A World Series pilgrimage: How I'll remember my maiden voyage to the Fall Classic

My father, Gary, and I up in Section 525 at Citi Field during 

Game 5 of the World Series on Nov. 1, 2015. 

With my hood pulled over my head and chin slumped on my chest, I descended the stairways of Citi Field with thousands of other Mets fans sometime after 12:30 a.m. Monday, while trying to quell the toxic combination of emotions coming to a steady boil in my chest.

The chants of Royals fans echoed from within the ballpark, as that unbearable feeling -- equal parts sadness, disbelief and loss -- flowed to every which corner of my body.

My first World Series game -- a night that started with so much promise and continued in exhilarating fashion for eight innings -- turned into a nightmare scenario. 

A Mets postseason run that at times felt destined to end with a World Series championship and Canyon of Heroes Parade came to a sudden and stunning halt early last Monday when the Royals rallied for two runs in the top of the ninth inning in Game 5 of the Fall Classic, before winning 7-2 in 12 innings. 

My father and I were there for it all, up in section 525 taking in the staggering turn of events in our first-ever live World Series game. We watched as the crowd of 44,000 began to thin out when the Royals seized a commanding lead. Then with the final out, the visiting team poured onto the field to celebrate its first World Series title in 30 years, ending a drought just a year longer than ours. 

On some level, the scene was my greatest fear when I purchased our tickets for a whopping $1,600 nine days earlier. But the transaction itself -- like the Mets' unexpected run deep into October baseball -- wasn't without a hint of serendipity. 

* * * * *

Citi Field shortly before Game 5 of the World 

Series

Several weeks earlier, my parents were on their way home from a weekend in Upstate New York when my dad spotted a license plate with his initials, followed by a sequence of numbers. A frequent lottery player, the self-proclaimed "No. 1 Mets fan" decided to play those same numbers, and sure enough, they were a winner. 

It was a modest payout -- a bit more than $3,000. But when the Mets clinched the National League pennant, my father's windfall became my best chance to convince him to buy world Series tickets with me. 

"Dad, you won that money for a reason," I told him, invoking some higher power or spiritual force that perhaps wanted us to attend a World Series game. 

"Let me think about it," he said several times, unsure if he was ready to part with that much money.  

But there wasn't time to think. The clock was ticking and if we wanted to be in the building for a game, we had to act. To force the issue, I resorted to fibbing. I told him that I had already bought the tickets. 

"Why don't you take a girl? It will really impress her," he said dismissively. 

Sorry Dad, Jessica Chastain is out of town this weekend, I should have quipped. Of course in reality, I only wanted to go with him and share an experience that we could potentially relish for the rest of our lives. 

So when he shot me down on my third attempt, I got desperate and enlisted the help of my father's mother, who took her best shot at him with a phone call. Yet, still afraid that my dad wouldn't relent -- even after getting a "talking to" from my grandmother -- I went to my closer: his wife. 

Sure enough, Mom got the job done, practically threatening divorce if he didn't come to his senses, put money concerns to the side and take advantage of this rare opportunity. What's more, he was even going to pay for my ticket. 

I got a text message from my mother the next morning relaying the message that Dad was in. I quickly logged on, punched in my credit card number and secured our two seats for Sunday's Game 5, with the hope that perhaps we'd get to witness the Mets clinch the title on their home field that night.

* * * * *

That was of course several days before the World Series had even begun. When the night finally came for Game 5, it was our team that was down three games to one, facing elimination. Yet, we were rewarded for our loyalty when Harvey authored a masterful performance through the first eight innings. 

For eight innings we chanted Harvey's name, rose to our feet in two-strike counts and erupted with every strikeout. We jumped out of our seats when Curtis Granderson blasted a leadoff solo home run in the bottom of the first inning and cheered confidently when our team padded its lead with a run in the sixth inning. 

Despite the way the series had unfolded up until that point, we were certain that we'd be walking out of the building with a win and getting ready for Game 6 Tuesday night.  

Then, in what felt like a millisecond, it all fell apart in the ninth inning. Harvey's armor began to crack after giving up a leadoff walk and then a run-scoring double. Before we knew it, Eric Hosmer was crossing home plate, scoring the tying run on an errant throw home from Lucas Duda -- a routine 90-foot throw that would have ended the game had it been on target.

I stuck around for a few moments and videotaped the
Royals rush onto the field to celebrate (yes, that's my
dad saying "C'mon, let's go find a diner" in the background).

As the throw sailed wide of catcher Travis d'Arnaud's mitt, my legs practically buckled 
from the incomprehensible disappointment. I fell into a crouch and stayed that way for several seconds while the gravity of Duda's error set in.

On one hand, the victory we were sure we'd be celebrating several moments earlier had slipped away, the potential for an even more exciting finish still loomed. If the Mets could somehow muster a run in the bottom of the ninth inning, we'd go home with a memory well worth the $1,600 tickets. 

But the cathartic moment never arrived. The Mets slogged through extra innings, picking up just one hit, which came in the 12th inning. By that time, Kansas City had already issued its knockout blow with a stunning five-run output in the top half of the frame. 

And just like that, the memory I was hoping to store forever turned into something far more complicated. 

* * * * *

Just over a week removed from that game, I still don't fully know how I feel about it.  

Make no mistake, after collapses in 2007 and 2008, and then four-straight seasons of putrid, losing baseball, this year's postseason run was tonic. In fact, I had a hard time fully enjoying it at times because it all felt so surreal. 

However, I can't just be satisfied with the fact that the Mets did things this year they weren't predicted to do. They made it to the World Series and held leads in all five games. In fact, they lost three games in which they led in the eighth inning, including Game 5.

That hurts.

I'm convinced I'll carry the pain of Sunday's loss with me for some time. But it's pain that I willfully hold on to, like the memories of 2007 and 2008. I've drilled it into my head that the more pain I suffer at the hands of the Mets, the more joyous the catharsis will be if and when the Mets finally win a World Series. 

But when will their next chance be? 

Sure, the Royals lost to the Giants in last year's World Series, but they became just the 15th team in MLB history to do so.

And sure, the future looks bright for the organization, with its embarrassment of riches in the starting pitching department. But Mets fans know well, there are no assurances this group ever gets back to a Game 5. It took the organization 15 years to make a return trip to the Fall Classic after losing to the Yankees in 2000. 

The closest the team came to a World Series during that span was 2006, when it won 96 games and reached Game 7 of the NLCS. 

But the success of that team guaranteed nothing for the following year. Fans who were hoping for a return trip to the playoffs were instead greeted with a historic collapse in September as the Mets missed the postseason for the first the first of eight consecutive seasons.

* * * * *

So do I regret going? Do I feel bad for practically forcing my dad to shell out half of his winnings for tickets to a game the Mets lost in excruciating fashion. Of course not.

In a way I'm glad I was there to experience the calamity that ensued firsthand. I'm glad I got to be feel the exasperation and anguish alongside my fellow Met fans, including my dad. 

In a twisted sense, the Game 5 debacle and the emotions that will forever be attached to it have already become a badge of honor of sorts. We were there. We got my heart ripped out, but we still love this team.

If and when the Mets make it back to the World Series and win it, I hope I'm there to see it. 
Up in section 525, with my dad.