I met one of MY FAVORITE SEASONS, FROM LEAST FAVORITE TO MOST FAVORITE, 1969-PRESENT on the street last night. It seemed so glad to see me, I just smiled. And we talked about some old times, and we drank ourselves some beers. Still Metsie after all these years.
Actually, that’s Paul Simon’s version of events. Here’s what really happened.
“Hey, hey — over here!”
“Oh. Hi.”
“Hi! Thanks for coming.”
“Sure.”
“I mean, we haven’t seen each other for almost a couple of years. I didn’t know if you wanted to get together.”
“You asked, I’m here. What’s up?”
“Well, you may know I’ve been lining up all my seasons.”
“I heard something about that.”
“And now I’m up to you.”
“OK.”
“And I just wanted to let you know…”
“Know what?”
“I wanted to let you know I forgive you.”
“You forgive me?”
“Yeah. It’s OK. I forgive you.”
“YOU forgive ME?”
“You’re welcome.”
“Oh my god.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t believe the nerve of you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t forgive me because I have nothing to be sorry about.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Maybe I should go far right now.”
“Wait. Don’t go. That came out wrong. Can I start over?”
“You better.”
“All right. I…I wanted to let you know, that as I was lining up my seasons and I got to thinking about you, that I’m sorry about the way we ended.”
“Well, neither one of us was happy about that.”
“And the way we were falling apart as we got to the ending.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘falling apart,’ exactly.”
“It could have gone better.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“We really did have some fun times together.”
“So you admit it.”
“Admit it? I never hid it!”
“I don’t know about that. After we ended, all I heard from you is that you weren’t satisfied about what we’d gone through together.”
“That’s a selective reading of our history. I’d expect more from you, given how interested in history you seemed to be back then.”
“You don’t admit you didn’t tell everybody how dissatisfied you were?”
“Only at the end.”
“Only at the end. That’s a pretty big period to put on things.”
“I hope you know you were more than our ending to me. I hope you know I value how we began and how we ensued and how we were most of our time together.”
“Most people only care about the end.”
“Well, I’m not most people.”
“No, you aren’t, I suppose.”
“And you weren’t most seasons.”
“I see you haven’t forgotten how to interpret numbers.”
“I can still count to a hundred and one.”
“And how often have you gotten to do that in your life?”
“Not often.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Sounds like somebody wants to have some kind of measuring contest.”
“Who, me?”
“I’m just kidding. You never were the jealous type. I still smile thinking about the time you invited everybody over from all those earlier seasons.”
“What can I say? I like a good anniversary party.”
“You set the stage for it. It wasn’t just the gala, either. We had some really big shindigs I can’t recall any other season being so up for. Though it feels like we should have gone more all-out with the champagne that night in Milwaukee.”
“Now who’s doing the measuring?”
“I also liked the brand-name shopping, and you never skimped. A Cy Young pitcher, an All-Star outfielder…you even got us a manager I’d heard of. Oh, and our closer…”
“I can’t take credit for the closer. The closer was already here.”
“Yeah, but you made the closer something special — I can still hear the trumpets.”
“I’m liking this reading of history. Tell me more about what I did for you.”
“Why not? This is supposed to be a celebration of how much I like you, even now.”
“How much do you like me?”
“Fifteenth most.”
“FIFTEENTH MOST? You drag me back here to tell me I’m No. 15 on your list? That’s your idea of telling me you forgive me?”
“C’mon. It’s fifteenth out of fifty-five.”
“Oh. I guess that’s not so bad.”
“I like you more than 1988. Two whole spots more.”
“So what? Nobody likes 1988.”
“I do. But not as much as I like you.”
“I won more games than 1988, you know.”
“Yeah, but your winning percentage wasn’t quite as high, because 1988 had two rainouts.”
“You remember too much.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard.”
“Are you like this with all your seasons?”
“Only the ones I really like.”
“Thanks. I think.”
PREVIOUS ‘MY FAVORITE SEASONS’ INSTALLMENTS
Nos. 55-44: Lousy Seasons, Redeeming Features
Nos. 43-34: Lookin’ for the Lights (That Silver Lining)
Nos. 33-23: In the Middling Years
Nos. 22-21: Affection in Anonymity
No. 20: No Shirt, Sherlock
No. 19: Not So Heavy Next Time
No. 18: Honorably Discharged
No. 17: Taken Down in Paradise City
No. 16: Thin Degree of Separation
Thank you for the reminder! I had forgotten they even played in 2022.
You’re too generous. The final two weeks of this one really ruined things.
2022 served its purpose for us as Mets fans, letting us know that this franchise and nucleus of key players was good enough to have a season like it. That gave us hope going into 2023, and it continues into this year. While the flashy winning percentage was being built through September 1, we felt like we were on an amusement park ride. The offense was good enough to give the sense that they were never out of almost any game, even if behind early by several runs, and the pitching and the defense came through in key spots time and again. But, like all amusement park rides, it had to end sometime, with the MF Braves throwing a wrench into the works just as the loop was reaching the disembarking point where we’d board another, hopefully more thrilling ride. Falling to San Diego was the insult which ultimately puts 2022 below a few more non-playoff seasons in Greg’s esteem and probably many of ours. If I ran into 2022 on the street, I’d thank it for its wonderful spring and summer when I needed its felicity the most. Personally for me, the joyride got me through a tough, scary period with my health, and as I got better, the season got worse. I’ll take such a trade any year.