Because of people like this.
“Time to go, folks!” one usher yelled. “The season is over. Move it! Now!”
And then they came upon weepy 11-year-old Michael Gambro in Section 41, on the first-base side, tears trickling down the side of his freckled nose.
In the last game of the season yesterday, with a postseason berth on the line, Gambro — wearing a Jose Reyes shirt and a blue-and-orange No. 1 finger — had watched his sleepwalking heroes lose, 8-1, to the Florida Marlins. And now, with mom’s arm around him, the weight of the worst September collapse in baseball history was breaking his heart.
“Ma’am,” an usher said to Sue Gambro, “you and the boy have to …” He noticed the tears. “Never mind,” he said. “You take all the time you need.”
John Egan of West Islip was being shepherded past when he saw the kid, too. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a faded blue Mets T-shirt that read “NL East Champions 1988.” He showed it to Gambro.
“I’ve had this since I was 11,” Egan said. “Do you promise to wear this?”
Gambro sniffled, then nodded. The shirt was dropped over his shoulder.
“Then it’s yours.”
The sports reporters are calling the Mets collapse “greatest in history” and “spectacular” but the positive connotations of those words aren’t working for me. More like “tragic” and “terrifying”.
But in baseball there’s always next year. It just gets a little tiresome saying it every October.