During his entire active tenure as a New York Met between 1965 and 1977, Buddy Harrelson [1] never played a position besides shortstop, yet I find myself today thinking of his versatility. He could be described as the heart of the Mets, the soul of the Mets, the spirit of the Mets. I think I’ll go with spirit. The Mets as a whole at their best when Harrelson was in his heyday played like nine Buddy Harrelsons. A more spirited team you would not find, though they weren’t exactly short on heart and soul.
[2]
It’s fitting that any of those would work, in that Harrelson would answer to his given name of Derrel (though only Ed Kranepool called him that), Bud (the nickname his family pinned on him when his brother couldn’t quite say “brother,” and it came out “bubba,” which, as nicknames will, morphed into something else) or Buddy, as if “Bud” was too formal. I can’t track down the quote, but I clearly remember reading a passage in the past fifteen or so years in which Harrelson said he liked “Buddy” best because it was friendly. So was he.
Heart, soul, spirit, shortstop, speedster, scrapper, star, champion, coach, manager, scout, broadcaster and, out in Central Islip, owner and ambassador. Versatile Buddy Harrelson did it all in these parts. A mainstay on our baseball scene for most of the years the Mets have existed. One way or another, you knew he was around. That’s how a spirit operates.
Buddy has died [3] at 79, about six years since he went public with his diagnosis of Alzheimer’s Disease. Once in a while, we’d hear about his condition. It was never one that had any hope of improving, but he hung in as long as he could, and goodness knows his family played to the last out. This is one of those passings you were conscious was coming. Nevertheless, his presence to Mets fans won’t be going anywhere soon.
[4]
You can still see him, right?
He’s leaping in that montage on Channel 9 while “Meet the Mets” plays and participating sponsors are recited.
He’s dashing out into shallow left to pull in a popup other shortstops might not get to.
He’s turning another year older on D-Day.
He’s sliding into third with another triple.
He’s safe at home, no matter what Augie Donatelli thinks.
He’s absorbing whatever Pete Rose dares to dish out.
He’s “roomie” in whichever anecdote Tom Seaver is sharing.
He’s yukking it up with Ralph on Kiner’s Korner.
He’s attracting more popular votes than Don Kessinger.
He’s accepting a Gold Glove.
He’s coming off the disabled list and making all the difference defensively.
[5]He’s so smooth on the double play.
He’s advising Kevin Mitchell to look alive, Bob Stanley might throw one in the dirt.
He’s teaching the pitchers to bunt.
He’s switch-hitting at Casey Stengel’s behest.
He’s refining his fielding under the tutelage of Roy McMillan.
He’s trying to get comfortable on SportsChannel.
He’s fulfilling his contractual obligations on WFAN.
He’s mentoring Kevin Elster at Little Falls.
He’s giving signals in the “Let’s Go Mets” video.
[6]He’s striving to live up to the example of Gil Hodges set for him once he’s asked to succeed Davey Johnson, though he was perfectly content serving under a skipper rather than suddenly being one.
He’s back at Shea, a place he should have never been asked to leave.
He’s back at Citi, no matter how difficult being there for the last time was going to be.
He’s going into the club’s Hall of Fame alongside Rusty Staub in the first class of players.
He’s signing enough autographs to paper over Nassau and Suffolk counties.
He’s letting you try on one of his World Series rings if you like — he earned two as a Met, one more than any person ever earned while in uniform.
Bud Harrelson played two seasons for the Philadelphia Phillies and one for the Texas Rangers and put the Long Island Ducks on the map. We had Buddy first and most. Forever our shortstop. Always our Buddy.