Do I drown myself, gurgling internal tears
Because the magic carpet ride has ended
With a loss to a better Dodger team?
I have lived through every season since
The hard and painful birth in 1962
And I am used to losing with my Mets.
But this year was as magical as ’62 and’73.
This Amazin’ team had character and personality,
Showing constantly the touch, the ability
To return from the seeming dead, and to
Replicate an athletic kind of reincarnation which
Thrilled and filled its followers with optimism often absent
In most past years. There were dramatic homers, clutch singles,
Doubles, flawless fielding, low-ERA pitching, – – – and
Appearances by Grimace, the rally pumpkin,
The Temptations and OMG – – – so we fanatics
Went along, cheering every day . . . and
They missed the Series by two games while
13 other Senior Circuit teams were on vacation.
I cannot wring my hands at what might have been.
I love my team and realize that we will lose
A few players to trades, free agency, release, which is
The way it goes in the baseball business (The 1986 Series MVP
Was gone in ’87) but I have inhaled this team and
Its spirit has merged with mine and made me a better fan.
Now comes the Series and I fall back to my Bronx childhood
So I will cheer the Yanks, but not too loudly, for
It’s hard to get massively involved with this World Series
When my heart has packed its bags and has begun post-season,
Having left the battlefield for others to do baseball combat.
But I can’t prevent myself, after almost seven months
From whispering, “Let’s go, Mets” just one more time!
THE POETRY OF THE GAME