A Met fan’s realization: it isn’t 2007 anymore

It’s a chronic condition, pessimism is. It’s been a component of Mets fans’ DNA almost since the beginning, a lurking recessive trait that didn’t rear its head until June, 1977 or so. That’s when we all found out that as fans, we can take nothing for granted: we found out that Tom Seaver was not going to grow old as a Met. In the long string of losing that followed, the pessimism was impossible to avoid. It was there, splashed across the sports pages every summer day from 1977 to 1983. It was submerged again for a couple of years, but Dwight Gooden’s failed drug test during spring training 1987 brought it to back life and Mike Scioscia’s home run in the 1988 NLCS made it the face of the fan base. Even reaching the World Series in 2000 couldn’t subdue it, as everyone knew the Mets had no chance of beating the Yankees.

As we all know, it reached its full flower in 2007. ’07 was a kind of a strange year from the beginning. Coming off a 2006 in which the Mets dominated the NL East, only to fall short because of a too-famous curveball, they walked around 2007 as if they owned the joint. They started off strong, blowing through April and May at a 34-18 clip. Come June, though, the observant fan could tell that something just…wasn’t…quite…right. We couldn’t put our fingers on it, but something was wrong with this team. They seemed to have to work awfully hard to beat vastly inferior teams – if they beat them at all. Suddenly, June and July became a 25-29 slog, and any good will left over from the early season seemed to evaporate. The offense was OK, boasting a career year from young David Wright, but the starting pitching struggled and the bullpen – a huge plus for the team in ’06 – became a morass.

But still…

A hot streak in early September just about dropped the division into the Mets’ laps. Hence the term “seven-up-with-seventeen-to-play.” Trying to stretch out a taxed starting rotation, they gave starts down the stretch to hurlers like Brian Lawrence and Philip Humber. In fact, outside of a worn down Tom Glavine and a late-returning Pedro Martinez, there really wasn’t another pitcher worth trusting the keys to the season with. After the games of September 12, the 2007 Mets found themselves at 83-62 with a magic number of 11. They proceeded to finish 5-12, while the Philadelphia Phillies streaked on past them for the division title and the Colorado Rockies barrel-rolled to a shocking Wild Card berth. The Mets and their fans were left in the dust – Wile E. Coyote with an anvil on his head as the Roadrunner blasts on by him. In the midst of this collapse, trying to sound defiant and confident, the Mets instead came off haughty and entitled. “We’ve got so much talent, we get bored sometimes,” boasted first baseman Carlos Delgado. “It’ll just make the champagne taste that much sweeter,” said manager Willie Randolph dismissively when asked about the mounting losses and loosening grip on the division.

So no, nothing is guaranteed in this game until the magic number is zero, until you’re “eighteen-up-with-seventeen-to-play.” This is weighing on the minds of many Met fans right now. They fear jinxes and portents and angering the Baseball Gods. They’re waiting for that 3:00 AM run for Dominican food in Miami. They’re waiting for a torn something-or-other from a counted on starting pitcher. They’re waiting for the relief ace to beat up his girlfriend’s father. They’re waiting for the anvil to fall.

Here’s some news for them: 2007 was eight years ago. There is one player on the roster remaining from that squad: David Wright. Randolph, Delgado, Glavine, Martinez and the rest are long gone. It’s not like there’s an institutional memory of the collapse permeating the clubhouse. Heck, it’s not even the same clubhouse. Oh, 2007 may linger in the owners’ box and as noted, it sticks with the fans, but this team? They ain’t them. Matt Harvey, Jacob deGrom, Noah Syndergaard, Steven Matz — and even Jon Niese and Bartolo Colon – would run rings around that 2007 starting staff, even accounting for the two Hall-of-Famers contained therein. And while bullpens are generally tricky things and this year’s version has been a weak-ish link, it’s far more comforting to rely on Tyler Clippard, Addison Reed, Hansel Robles and Erik Goeddel than Jorge Sosa, Aaron Heilman, Guillermo Mota and Scott Schoeneweis. The Daniel Murphy/Wilmer Flores/Kelly Johnson troika manning second far outstrips the broken Jose Valentin or the egregious Luis Castillo. Curtis Granderson beats the heck out of the shopworn Shawn Green in right. And the difference in attitude couldn’t be any more stark. Randolph, Glavine and Martinez were born and bred from perpetual winners, an ill-fit for the desperate, scattershot Mets persona. You could tell that they felt that their pedigree would win the day, forgetting that they were no longer in Atlanta, Boston or the Bronx. This current crop couldn’t be further from entitled. This is one of the very few forays into pennant territory for manager Terry Collins and most of the rest of the squad is young enough that there is almost no baggage from races past. This is a different team at a different time.

If you’re looking for a 2015 comp to the 2007 Mets, it’s more likely to be the Washington Nationals.

Follow me on Twitter @CharlieHangley.