007 and 2008, there weren’t many Sunday afternoons in late
September/early October that would make Mets fans want to sit through nine
innings of a team just trying to end its season.
There was no postseason on the horizon for the ’05 Mets, something
that Mets fans grew accustomed to for five conservative seasons at this
point. But this day was different.
October 2, 2005 was Mike Piazza’s final game as a New York Met. For someone, like myself, who was only 20
years old at the time, Piazza was on my personal Mount Rushmore of baseball
icons. He gave myself, and many Mets fans, moments of joy from the various
homers he hit off Roger Clemens and the Yankees to the historic homerun against
the Atlanta Braves in the first game at Shea Stadium post-9/11.
Shea was rocking that day. Fans jammed the old ballpark with signs
that read “Thank you Mike” and chants of “Mike Pi-az-za” that echoed through
the confines of Shea Stadium from the first pitch.
It was an emotional day.
When Willie Randolph finally substituted Piazza with Mike Difelice
in the top of the eighth, Piazza received a standing ovation that lasted nearly
10 minutes. It was hard to watch and there certainly wasn’t a dry eye in the
house that day in Shea.
13 years later, we had that moment again.
David Wright’s career came to a sobering conclusion in front of a
full house at Citi Field. Like Piazza’s final day all those years earlier,
there were tears and smiles. The signs that once read “Thank you, Mike,” now
read “Thank you, David.”
While Piazza’ revitalized a franchise when he first came over via a
trade with the Florida Marlins in 1998, Wright was the guy who carried the torch.
He along with Jose Reyes was the face of the franchise for the better part of
the last decade. Even when spinal stenosis, and a bulging disc took away a fair
amount of Wright’s career, he was still considered “the captain” of the Mets.
While the box score Saturday read that Wright was 0-for-1 with a
walk, it didn’t really matter, because this night was both a coronation of a long
and even painful road back, and a sad goodbye to memorable career.
Certainly had Wright driven in Jose Reyes in the bottom of the first
inning, the upper deck probably would have collapsed with excitement, but when
Mickey Callaway removed Wright from the game before the top of the fifth,
allowing him to take in the moment, it was hard not to get emotional.
Wright gave a bear hug to his buddy Jose Reyes, the tears obviously
welling up in both of their eyes. In 2006 when the two celebrated a National
League East title, it was supposed to be the beginning of a dynasty. Instead
fate had a different plan.
Wright then turned toward the dugout, looked up around him at the thousands
of people who stood cheering and clapping. He smiled, and cried as he waved
goodbye, hugged all of his teammates, before taking one last curtain call.
Then, like Piazza did 13 years ago, Wright walked down the tunnel … for the clubhouse … for the final time.
It’s never easy to say goodbye to our baseball heroes. Whether it is
Piazza, Wright, or even Derek Jeter across town in the Bronx, they remind us
who we are, who we were and where we were in our lives. When they leave, a
piece of us as baseball fans leaves as well.
For the young Met fan that grew up watching David Wright, one can
only imagine the tears flowing from their eyes to see their baseball hero say
goodbye.
As I’ve told many friends before, you know you’re getting old when
your favorite stars exit stage left.
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