As he rounded the bases after smacking a home run off Mets ace Tom Seaver in the first inning of Game One of the 1969 World Series, Orioles slugger Don Buford brazenly sneered, “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” to Met shortstop Bud Harrelson.
Harrelson did not respond, but made sure to tell his teammates about Buford’s boast. It was a prophetic comment, to be sure, but one that would come back to haunt the Orioles, not the Mets.
I was a glimmer in my parents’ eye during the “amazing” season of 1969. In fact, I was conceived in October of that year, just as the Mets completed their miracle. I like to think I was ushered into this world amid a torrent of miraculous events – the Moon landing, the Mets and Jets winning it all, Woodstock – followed by me.
Although I did not suffer the way Met fans of that era did I knew their pain as I came of baseball age. In my youth I was linked to the woeful Mets who populated “Grant’s Tomb” (AKA Shea Stadium after the Seaver trade). From 1976-1983 I hung my hat on a team that never failed to disappoint.
I loved hearing and reading about the Mets of 1969. My Dad regaled me with stories about them. In 1979, I attended their tenth anniversary reunion during Old Timers Day at Shea. I read as much as I could get my hands on in the school library, but I knew it was no substitute for living through the experience.
As I got older and my love for baseball waxed and waned (even in the face of the Mets incredible World Series triumph in 1986) I always felt a special affinity to the Amazins of 1969.
In 2001, the movie “Frequency” was released, about a father and son who are able to converse with each other across the gulf of time via ham radio. The film is set amidst the final three games of the ’69 World Series, and the son in the film (played by Jim Caviezel) uses his knowledge of the Series to prove to his father he is who he purports to be.
It’s a ludicrous premise but the film works. It’s a great thriller and more importantly, a wonderful father-son story. At various moments throughout the film characters are seen watching the Series, or it is seen on television sets in the background. It was then I realized that, amidst so much lost baseball footage, the 1969 World Series still existed in its entirety.
I was determined to get my hands on it.
The Internet has opened so many possibilities to collectors of various ephemera that there is truth to the adage that if you search long enough you will find exactly what you want. Within a few weeks I located a baseball collector who had Games 3, 4 and 5 and was willing to sell them to me. I had nothing with which to barter so I agreed. Within days of making the deal, I had the games.
I’m sure my friends working in the tv industry would agree that while film has a timeless quality, there is a certain immediacy with video. No matter what year the tape is from (as long as it’s in color) there is this illusion that the event is happening live.
For me, this was as good as it was going to get. Later, I would obtain Games 1 and 2 but they were telecined black and white transfers, and by their very nature you felt removed from the actual experience.
Like everyone else on the planet I had seen all the famous plays during the dubious ragged highlight reels played during Met rain delays, but here was every pitch, every play, and it was amazing to see everything in context. I loved seeing Tony Kubek venture into the stands to interview the notable (and long dead) figures of the day or the camera panning to catch luminaries like Toots Shor, Pearl Bailey and Jackie O and JFK Jr. enjoying the game.
There was palpable tension in the air when Nolan Ryan got into trouble during Game 3 (his only WS appearance in 27 years!) and Tommie Agee saved his bacon with the second of two amazing catches. Knowing the outcome of every game didn’t mean I knew when everything was going to happen, so it was thrilling to say the least.
I loved seeing fiery Earl Weaver get tossed for arguing balls and strikes in Game 4. The best had to be when Frank Robinson argued he was hit by a pitch (he was) that the ump called a foul tip. Robinson and Weaver argue to no avail. The following inning brings the shoe polish incident wherein Gil Hodges “proves” Cleon Jones was hit by a pitch by revealing a miniscule dot of shoe polish on the ball to the ump. Take your base Cleon! Then, Donn Clendenon comes up and launches a two-run shot into the left field seats!
In the last ten years these games have become much more readily available (and can even be downloaded on ITunes) but I felt like I had found the Holy Grail.
Only recently, was this experience eclipsed when I was able to meet the majority of the 1969 Mets at two events held about a month apart. The first was an autograph show on Long Island held after the 40th anniversary celebration at Citi Field and the second was during a special program featuring five members of the ’69 team at the Cradle of Aviation Museum.
None of the stories that they regaled us with were anything new (and they knew it), but it was great to hear them in person. This was a team that won because all 25 guys made at least one or more enduring contributions. Seaver and Koosman did their part, but so did Boswell, Gaspar, Weis and Kranepool, to name a few. It was great to see them bask in the glow of the fans admiration and to see their affection for each other, and especially for Gil Hodges.
Former coach and original Met Joe Pignatano told two great stories about Hodges. During Spring Training the beat writers asked Hodges how he thought the Mets would fare in ’69. He replied that they would play .500 ball, an assertion met with derision and classroom snickering. Hodges got up, went back to his office and closed the door. He returned 15 minutes later and said simply and forcefully, “Losing is no laughing matter.”
Pignatano had been part of Hodges’ coaching staff on the Washington Senators, a second division team he was slowly turning around. When Hodges got the call the Mets wanted him to manage them, he informed his coaches they were all going. “I told Gil we needed one or two more seasons and we might take it,” Piggy recalled. “He told me (in his Marine baritone) ‘We’re going home (to win it there).’”
Can you relive an event you never experienced firsthand? Maybe not, but I’ve done my best. I suppose I have a special affinity for this team and the time period they hail from because, as I said, it ushered me into this world.
I heard Art Shamsky tell a fan that she wasn’t old enough to see them play, but I would argue that doesn’t make her or me any less a fan. I think part of being a fan is being a student of your team’s history and this was their most glorious moment -sorry 1986 but we should’ve destroyed the Sox and Game 6 (as amazing as it was) not been necessary! The ’69 Mets were supposed to be lambs led to the slaughter, but they defied the most overwhelming odds and accomplished something truly miraculous.
Right Don?
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