The Mets did not offer Mike Piazza arbitration. We were all but certain they wouldn’t and they didn’t. Now we know that the provisional farewell of October 2 was really it. What seemed like reasonable fait accompli that Sunday seems unnecessarily cruel two months later. The next time the name Mike Piazza flashes on a screen, it will be the name of an ex-Met. The next professional game in which Mike Piazza swings or even crouches, he will appear to us as odd as Tom Seaver did in Red, as Keith Hernandez did in Wahoo, as every Met does when not a Met. Mike Piazza is a Met. Always will be.
John Olerud should be no more than a footnote to us by now. Technically, he hasn’t been a Met since the last century, since Kenny Rogers threw one too many fourth balls. But he never stopped being ours. Blue Jay fans and Mariner fans may beg to differ and I wouldn’t stop them. Phillie fans thought Tug McGraw was one of theirs, too. The wondrous ones you can afford to share.
Oly doesn’t need a helmet anymore. Mike apparently still does. Somewhere tonight, it’s 1999.
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