Growing up in the mid-1980s was a great time to be a Mets fan. I was 6 years old in 1986, and my favorite player was most definitely Gary Carter. Carter was the rugged catcher who loved to get dirty. Runners barreled into him, and he would hold onto the ball, proudly showing it to the umpire. He had a unique batting stance, which my friends and I enjoyed mimicking.
Carter famously got the leadoff single to start the famous 10th inning rally in Game 6 against the Red Sox. People are often quick to (incorrectly, but that is a whole separate matter) blame Bill Buckner for that game, but the Mets were dead. Down 5-3, 2 outs and nobody on. The game was over. The Shea Stadium scoreboard flashed “Congratulations Boston Red Sox”. But Gary Carter refused to be the answer to a trivia question. He lined a sharp single in front of Jim Rice in left, turned to Bill Robinson the 1st base coach, and said, “There was no way I was going to make the last %$&@ing out of the World Series!” Carter was the “choir boy” on a team of partiers, druggies, and drunks; a player who never swore; this exception just shows his intensity in the moment. We all know what happened next. Watching Carter play the game, one could see the genuine love he had for the sport, and more importantly the joy he had in being able to play. Watch Carter’s last hit here:
As a member of the Montreal Expos. How often do you ever see players display that level of pure joy on the field?
Carter’s death a few weeks ago touched me in a way I didn’t expect. After all, I never met him. But like all Mets fans, I felt like I knew him, and he was in fact an important part of my childhood. Watching highlights of Carter, wearing those classic blue and orange pinstripes from the 1980s, makes me feel like I’m 6 years old again, and that the Mets in the World Series will be an annual event. (So naïve!!!)
What was especially touching was the reaction of fans, teammates, and opponents. If one ever reads Internet message boards, there are always obnoxious trolls with sad, pathetic lives, who feel better about themselves by knocking down others. You didn’t see that with Carter. His teammates who mocked his goody-goody nature, were genuinely heartbroken. Keith Hernandez, the last player you’d expect to see emotion from, broke down crying. But the most touching tribute, I my opinion, came from Darryl Strawberry. Everyone knows about Darryl’s struggles in life, and it seems now as if has his life in order. That is what makes these comments so poignant: “Gary Carter smiled because he was free. He was free inside. He loved playing the game, and he played the game the right way. … He would get in your face if he had to. He was very vocal and said what he had to say, and you respected him for that. … I always listened to Gary. I always loved him. I’ve always had nothing but respect for him. … He was an example of what a professional athlete was supposed to be. Mookie was the same way. … He would never talk about you in the press or backstab you. … Gary was real. The rest of us screwed up. He was real. When I look back and think about what he meant to us, not just as a player, but as the character of a man, that’s what you live for. … What a tremendous man. I always respect him more for his character than as a baseball player.”
RIP, KID #8!
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