Richard Sandomir has a nice story in the New York Times today about Mr. Met. About his history. About how beloved he is. And about how, despite all of the turmoil the Mets have found themselves in over the years, Mr. Met has always been there, smiling and spreading good will:
Mr. Met, then, can be seen as the one blameless figure in Flushing. Mr. Met doesn’t give up five runs in four innings. He doesn’t lose fly balls in the sun. He hasn’t lost his home run stroke. He didn’t throw in his finances with Bernard L. Madoff. He didn’t design Citi Field. He is, in his way, harmlessly pure. And as a result, arguably more popular than ever.
That’s one theory. Another theory: with a few exceptions, Mr. Met has been around for every bad thing that has ever happened to the Mets since he was introduced in 1964.
He’s the constant. You can’t blame Fred Wilpon bad stuff that happened in the 60s. You can’t blame Daryl Strawberry for the Mets recent late season collapses. You can’t blame David Wright for the aborted dynasty of the mid-to-late 80s. You can’t blame George Foster for the financial turmoil in which the team currently finds itself.
But Mr. Met has seen it all. He has sat back quietly — too quietly if you ask me — while others have taken the fall.
There are no accidents people. And there should be no sacred cows. It’s high time someone got to the bottom of what, exactly, Mr. Met knew and when did he know it.