Hangin' 'em up
Thursday will mark exactly 10 years since the greatest day of my life.
It was May 22, 1998, when my pager went off while I was working at a pharmacy on a Friday afternoon in Warren, NJ, and it was my best friend, Sam.
I called him back and he told me that Mike Piazza had been traded from the Florida Marlins to the New York Mets, less than a week after he had been acquired from the Dodgers in a blockbuster deal.
After I made Sam swear on his life, as well as the life of his mother, father and all three of his sisters that he wasn’t bullshitting me, my knees went weak – literally.
I had fantasized about that moment for the better part of five years, since Piazza’s rookie season with the Dodgers, when I first fell in love.
He was awesome. Calm, cool, and boy could he hit the shit out of a baseball.
As time went on and Piazza’s career flourished more each season, I began to learn more about him. In addition to his prowess in the game I loved, he was a massive metal head, and even played the drums, things, like baseball, that were also near and dear to my heart.
He was my favorite player, more than anyone that even played for my favorite team, the Mets, and when he became a member of the orange and blue, well, I’m sure you can imagine how awesome that was for me.
I watched him play for NY-N for the better part of eight seasons and he delivered big hit after big hit, perhaps none grander than the first game at Shea after 9/11. Sure, he had his ups and downs, but no matter how bad of a slump he might have fallen into, I still enjoyed every at-bat.
When the Mets and Piazza parted ways after the 2005 season, I was fine with it. I knew it was coming and agreed that he needed to move on, both for himself, as well as for the good of the Mets organization.
After a year in San Diego and a year in Oakland, Mike Piazza officially announced his retirement today, two days shy of the 10h anniversary of that life-changing Friday afternoon.
And while his retirement has been a while coming – especially when he didn’t sign with anyone in the preseason – it still bought a tear to my eye.
Believe me, if I could make hotel reservations for Cooperstown for July of 2013, I would.
Hopefully Roger Clemens will be watching Piazza get inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame from his prison cell.
It was May 22, 1998, when my pager went off while I was working at a pharmacy on a Friday afternoon in Warren, NJ, and it was my best friend, Sam.
I called him back and he told me that Mike Piazza had been traded from the Florida Marlins to the New York Mets, less than a week after he had been acquired from the Dodgers in a blockbuster deal.
After I made Sam swear on his life, as well as the life of his mother, father and all three of his sisters that he wasn’t bullshitting me, my knees went weak – literally.
I had fantasized about that moment for the better part of five years, since Piazza’s rookie season with the Dodgers, when I first fell in love.
He was awesome. Calm, cool, and boy could he hit the shit out of a baseball.
As time went on and Piazza’s career flourished more each season, I began to learn more about him. In addition to his prowess in the game I loved, he was a massive metal head, and even played the drums, things, like baseball, that were also near and dear to my heart.
He was my favorite player, more than anyone that even played for my favorite team, the Mets, and when he became a member of the orange and blue, well, I’m sure you can imagine how awesome that was for me.
I watched him play for NY-N for the better part of eight seasons and he delivered big hit after big hit, perhaps none grander than the first game at Shea after 9/11. Sure, he had his ups and downs, but no matter how bad of a slump he might have fallen into, I still enjoyed every at-bat.
When the Mets and Piazza parted ways after the 2005 season, I was fine with it. I knew it was coming and agreed that he needed to move on, both for himself, as well as for the good of the Mets organization.
After a year in San Diego and a year in Oakland, Mike Piazza officially announced his retirement today, two days shy of the 10h anniversary of that life-changing Friday afternoon.
And while his retirement has been a while coming – especially when he didn’t sign with anyone in the preseason – it still bought a tear to my eye.
Believe me, if I could make hotel reservations for Cooperstown for July of 2013, I would.
Hopefully Roger Clemens will be watching Piazza get inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame from his prison cell.
posted by SJPSandman at
7:45 PM
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