By Bob Golon
Special Contributor
Back in 1960, I was a baseball-obsessed eight-year
old, fully devoted to the likes of
Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris, Yogi Berra, Whitey Ford, and of course, the
inimitable Casey Stengel. I took my second trip to Yankee Stadium that year,
and arrived early enough to gasp, as ball after ball flew into the stands
during batting practice. Nothing could be so good!
I suffered my
first broken heart in October, 1960, when Bill Mazeroski’s home run went flying
over the Forbes Field fence, denying the Yankees the World Series. That
disastrous (from my point of view) loss was followed immediately by the firing of Stengel.
But along came Ralph Houk to replace him. Roger Maris hit 61 home runs in 1961,
and Whitey Ford won 25 games while losing only 4 that year. My heart mended quickly.
In late 1961 it was announced that this new team in
New York being planned for 1962, the Mets, were hiring my beloved Casey Stengel
to be their first manager. Hmmmm, pause for thought. As the 1962 season began,
I now realized that I often had two games to watch on TV, which was especially
convenient when one of them was rained out or was being played late at night on
the West Coast.
The 1962 Mets, even though a dreadful club, simply
provided me with more baseball! It was a chance to see National League stars
like Willie Mays and Stan Musial, and besides, they never played the Yankees.
Where was the conflict? There was none, in my young mind.
I lived and died with these two clubs as a young
man. The hollow feeling of the Yankees' futility, which began in 1965, was soon
replaced by the utter euphoria of witnessing the Mets’ World Series “miracle” trouncing
of the thought-to-be-invincible Baltimore Orioles in 1969. Thurman Munson, Tom
Seaver, Bobby Murcer and Jerry Koosman were equals in my mind and heart.
So, it was no surprise that last night, as I was
driving home from the Trenton Thunder game, I tuned in the “subway series”
finale on the radio. I was immediately appalled that the Yankees could not
touch Dillon Gee for more than one run. When Joba Chamberlain bounced a pitch that set up
the Mets insurance run in the eighth inning, I cursed under my breath. Yet,
just two seconds later, I felt happy for the upstart Mets. They remind me of
the 1967 Mets: one very good young pitcher (Matt Harvey) among a not so
talented young team. Yet those ’67 kids accomplished great things
within two years.
Maybe these kids will, too.
They say you can’t root for two teams, but I am living proof that you can. Tonight, I can go back to being “myself” again. Go Yanks! Go Mets! The TV remote will be where it always is, squarely in my hand, switching between my two loves