Here I sit, isolated from the sated hunger felt
By others fortunate to be followers of the teams
In 2025 who proved their mettle and made it
To post-season. Here I sit chilled by the fall
Season and the fall of my Mets, a team that
Was the best in the Majors on June 12 . . .
And then collapsed, weighed down by losing
Streaks and not a single win when they trailed
After eight innings. Here I sit, shedding tears
Of blue and orange, confused about the future
and devastated about the season which has
moved on and left my ilk behind much as the
Mets were left behind while a dozen of their
Uniformed brother squads salivate and wait for
October games to comfort and reward them.
Their fans will cheer and smile and poke each
Other’s elbows; they will wear team colors and
Shirts glorifying their favorite players; I will go
Over turning points (When did champagne turn
To vinegar and sweet success to sour after-taste?)
I struggle to eschew the haunting thoughts that
Wait for me: Who should be replaced – – – the
Manager, the coaches, the deal-and-decision-
Maker, the vendors? My thoughts are askew
And home plate has gone on its typical Met
Vacation to a half-year land where no player
Views the scoreboard and no mascot spreads
Encouragement. The bases are baseless when
The season ends so prematurely. I have been
Through this 62 times while the team has won
The Series twice – – – and still the orange-blue
Tears fall and I wail that my team has betrayed me.
Why am I reacting so when they’ve acted so
So many times before?