[the 'stache]

Oh, and one more tidbit about the Mets in '86. I fell and broke my elbow right as the World Series was about to start. An ambulance took me to the hospital, and I was admitted. My doctor had to wait a little bit for the massive swelling to go down, and then he did surgery to fix it. Somehow, I'd knocked the bone at the end of the elbow off, and he had to cut me open, and then put a pin into the elbow for the bone to heal. It was a full arm-length cast, and my fingers were kept in traction (interestingly enough, I fell on the bleachers during our homecoming pep rally the next year, and broke the other elbow the exact same way! Yes, I am a klutz! When I get to the National, or a card show in Dallas, I can show off two nice scars.) Anyhow, after post op, I was wheeled to my room, groggy as hell, but remembering that the World Series was on, I asked my nurse to turn the TV on for me. My hand to the Bible, not 30 seconds after the television came on, I watched as the ball rolled through Bill Buckner's legs, and Ray Knight came racing home. I couldn't believe it. I thought I was seeing things (morphine is a hell of a drug, especially to a 15 year old!). But it really happened. I've watched that play a hundred times, and I still can't believe that Buckner booted that ground ball. As we all know, the Mets won the Series. I thought a dynasty was forthcoming. Gooden, Carter, Strawberry, Keith Hernandez, Darling, Ojeda, Howard Johnson (who would eventually be a 30/30 guy), Mookie Wilson, Sid Fernandez, Ron Darling, and the ageless Jesse Orosco...such a good team. Then they had David Cone two years later, a 20 game winner, and they won 100 games. But no further rings.