They cannot take that away

I can remember the excitement and enthusiasm I felt as a young boy when the Mets had announced in the winter of 1984 that they had traded Hubie Brooks and a cast of minor leaguers to Montreal for "The Kid."

I can remember his first photo opportunity in Shea Stadium when they announced the trade, where he looked up with eyes of wonder at the orange seats of the upper deck, and flashed that big smile that would become his calling card.

I remember just coming home from school and watching the Mets' Opening Day game in 1985 when he hit a down-and-away slider from Neil Allen of the St. Louis Cardinal's in the ninth inning for a three-run home run into the bleachers in left-center field to win the game for the Mets.

The ball seemed like it had no business leaving the ballpark. The pitch was no where near a strike. The frenzy of the crowd that day after his home run would signal to all Mets' fans of the raucous celebrations that would emanate from Shea Stadium for the next four years.

As clear as day, I can remember the mob at home plate surrounding Gary Carter as his teammates rubbed the top of his head in euphoria. As he crossed the plate, I remember then Met TV announcer Steve Zabriski exclaim, "Welcome to New York, Gary Carter!"

Those words have never left my brain since.

I remember a home run he hit against the Atlanta Braves in 1986, when the Braves were just an average team in the majors and the Mets were the pitching and offensive powerhouse of the day. The hit put the Mets up 7-0 in an "it counted for nothing" game.

The Mets were well ahead of the second place Phillies in the division by some 20 or so games at the time. Winning the division was only a matter of time. But, that home run... I guess the reason I recall it was that it was so reminiscent of Carter's other home run swings. He looked more like he was hacking at the ball then swinging, and at the end of the follow through he would instantly jerk the bat forward toward the strike zone, as if the bat had struck a rubber wall. He leaned into the pitch, bent his mangled catcher's knees, with his back lurched forward, and exploded on the inside fastball. He would make this face as if he was blowing all the air out of his lungs before he would strike the ball, and his curly hair, bunched up around his helmet, would bounce around during the swing. Then, the ball would take off -- it was not the majestic home runs of Darryl Strawberry, or the fluid stroke of Keith Hernandez -- but it was magic.

I remember the 1986 World Series, Game 6. But, while everyone remembers Bill Buckner, I remember Gary Carter.

The story is so old it might not be even worth repeating. The Mets were down to their last out, down two runs, in the top of the 10th inning. The Red Sox were celebrating, NBC, which was broadcasting that game, had conceded the championship to Boston. Keith Hernandez, who only minutes before had made the second out of the inning on a flyball, went into the club house, opened a beer and lit up a cigarette so that he wouldn't have to watch the Mets lose. The crowd was torn between cheering on their team or wallowing in their own misery.

Then up stepped Carter. Mangled knees, pure physical exhaustion from having caught an entire season and postseason from April to October, he went up there, hacking as he always had. On a 1-1 pitch, he fouled off a high and up fastball with that signature hack and head turnaround move, where he would look backwards after hitting the ball and then swing his head forward at the pitcher like a slingshot, with a little jump in the air as he was doing it.

He would foul off another, before hitting this dying liner into left-center field on a high fastball single. And then came TV announcer Vin Scully's prophetic words, "The Mets aren't done just yet".

The crowd roared after that single, then roared some more when he scored what was to be a meaningless run off of Ray Knight's pop up single into center field, running on his sore knees. And while the rest is history, Carter's presence made that possible.

Then there was his bloop single in Game 1 of the 1988 National League Championship Series against the Dodgers that drove in the winning run, behind the dominant pitching performance of one young David Cone, which showed he was simply synonymous with winning and New York.

In his five years in New York, he caught maybe the greatest collection of pitchers in the 1980's -- Dwight Gooden, Sid Fernandez, David Cone, Rick Aguilera, Jesse Orosco, Ron Darling, Randy Myers, Roger McDowell, Frank Viola, and the man who was at his Hall of Fame press conference, Bob Ojeda.

To a man, each pitcher credits Carter with their early success. And to a man, none of these pitchers ever had the same success they had throwing to Carter, with any other catcher.

It seemed that for years, Carter was catching the third strike of the third out of each inning, where he would simply roll the ball to the mound and run back to the dugout with his shoulders propped forward, catching mask in one hand and his glove in the other.

I remember one year later at a game in Wrigley Field when Carter hit the 300th home run of his career. It was a typical Carter swing, but at this point in his career, he had begun to struggle with it. The bad knees had caught up with him. His ability to throw out runners had diminished. He could not turn on the fastball with the same life and vigor of the Gary Carter of old, and the Mets were a team falling apart at the seams.

But, what I can't seem to remember is when and how Gary Carter left. Until he had put on the Expos uniform for the second time, it was almost as if he had simply taken a hiatus from baseball.

What I do remember is this -- when Carter was a Met no more, the Mets could win no more. Not until another great and likely future Hall of Fame catcher, Mike Piazza, would later follow in his footsteps eight years later (also acquired via a trade and who had also made himself famous in another town), would the Mets ever smell success again.

When you think about it, success and the New York Mets have been so synonymous with catchers.
It would seem so apropos that Carter should enter the Hall of Fame as a New York Met, for the very core and tradition of the franchise lies from the position he played with success and vigor for five years.

While Piazza has certainly had success as a Met, it does not escape many diehard Mets fans that Carter was associated with the last time the Mets won a World Series. And even if Piazza plays for the Mets for much longer than Carter, and breaks every offensive catcher record as a Met, he will still only be second-fiddle to the World Champion Carter unless he is part of a World Championship Mets' ball club.

Berra and Hodges also can't compete with "The Kid," not only because they were not Met players, but also because they are more associated with the other teams for whom they played.

Even though the venerable men of Cooperstown have chosen that Carter will enter the Hall of Fame as an Expo, he will undoubtedly be recalled fondly as a Met. While he may have played longer in Montreal, his five years with the Mets was akin to a lifetime of dreams fulfilled.

As "The Kid" steps to the podium to give his Hall of Fame acceptance speech later this year, and looks around with his wide-eyed awe and magnanimous smile, I will recall that it was the very same look he had when he first stepped foot onto the Shea Stadium turf as a New York Met that wonderful day in the winter of 1984.