More than the NL East: What the 2015 New York Mets have meant to me

The Mets claimed the 2015 N.L. East Division title on
Saturday  after a 10-2 win over the Reds.

I’m not one for champagne in baseball clubhouses, except of course when it means the players dousing themselves in celebration are doing so as newly-crowned World Series champions.

That wasn’t the case on Saturday evening at Great American Ballpark in Cincinnati after the Mets clinched the National League East title with a 10-2 win over the Reds. In fact, a part of me was a bit squeamish watching the players wildly celebrate as if the World Series drought that has spanned 29 years in Queens was suddenly over.

Yet, the moment was nine years in the making – nine long years since the organization’s last division championship and it needed to be the jubilant display it turned out to be.

For the players, Saturday was an important accomplishment after an emotional roller
coaster ride of a season. For the fans  – the long-suffering, manic depressive fans like myself  – the celebration meant even more. 

Rare and cherished for some, division titles are a simple formality for other teams and their respective fan bases. The Atlanta Braves won 14 in a row from 1991 to 2005, while the Yankees won nine consecutive A.L. East pennants from 1998 to 2006 and reached the playoffs 13-straight years.

The Mets have no such streak in their 54-year existence. In fact, the organization will appear in the postseason for just the eighth time, so forgive us Mets fans if we puffed out our chests a little more than usual on Saturday night.  

The shear frequency of postseason appearances  – or lack thereof  – is good reason for Mets players and fans to hold onto this moment. But maybe more important than what a division title grants the Mets – one of 10 spots in the postseason – is what it represents for fans like me.

The chance to move on.

Since 2007, the year the Mets missed the playoffs after choking away a seven-game lead with 17 to play, the organization has provided me little fulfillment, just sporadic moments of satisfaction. A Johan Santana no-hitter here; an RA Dickey Cy Young Award there. Other than those two feats, there wasn’t much to root for in the last six seasons.

First came shame of their then-historic collapse. In 2008 we got “The Collapse: Part 2” when the Mets fumbled away a 3½-game lead in September to miss the playoffs once again. The following season was marred by an almost comedic rash of injuries and included Luis Castillo’s epic drop in the bottom of the ninth inning of a Subway Series game against the Yankees. The Mets, who had been picked to win the World Series by Sports Illustrated that spring, finished the year with just 70 wins.

And as the franchise kept letting me down and continued to linger near the bottom of the standings for the next four years, my anger and disappointment gave way to the single most corrosive emotion a sports fan can have: apathy.

I accepted the status quo. I began to detach. I simply didn't care. 

But my juiced up cynicism began to subside this season. After finishing in second place last season, the Amazins continued to show improvement in 2015. After some shrewd acquisitions at the trade deadline, the Mets were suddenly a powerhouse and officially ready to contend for their first postseason berth in nine years.

Yet, the truth is I typed up portions of this column weeks ago, as the Mets continued to streak toward a division crown. The crux of the earlier version of this piece focused on how 2015 had been a season of healing for my inner Met fan – and surely thousands of other fans just like me. 

The simple fact that the team was competing and was once again in the mix meant something to me.

But then I pumped the brakes. The neurosis that had gone unchecked over the last six years kicked in.

What happens if they collapse -- again? I suddenly thought to myself.

If the team had a reprisal of its stunning collapses in 2007 and 2008 this season, surely all of the goodwill this incarnation of the team would be completely undone within my fragile fan pysche. The scars that formed over my invisible wounds would be torn open. 

Mets fans became all too familiar with tabloid covers like 

since the team's epic collapse in 2007.

If the Mets had suffered another calamity, I’d never forgive myself for writing the “It’s-time-to-make-amends” column.

After all, no one can hurt me quite like the Mets can.  

But the possibility of a collapse got less and less likely over the last few weeks. The team that I’ve loved – and at times, absolutely despised – finally returned to form on Saturday evening and punched their first postseason ticket since I was a sophomore in college.

More importantly, it means that I can finally let go of the anger and disappointment that I’ve so often attached to my baseball team.

So often I’ve tried to explain to friends how much just one World Series would mean to me. Not two or three straight. Not a dynastic run like the Yankees of the 1990s, or even the Red Sox' impressive run of three titles in 10 years.  

Just one.

Because when a measly N.L. East Division crown means this much to a fan base, imagine what a one world championship would feel like.