- Just a Game
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- In 1986, one of my best friends, Bob Millikan, and I saw a dozen
games that year. My father had amazed the entire family on Christmas Day, 1985 by
purchasing two seats for the upcoming 1986 season; a gift for the family. But, there was a
catch. Since I was the runt of the family, I had to wait for my older brothers to cancel
out before I could nail a seat to the game.
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- Bob and I would trudge over the George Washington Bridge in his 62 Convertible to
catch the Mets at Shea. School nights were no exception. We watched Doc Gooden beat the
Reds, saw Strawberry hit a homer over the right field wall, caught a foul ball off of Carters bat, paid a grungy
older fellow to buy us beers at the concession stand, flirted with the girls in the row
behind us who claimed they were Keiths chicks. And dreamed of the
inevitable October.
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- In early September, Bob went off to college at Stockton State. I promised him wed
go to the World Series together but warned he may have to cut a class or two to make it.
He agreed and parted ways for what turned out to be an eternity.
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- In the early morning hours of September 11, 1986 Bob flipped his 62 convertible on
Highway 9 in Somers Point, New Jersey. An early Thursday morning and eighteen years of
innocence had vanished forever. My heart was broken. Somehow, I had to get through this
tough period, but how?
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- The next game I saw was on September 17 at Shea Stadium. Sadness was in my heart, but my
older brother Robert urged me to come along. Not only that, we sneaked four of my pals
into the game. Robert carried on his shoulder a giant tube filled with punch-hole
confetti. Its gonna happen tonight he said. The Mets will clinch
the NL East.
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- By the eighth inning, our third-base line seats were getting overcrowded with thousands
of pressing fans. Something magical was about to happen, something scary, something I will
never forget, but something magical. When the final out was recorded, fifty thousand
orange and blue clad maniacs carried us crazy 18-year olds onto the field. A human gush of
madness and glory
and the rest is history.
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- For a moment, I forgot about the sadness that wallowed in the caverns of my heart; the
sadness and torture of losing a friend so tragically. For a moment, I was innocent again.
And baseball had everything to do with it.
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- On October 25, 1986, I was at the legendary Game Six
standing in the upper decks with my other older brother John by my side. Back then, the
Mets gave season ticket holders an option to purchase more post-season tickets. So, my
mother and father were down below enjoying the third-base line view while John and I were
upstairs. But, it didnt matter where our seats were located. We were at the
game.
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- In the bottom of the tenth inning with two outs, all of my hopes had faded. Only a few
weeks ago, I promised Bob wed go to the World Series together. He was gone. The Mets
were losing and everything I had hoped for this season was coming to a close. More broken
dreams and more sadness. I apologized to Bob in silent prayer for not coming through for
him. Somehow I had equated this game with the happenstance of my life. If the Mets failed,
I failed. It was that simple.
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- I sat down and tried to shake off the
misery. To add insult to injury, a few Red Sox fans took pictures of us gloomy,
broken-hearted Mets fans. I still remember two red-faced, red-dressed, red-haired Red Sox
fans shouting to us, You lose, go bock to your caw! At that point, I
couldnt take it. I stood up and yelled out from the upper decks, my voice drowned
out by throngs of fans, airplanes flying overhead and
cracker jack vendors. Do it for Bob! Do it for Bob!
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- The rest was a complete blur as pandemonium broke lose at Shea Stadium. When Mookie
Wilson hit that slow roller up the first baseline through Buckners legs, all of our
hopes and dreams had become real again. Ray Knight around third, the Mets win. The
Mets win. For a moment, I was innocent again. And baseball had everything to do with
it.
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- Two days later, Game Seven morning, my father came into my room and asked if I
enjoyed seeing game six. I realized there were only four seats and I was sure he and Mom
were going to the game, and probably John and Robert too. Afterall, I was the runt and I
had my fill this time around. I did not expect to go see the final game of the World
Series.
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- You know Frankie he said. You saw an amazing game the other night.
When I was younger than you, I would listen to the NY Giants on the radio. I would be
routing for Willie Mays. Living in the Bronx, I was a minority Giants fan, he said.
We were hard to come by. Anyhow, as you know, John and Robert will be going to the
game.
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- Yeah, dad I know, I replied. Of course, Mom is going, because
shes Mom, he quipped. Yeah, dad I know, I shrugged.
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- Then, his eyes turned to mine and he said, Son, do you want to see history be
made? Yeah, Dad, of course, I said. Well, Frankie, go see history
be made. Have a great time tonight, kid. Heres your ticket."
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- Thats what kind of man my father was; a generous, amazing, romantic who understood
how a simple gesture could lift a kids spirit, searing a memory in his mind forever.
And baseball had everything to do with it.
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- copyright 2006, Frank Messina
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