"Come As You Are" came to an end, and Billy Joel took its place. I lifted myself slowly, studied the radio, and pressed the button marked "Band." Just as ever, like magic, an AM station came through, covered in static and fuzz. It took me only a few moments to find the familiar voice and the catchy jingle, "Let's go Mets! F – A – N!"
WFAN 660AM is where the radio dial spent most of its days during long, hot summers at my grandparents' house in Kearny. I can recall the voice of the announcer mingling with the scent of rice and beans coming from the kitchen.
The score was one to nothing, Brewers, after five. Glavine was tossing a one-hitter, but had already walked three. The top of the Mets' lineup was due to start the sixth. Reyes would lead off with a double, get sacrificed over by Castillo's bunt, and come home on David Wright's single up the middle, giving him 66 RBIs on the year.
What happened after that? I can't quite remember. Delgado was involved. Shawn Green might've done something, or maybe it was Alou. The Mets took a two to one lead, and held it going into the seventh. In between innings, the announcers kept mentioning how Tom Glavine sat alone in the dugout.
"Most of the guys in the Mets' dugout are up on the top step, a few are sitting together at one end of the bench, and, way over at the other end of the bench, Tom Glavine is sitting all by himself."
I suppose you don't mess with a guy who's embarking on history.
"He's about as alone as a guy can possibly be, in a stadium shared by 42,000 people."
What a beautiful image. It seemed rather nice to me. When I was a kid, I wanted to grow up to become a professional baseball player. Instead, I became an assistant editor. It sounds silly now, but last night, for a moment, the two very different careers seemed somehow similar. I imagined myself sitting where Tom Glavine sat, alone on that bench in Milwaukee.
Glavine walked a couple more batters before his night was done, his pitch count approaching the 100 mark, and Willie Randolph yanked him immediately after some nameless, history-less hitter stroked a single up the middle, just out of the reach of Glavine's glove.
Glavine was pissed.
As Glavine walked back to the Mets' dugout, the Milwaukee crowd gave him a standing ovation. I imagine he felt about as alone as a guy can possibly feel, in a stadium shared by 42,000 people. The Mets' bullpen went on to surrender the one-run lead, and ultimately lost the game in the bottom of the 13th. I turned off the radio, turned off the light, and closed my eyes.
