After writing my kiss-off to the immortal (?) Jeff Kent, I realized that Mr. Kent played a small role in the top three games I ever saw at Shea Stadium. I broached this topic a few times two years ago, though I never got quite as far as I wanted to. And now that Shea is all but rubble, the time has come to pay my last respects.

After dismissing or ignoring baseball for a good chunk of my high school/collegiate career, I got sucked back in by the ridiculously ridonkulous year of 1999. That remains my favorite Met team that I definitively, distinctly remember. 1986 had better results, but I was barely aware of the game at that point. 1969 and 1973 both made the mistake of occurring before I was born. 2006 seemed like magic when it was happening, but has become more and more depressing the more time passes.

1999 was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. It was like a carnival ride that whipped you around in the air a little too hard, and shook a little too much to be safe, and had lots of loose exposed bolts, and was run by a wild-eyed carnie on crank. There are some nights I wake up and I still can’t believe that it all ended on a bases loaded walk. And yet, I can totally believe it. How else could that year end–in a fair and probable manner? Pshaw!

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