yagottabelieve:

I’m sitting here kind of just waiting for what I consider to be an inevitable end, but I do have something to say about this year’s team before it’s all over.

This is the most emotional season I have experienced as a Mets fan. Not the best. Not my favorite. But the most emotional? Definitely.

On July 30 when they blew that game against San Diego, the day after the Carlos Gomez trade fell through and the worst offense in the game remained intact, I was literally brought to the absolute brink of my fandom. I was so fed up with the Mets’ seemingly innate ability to fuck up the unfuckable-up, to crush uncrushable hopes. My spirit was sucked out of me. They’d gotten so close to finally being good, and they couldn’t even hold a 6-run lead and dropped 3 games behind Washington and I could foresee everything that had happened in previous seasons happening all over again. This was when they would slowly begin to fade away and I’d wake up two weeks later and somehow they’d be 10 games back and I’d have to deal with another summer of completely meaningless games. I texted my Dad–who knows the Mets have been my world for 18 years–and said I was ready to jump off the proverbial bridge. I told him, “I can’t handle this anymore. They just find a way to screw everything up. I don’t have any faith in them. I’m just resigned to a loop of embarrassment forever.”

I think he didn’t really know what to say to comfort me in the moment, so he just said typical Dad stuff like “you’re too young to lose hope. You just have to believe that it will turn around one day. You’re the most loyal Mets fan I know.”

Out of habit, because watching the Mets is as much a part of my daily routine as waking up, I tuned in July 31 and watched Wilmer Flores’ amazing walkoff homer. I was really happy for him. It was nice to see and reminded me of other small pockets of happiness I’ve experienced in bad seasons that I guess have carried me through.

In early August, I was on vacation for a week - a true vacation, where the Mets could be watched or listened to but were not a priority. During that vacation, a 7-game winning streak began and the Nationals tanked and the Mets took over first place. I didn’t get too caught up in it. Ups and downs happen over the course of a long season.

They stayed in first place, though, and it became kind of fun. Hey, maybe they’ll really be in it this September, I thought cautiously to myself. Oh how I had been burned by that thought before. But we hadn’t been in first this late in 7 years. I woke up the morning of August 14, the Mets’ lead had jumped to 4.5 games, and I almost began to cry because that was when it became real that this could actually have a chance of happening.

I think about that now. How just the *idea* of a *chance* was enough to make me almost cry.

Again while I was on vacation, the Mets took another big step toward locking up the division by sweeping the Nationals in Washington (I guess I need to go on more vacations?). Even then, a small part of me still wondered if this was really possible. If it was possible for me to feel this elated again. Six weeks had passed since my day of despair.

And then they won the division, and I feel that perhaps my enjoyment of that day was muted compared to what it was in 2006, or in ‘99 or 2000 when they clinched the Wildcard. Some of the numbness I had built up over the years to protect myself - protect myself from days such as July 30, 2015, or September 28, 2008, or September 30, 2007, or October 26, 2000, or October 19, 1999 - was still inside me.

After Jacob deGrom mowed down the Dodgers in Game 1, suddenly, as if overnight, my expectations rose and I wanted more. I didn’t want it to end. I’ve seen talented teams waste their opportunities before. I didn’t want that to be this team. You never know when it will be your last chance.

Disbelief was the overwhelming emotion after Game 5. They snatched victory from the jaws of defeat and it felt like a dream. I asked myself, is this really happening?

Once again I braced my bruised heart for the NLCS. This was a really tough team we were about to face and our fairytale end to the season already had enough chapters in it. I expected it to end there, and then I’d step back after it was over, look back and say, “wow, that was fun.”

And then all of a sudden - faster than I could digest it or absorb it - we were up 3-0 and winning Game 4 by 5 runs and reality came barreling down on me like a train.

THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING, KERRY.

I got down on the floor and curled up in a ball and cried during the 9th inning. Not outrageous wailing. The silent tears of disbelief. The tears of someone who wanted SO BADLY to be ABLE to give up back on July 30 and just couldn’t. Because, no matter what they do to me, how they drag me through the mud, they’re as much a part of me as my breath. And my desperate love for them was rewarded in the most unbelievable, amazing, whirlwind fashion imaginable.

This team gave me a gift this season. They gave me back my belief. That little glimmer inside of me saying, “hey, it probably all ends tonight. But god…wasn’t it worth it?”