Mets Baseball, Warming Up: A Day At The QBC

It was cold. I mean it was really cold. When your intrepid columnist left the friendly confines of suburban Jersey for an ad hoc trip to Queens for the Second Annual Queens Baseball Conference – the QBC – it was twelve degrees. That’s 12, as in “one-two.” There were important football games looming in the afternoon and all weekend, but the mind was on baseball. And what a beautiful day for a ballgame it was! Actually, the weather wasn’t all that different from a couple of Opening Days I could name.

I was about a half-hour early, so I set about taking a leisurely stroll over to McFadden’s from the Citi Field reserved parking lot – musing all the while that that’ll probably be the only time I’ll ever get to park there. I was shaken from this reverie by a booming “Hey, Charlie!” coming from behind me. I turned around to see our very own brand new stable-mate Dave Singer loping my direction. After an exchange of hugs and laughs, we made our way into the Conference – a tad early, but Dave was on a panel & could get in early: I rode his coattails.

After squaring away tickets and t-shirts, Dave and I got talking about the current state of the Mets, and speculating on what an event like this would be like if there were some direct involvement from the team. We both laughed as we thought of what an appearance by Jeff Wilpon might be like. Wanting to stretch our legs a bit, we roamed McFadden’s floor. This was the real start of what I like to call the Annual Mets Bloggers Trade Show. It’s here where we get to have real conversations with people who seem to exist only in pixels, and who I consider great friends even if we don’t see each other more than twice a year. “Ho! ‘Dere ‘e is!” I boomed to Stephen Keane , giving him what I like to call the “Sopranos greeting.” Steve and my friend Ed Marcus – currently scurrying around arranging tables and partitions – were going to host a panel I was most looking forward to: Mookie Wilson. Mookie was scheduled to reminisce about his entire career – more than just one October at-bat 29 years ago. He was fantastic, a born entertainer. He fielded every question with the same grace and aplomb he displayed in Shea Stadium’s center field. He was absolutely hilarious and I found out a couple of nuggets about him: he started college as a pitcher, he cannot stand the Yankees or the Dodgers – two facts that won him the room instantly – getting hit by a Major League pitch really hurts an all that was running through his head during the at-bat was “Whatever you do, don’t strike out!”

After Mookie, I saw how long the line was for his autograph. I decided to pass: at last year’s conference, I missed too much action standing line for Ron Darling and Ed Kranepool. So I took in some other panels. There was discussion of an upcoming documentary about those ’86 Mets. There was a panel on memories of announcer Lindsey Nelson. There were good friends to catch up with: Greg Prince, Matt Silverman, Jason Fry, Mark Healey and our hosts, the bloggers who put the whole shebang together, Shannon Shark and Keith Blacknick.

Another hero of ’86 was soon on the dais: Wally Backman, perennial manager in waiting. He went over the familiar names in the Mets’ minors: Noah Syndergaard, Wilmer Flores, Steven Matz, etc. The big takeaway was that the organization is not putting an emphasis on defense: Backman mentioned several prospects who are “adequate” in the field. The kids can hit alright, but nobody could muster more than an “adequate.” In fact, one long-touted prospect, Cesar Puello, is still so raw, he needs training on throwing to the correct base! “But the kid can tear your head off [as a hitter],” said Backman. The highlight of Backman’s talk, though, was when a question came from the audience about him making the first out in that 1986 World Series game. His answer was “What was I thinking? ‘***t! We’re better than these guys…’”

Overall, what came through more than anything was passion – passion for the team, for the logo, for the upcoming season, despite the owners. There was a passion from the former players in attendance, remembering games thirty and forty-odd years past. There was a passion from all the fans gathered on this frigid afternoon, a passion for the game and its history and its future. There was a passion among the “bloggerati” in attendance, a passion to write quality pieces and further the craft. A passion for a new shortstop, which – hey! – almost happened. I left before what I’ve been told was the highlight of the evening, the bestowal of the Gil Hodges Unforgettable Fire award on Miracle third-sacker Ed Charles. I’m sorry I missed it, because he is a living, walking embodiment of passion for the game.

On a 12-degree day, we all felt that much closer to spring. Who needs a damn groundhog?

Follow me on Twitter @CharlieHangley.