Thanks, Mike Piazza

By Doug Geed

    I'm not sure if it was 1967 or '68 -- I was only 8 or 9 years old -- but that's when my dad took me to my first Met game at soon-to-be-torn down Shea Stadium. 

   I've been a faithful Met fan ever since and have attended dozens of games as a child, a teen, a college student, a boy-friend, a husband and most recently, a father.

                             

  Back in the old days, my favorite players were Ron Swoboda and Tommie Agee.

Those '69 Mets were very special to me since they were the first team of "mine" to win a championship. Sadly, there haven't been many more (especially since I'm an avid Jet fan as well!)

The Mets had many more players I liked through the years -- Mookie Wilson, Dwight Gooden, Edgardo Alfonzo. But when Mike Piazza came along, I knew we had something special. (I even remember where I was when I heard the Mets had traded for him. My wife and I were strolling through downtown Greenport celebrating our anniversary in in May of 1998 when I heard the buzz.)

     Piazza to me was always "old school" -- a very hard-working, keep-your-mouth shut, don't complain, just do your job player. He never seemed to whine or dodge questions, even when his team or he himself were going through tough times. And he always seemed to handle himself with class and dignity. That was especially true when Roger Clemens, quite possibly (relax, company attorneys -- I said "possibly") went on a steroid-induced rage and threw a shredded baseball bat at Piazza, claiming he thought the broken piece of wood in his hand was a baseball.

    And of course, the list of historic home runs he hit in a Met uniform and the number of times he delivered a key hit would make this blog longer than even a long-time Met fan would care to read.

     So when he announced his retirement this week, it was both happy and sad for me. Sad because the  great game of baseball was losing a classy professional, but happy because it started the clock ticking for a very special event I've been planning for awhile.

    My son was 9 years old when Piazza joined the Mets and, just like for me, he instantly became our favorite player. Within the first couple of years, it was obvious Piazza would not only end up in the Hall of Fame, but he'd be inducted on his first ballot. (For those of you who don't know, a baseball player has to be retired for five seasons before he is considered for induction into Cooperstown. He may or may not be voted in that first year, but can be in future years.)

   So I'm not exactly sure when or where it was when my son and I discussed this, but one day we made a pledge: that no matter when it is and no matter where we are in life, we would attend the induction ceremonies for Mike Piazza. I've been to Cooperstown probably 8 or 10 times since I was a kid and it's a very special place for me and my entire family. (We also have two daughters who love the village and the Hall itself, just like my wife and myself.)

    Ironically, or I guess appropriately, when I heard the news about Piazza's retirement, I was in my car driving to the Baltimore area to pick up my son from college. That little 9-year-old kid is now a 6-foot-2-inch college freshman. He'll be 24 during the Hall of Fame induction for Piazza -- and I'll be 54.

     Life is so unpredictable, no matter how much you plan, you just never know where it's going to take you. But I have a strange feeling that I know exactly where I'll be on the last weekend of July, 2013 -- and who I'll be with.

   And despite all the home runs, all the thrills, all the cheers, all the moments you made us proud to be Met fans, it's for THAT reason that I mainly want to say, "Thanks, Mike Piazza."