In Honor of My Grandfather, Who Taught Me About Love and Baseball

My grandparents moved to Puerto Rico when I was three years old.  After they moved to San Juan, I only saw them for a few weeks at a time when my parents and I visited them during my summer vacation from school.  Because those trips coincided with the middle of baseball season, my grandfather always wanted to talk to me about the game.

When I was eight years old, I discovered that Abuelo (that's Spanish for "grandfather") was a Brooklyn Dodgers fan.  He, my grandmother and their four children (one of which is my father) moved from the Island of Enchantment to New York in 1947, the same year Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in baseball.  Robinson wasn't the only reason Abuelo became a Dodger fan, as 1947 was also the year Gil Hodges and Duke Snider came up to the major leagues to stay.  The Dodgers won the pennant in 1947, making only their second trip to the World Series since 1920.  They would make many more over the next few decades.  Abuelo was hooked for life.

The summer of 1981 was special for both Abuelo and I.  It was the year I became a Mets fan, but it was also the year of Fernandomania.  That summer, when my parents and I went to visit my grandparents in Puerto Rico, the players' strike was nearing its conclusion.  But just because there was no baseball to watch didn't mean there were no baseball stories to share. 

Any time I wanted to talk about Mookie Wilson, my grandfather would remind me that he wasn't as fast as Maury Wills.  (Wills was the first major league player in the modern era to steal 100 bases in a season, swiping 104 bags for the Dodgers in 1962, which was 45 more than the entire Mets team stole in their inaugural season.)  I knew better than to argue with him.

After a few minutes, the conversation would always turn to Fernando Valenzuela, who had taken the country by storm during his rookie season.  Abuelo would normally be in bed by 10 PM every night, but if Valenzuela was pitching and the game just happened to be broadcast on the local television channel, he'd always stay up to watch the game on a 13-inch black and white TV.  He'd keep the volume low so as not to wake my grandmother, telling me that he didn't need to hear the game because Fernando's pitching would tell the story.  In the summer of 1981, he was absolutely right.

I'll always remember talking to him on the phone after the Mets won the World Series in 1986.  He was thrilled that I was finally able to celebrate a championship, but he was also quick to remind me that despite the Mets boasting a pitching staff that included Dwight Gooden, Ron Darling, Bob Ojeda and Sid Fernandez, it was Fernando Valenzuela who led the National League in wins.  (Valenzuela won 21 games for the Dodgers in 1986; his only 20-win campaign in 17 years in the big leagues.)

Oh, Abuelo.  He really loved his Dodgers.

Two years after the Mets won the World Series, they played for the right to appear in another.  But this time it was different.  This time, the Mets were playing the Dodgers for the pennant.  A member of the Leyro family was going to see his favorite team play in the World Series in 1988.  But for that to happen, another member of the Leyro family was going to be disappointed that his team failed to reach the Fall Classic.  It was about as awkward as it was ever going to get between me and Abuelo when it came to our shared love of the national pastime.  In the end, it became one of the most important times in our relationship.

The Dodgers defeated the Mets in the 1988 NLCS, upsetting them in seven games.  The Mets weren't the only ones upset by that result.  The day after Game Seven, the phone rang in our house.  My mother picked it up, spoke for a few seconds, then called me over to the phone.  It was for me, she said.  It was Abuelo.

I thought it was strange that Abuelo would call me.  After all, any time I'd speak to him on the phone, it would be my grandmother who called us and then she'd pass the phone over to Abuelo.  (The men in the Leyro family have never been known as "phone people".)  But this time, my grandfather let his fingers do the walking and he called me directly.  Over three decades have passed since this call was made, but I'll never forget that conversation.

Not once did he mention the Dodgers while talking to me.  Nor did he mention the Mets.  Instead, he reminded me that there would be times in life when we'd question why things happened the way they did.  He told me that he once went on a date with a girl when he was eighteen.  She was his definition of "the perfect girl".  She was smart, beautiful and came from a great family.  He was sure after one date that he was going to marry her.  Two dates later, she decided she didn't want to see him anymore.  He was crushed.

After two years of wondering where he went wrong, he made the acquaintance of another local girl.  Abuelo admitted to me that he wasn't attracted to her at first, but she listened to his story of lost love and gave him words of encouragement.  They continued to talk as friends for nearly a year until he realized something.

He was falling in love.  And this time, the girl he loved felt the same way about him.

The year was 1933.  In 1934, they were married.

When Abuelo finished telling me the story of how he and Abuela met and fell in love, I thanked him for making me smile.  I thought that was the reason he was sharing his story with me, because I was upset that my Mets had lost to his Dodgers and I would need some cheering up.  But that wasn't why he told me the story.  He then went back to the beginning of our conversation, the part where he said there would be times in life when we'd question why things happened the way they did.

For two years, he wondered to himself why the love of his life didn't love him back.  But without that unexpected breakup, he never would have met my grandmother, a woman he would be married to until she passed away in 2001.  He then told me to think about his words and to "never stop believing" before hanging up.

It took me until that evening, but as I was getting ready for bed, it finally hit me.  Abuelo was using his story as an analogy.  I was questioning how the Mets could lose to the Dodgers in the playoffs after defeating them 10 of 11 times during the regular season, just like he had questioned why the girl he loved couldn't reciprocate those feelings for him.  He had to wait two years after suffering through a devastating heartbreak, but in the end, it netted him the love of his life.  Therefore, what Abuelo was telling me was that he knew I was heartbroken because of the Mets' loss to the Dodgers, but before long, they'd be back and I'd love them more than ever.

You know what?  He was right.

Sure, it took 11 years for the Mets to make it back to the postseason, but when they did, they went to the playoffs in back-to-back seasons and made their first trip to the World Series since 1986.  And when they did win the pennant, Abuelo was the first person who called me to offer a congratulatory message.

Abuelo didn't make it to see the next two Mets/Dodgers postseason matchups in 2006 and 2015, as he passed away five days after his 90th birthday in 2002.  But when the Mets defeated the Dodgers to advance to the NLCS in both campaigns, the first person I thought of was him.  What did I think of?  That he didn't have to feel sad because the team he loved would be back.  And they did, as the Dodgers have won eight consecutive division titles and three National League pennants in the last four years.  Somewhere in Heaven, I knew Abuelo was smiling.  And now he's probably smiling even more, as the Dodgers just won their first World Series championship since the year he called me to tell me a story about love and patience.

There is a point to this personal story.  You see, Abuelo was born on October 29, 1912.  That means today would have been his 108th birthday.  He and I never went to a Mets/Dodgers game together, but we didn't have to.  The stories took us there.

When I was eight years old, Abuelo shared his love of the Dodgers with me at the same time I was trying to share my love of the Mets with him.  He never became a Mets fan, just as I never became a Dodgers fan.  But we shared that love of baseball that no rivalry can break.  That love brought us together and provided me with some of my most wonderful childhood memories - memories that I continue to cherish as an adult.

Sometimes we question why things happen the way they do.  I never have to question why I loved my grandfather.  He was the most important man I've ever known.

Happy 108th birthday, Abuelo.  And thank you for always taking me out to the ballgame.

Dedicated to Horacio Leyro (October 29, 1912 - November 3, 2002)

A Tribute to My Grandfather, Who Taught Me Love and Baseball

My grandparents moved to Puerto Rico when I was three years old.  After they moved to San Juan, I would only see them for a few weeks at a time when my parents and I would visit them during my summer vacation from school.  Because those trips would coincide with the middle of baseball season, my grandfather would always want to talk to me about the game.

When I was eight years old, I discovered that Abuelo (that's Spanish for "grandfather") was a Brooklyn Dodgers fan.  He, my grandmother and their four children (one of which is my father) moved from the Island of Enchantment to New York in 1947, the same year Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in baseball.  Robinson wasn't the only reason he became a Dodger fan, as 1947 was also the year Gil Hodges and Duke Snider came up to the major leagues to stay.  The Dodgers won the pennant in 1947, making only their second trip to the World Series since 1920.  They would make many more over the next few decades.  Abuelo was hooked for life.

The summer of 1981 was special for both Abuelo and I.  It was the year I became a Mets fan, but it was also the year of Fernandomania.  That summer, when my parents and I went to visit my grandparents in Puerto Rico, the players' strike was nearing its conclusion.  But just because there was no baseball to watch didn't mean there were no baseball stories to share. 

Any time I wanted to talk about Mookie Wilson, my grandfather would remind me that he wasn't as fast as Maury Wills.  (Wills was the first major league player in the modern era to steal 100 bases in a season, swiping 104 bags for the Dodgers in 1962, which was 45 more than the entire Mets team stole in their inaugural season.)  I knew better than to argue with him.

After a few minutes, the conversation would always turn to Fernando Valenzuela, who had taken the country by storm during his rookie season.  Abuelo would normally be in bed by 10 PM every night, but if Valenzuela was pitching and the game just happened to be broadcast on the local television channel, he'd always stay up to watch the game on a 13-inch black and white TV.  He'd keep the volume low so as not to wake my grandmother, telling me that he didn't need to hear the game because Fernando's pitching would tell the story.  In the summer of 1981, he was absolutely right.

I'll always remember talking to him on the phone after the Mets won the World Series in 1986.  He was thrilled that I was finally able to celebrate a championship, but he was also quick to remind me that despite the Mets boasting a pitching staff that included Dwight Gooden, Ron Darling, Bob Ojeda and Sid Fernandez, it was Fernando Valenzuela who led the National League in wins.  (Valenzuela won 21 games for the Dodgers in 1986; his only 20-win campaign in 17 years in the big leagues.)

Oh, Abuelo.  He really loved his Dodgers.

Two years after the Mets won the World Series, they played for the right to appear in another.  But this time it was different.  This time, the Mets were playing the Dodgers for the pennant.  A member of the Leyro family was going to see his favorite team play in the World Series in 1988.  But for that to happen, another member of the Leyro family was going to be disappointed that his team failed to reach the Fall Classic.  It was about as awkward as it was ever going to get between me and Abuelo when it came to our shared love of the national pastime.  In the end, it became one of the most important times in our relationship.

The Dodgers defeated the Mets in the 1988 NLCS, upsetting them in seven games.  The Mets weren't the only ones upset by that result.  The day after Game Seven, the phone rang in our house.  My mother picked it up, spoke for a few seconds, then called me over to the phone.  It was for me, she said.  It was Abuelo.

I thought it was strange that Abuelo would call me.  After all, any time I'd speak to him on the phone, it would be my grandmother who called us and then she'd pass the phone over to Abuelo.  (The men in the Leyro family have never been known as "phone people".)  But this time, my grandfather let his fingers do the walking and he called me directly.  Nearly three decades have passed since this call was made, but I'll never forget that conversation.

Not once did he mention the Dodgers while talking to me.  Nor did he mention the Mets.  Instead, he reminded me that there would be times in life when we'd question why things happened the way they did.  He told me that he once went on a date with a girl when he was 18.  She was his definition of "the perfect girl".  She was smart, beautiful and came from a great family.  He was sure after one date that he was going to marry her.  Two dates later, she decided she didn't want to see him anymore.  He was crushed.

After two years of wondering where he went wrong, he made the acquaintance of another local girl.  Abuelo admitted to me that he wasn't attracted to her at first, but she listened to his story of lost love and gave him words of encouragement.  They continued to talk as friends for nearly a year until he realized something.

He was falling in love.  And this time, the girl he loved felt the same way about him.

The year was 1933.  In 1934, they were married.

When Abuelo finished telling me the story of how he and Abuela met and fell in love, I thanked him for making me smile.  I thought that was the reason he was sharing his story with me, because I was upset that my Mets had lost to his Dodgers and I would need some cheering up.  But that wasn't why he told me the story.  He then went back to the beginning of our conversation, the part where he said there would be times in life when we'd question why things happened the way they did.

For two years, he wondered to himself why the love of his life didn't love him back.  But without that unexpected breakup, he never would have met my grandmother, a woman he would be married to until she passed away in 2001.  He then told me to think about his words and to "never stop believing" before hanging up.

It took me until that evening, but as I was getting ready for bed, it finally hit me.  Abuelo was using his story as an analogy.  I was questioning how the Mets could lose to the Dodgers in the playoffs after defeating them 10 of 11 times during the regular season, just like he had questioned why the girl he loved couldn't reciprocate those feelings for him.  He had to wait two years after suffering through a devastating heartbreak, but in the end, it netted him the love of his life.  Therefore, what Abuelo was telling me was that he knew I was heartbroken because of the Mets' loss to the Dodgers, but before long, they'd be back and I'd love them more than ever.

You know what?  He was right.

Sure, it took 11 years for the Mets to make it back to the postseason, but when they did, they went to the playoffs in back-to-back seasons and made their first trip to the World Series since 1986.  And when they did, Abuelo was the first person who called me to offer a congratulatory message.

Abuelo didn't make it to see the next two Mets/Dodgers postseason matchups in 2006 and 2015, as he passed away five days after his 90th birthday in 2002.  But when the Mets defeated the Dodgers to advance to the NLCS in both campaigns, the first person I thought of was him.  What did I think of?  That he didn't have to feel sad because the team he loved would be back.  And they did, as the Dodgers have won seven division titles in the last ten seasons.  Somewhere in Heaven, I knew Abuelo was smiling.  And now he's probably smiling even more, as the Dodgers are playing for their first World Series title since the year he called me to tell me a story about love and patience.

There is a point to this personal story.  You see, Abuelo was born on October 29, 1912.  That means today would have been his 105th birthday.  He and I never went to a Mets/Dodgers game together, but we didn't have to.  The stories took us there.

When I was eight years old, Abuelo shared his love of the Dodgers with me at the same time I was trying to share my love of the Mets with him.  He never became a Mets fan, just as I never became a Dodgers fan.  But we shared that love of baseball that no rivalry can break.  That love brought us together and provided me with some of my most wonderful childhood memories - memories that I continue to cherish as an adult.

Sometimes we question why things happen the way they do.  I never have to question why I loved my grandfather.  He was the most important man I've ever known.

Happy 105th birthday, Abuelo.  And thank you for always taking me out to the ballgame.

Dedicated to Horacio Leyro (October 29, 1912 - November 3, 2002)

For My Grandfather, Who Taught Me Love And Baseball

My grandparents moved to Puerto Rico when I was three years old.  After they moved to San Juan, I would only see them for a few weeks at a time when my parents and I would visit them during my summer vacation from school.  Because those trips would coincide with the middle of baseball season, my grandfather would always want to talk to me about baseball.

When I was eight years old, I discovered that Abuelo (that's Spanish for "grandfather") was a Brooklyn Dodgers fan.  He, my grandmother and their four children (one of which is my father) moved from the Island of Enchantment to New York in 1947, the same year Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in baseball.  Robinson wasn't the only reason he became a Dodger fan, as 1947 was also the year Gil Hodges and Duke Snider came up to the major leagues to stay.  The Dodgers won the pennant in 1947, making only their second trip to the World Series since 1920.  They would make many more over the next few decades.  Abuelo was hooked for life.

The summer of 1981 was special for both Abuelo and I.  It was the year I became a Mets fan, but it was also the year of Fernandomania.  That summer, when my parents and I went to visit my grandparents in Puerto Rico, the players' strike was nearing its conclusion.  But just because there was no baseball to watch didn't mean there were no baseball stories to share. 

Any time I wanted to talk about Mookie Wilson, my grandfather would remind me that he wasn't as fast as Maury Wills.  (Wills was the first major league player to steal 100 bases in a season, swiping 104 bags for the Dodgers in 1962, which was 45 more than the entire Mets team stole in their inaugural season.)  I knew better than to argue with him.

After a few minutes, the conversation would always turn to Fernando Valenzuela, who had taken the country by storm during his rookie season.  Abuelo would normally be in bed by 10 PM every night, but if Valenzuela was pitching and the game just happened to be broadcast on the local television channel, he'd always stay up to watch the game on the 13-inch black and white TV.  He'd keep the volume low so as not to wake my grandmother, telling me that he didn't need to hear the game because Fernando's pitching would tell the story.  In the summer of 1981, he was absolutely right.

I'll always remember talking to him on the phone after the Mets won the World Series in 1986.  He was thrilled that I was finally able to celebrate a championship, but he was also quick to remind me that despite the Mets boasting a pitching staff that included Dwight Gooden, Ron Darling, Bob Ojeda and Sid Fernandez, it was Fernando Valenzuela who led the National League in wins.  (Valenzuela won 21 games for the Dodgers in 1986, his only 20-win campaign in 17 years in the big leagues.)

Oh, Abuelo.  He really loved his Dodgers.

Two years after the Mets won the World Series, they played for the right to appear in another.  But this time it was different.  This time, the Mets were playing the Dodgers for the pennant.  A member of the Leyro family was going to see his favorite team play in the World Series in 1988.  But for that to happen, another member of the Leyro family was going to be disappointed that his team failed to reach the Fall Classic.  It was about as awkward as it was ever going to get between me and Abuelo when it came to our shared love of the national pastime.  In the end, it became one of the most important times in our relationship.

The Dodgers defeated the Mets in the 1988 NLCS, upsetting them in seven games.  The Mets weren't the only ones upset by that result.  The day after Game 7, the phone rang in our house.  My mother picked it up, spoke for a few seconds, then called me over to the phone.  It was for me, she said.  It was Abuelo.

I thought it was strange that Abuelo would call me.  After all, any time I'd speak to him on the phone, it would be my grandmother who called us and then she'd pass the phone over to Abuelo.  (The men in the Leyro family have never been known as "phone people".)  But this time, my grandfather let his fingers do the walking and he called me directly.  Although almost a quarter century has passed, I'll never forget that conversation.

Not once did he mention the Dodgers in the conversation.  Nor did he mention the Mets.  Instead, he reminded me that there would be times in life when we'd question why things happened the way they did.  He told me that he once went on a date with a girl when he was 18.  She was his definition of "the perfect girl".  She was smart, beautiful and came from a great family.  He was sure after one date that he was going to marry her.  Two dates later, she decided she didn't want to see him anymore.  He was crushed.

After two years of wondering where he went wrong, he made the acquaintance of another girl.  He wasn't attracted to her at first, but she listened to his story of lost love and gave him words of encouragement.  They continued to talk as friends for nearly a year until he realized something.

He was falling in love.  And this time, the girl he loved felt the same way about him.

The year was 1933.  In 1934, they were married.

When Abuelo finished telling me the story of how he and Abuela met and fell in love, I thanked him for making me smile.  I thought that was the reason he was sharing his story with me, because I was upset that my Mets had lost to his Dodgers and I would need some cheering up.  But that wasn't why he told me the story.  He then went back to the beginning of our conversation, the part where he said there would be times in life when we'd question why things happened the way they did.

For two years, he wondered to himself why the love of his life didn't love him back.  But without that unexpected breakup, he never would have met my grandmother, a woman he would be married to until her death in 2001.  He then told me to think about his words and to "never stop believing" before hanging up.

It took me until that evening, but as I was getting ready for bed, it finally hit me.  Abuelo was using his story as an analogy.  I was questioning how the Mets could lose to the Dodgers in the playoffs after defeating them 10 of 11 times during the regular season, just like he had questioned why the girl he loved couldn't reciprocate those feelings for him.  He had to wait two years after suffering through a devastating heartbreak, but in the end, it netted him the love of his life.  Therefore, what Abuelo was telling me was that he knew I was heartbroken because of the Mets' loss to the Dodgers, but before long, they'd be back and I'd love them more than ever.

You know what?  He was right.

Sure, it took 11 years for the Mets to make it back to the postseason, but when they did, they went to the playoffs in back-to-back seasons and made their first trip to the World Series since 1986.  And when they did, Abuelo was the first person who called me to offer a congratulatory message.

Abuelo didn't make it to see the next Mets/Dodgers postseason matchup in 2006, as he passed away five days after his 90th birthday in 2002.  But when the Mets swept the Dodgers to advance to the NLCS in that magical season, the first person I thought of was him.  What did I think of?  That he didn't have to feel sad because the team he loved would be back.  And they did, winning back-to-back division titles in 2008 and 2009.  Somewhere in Heaven, I knew Abuelo was smiling.

There is a point to this personal story.  You see, Abuelo was born on October 29, 1912.  That means today would have been his 100th birthday.  He and I never went to a Mets/Dodgers game together, but we didn't have to.  The stories took us there.

When I was eight years old, Abuelo shared his love of the Dodgers with me at the same time I was trying to share my love of the Mets with him.  He never became a Mets fan, just as I never became a Dodgers fan.  But we shared that love of baseball that no rivalry can break.  That love brought us together and provided me with some of my most wonderful childhood memories - memories that I continue to cherish as an adult.

Sometimes we question why things happen the way they do.  I never have to question why I loved my grandfather.  He was the most important man I've ever known.

Happy 100th birthday, Abuelo.  And thank you for always taking me out to the ballgame.

Dedicated to Horacio Leyro (October 29, 1912 - November 3, 2002)

Never Mind Santana's Arm; The Mets Need His Bat!

Here's a bit of trivia for you.  There are six pitchers in Mets history who hit at least 10 doubles during their tenure in Flushing.  Can you name them?

Well, five of the six had long careers in New York.  The club's all-time leader in doubles by a pitcher is Ron Darling, who collected 20 two-base hits in nine seasons as a Met (but somehow, all he remembers are his home runs in back-to-back games in 1989).  Next up are Tom Seaver (17 doubles in 12 seasons), Dwight Gooden (15 doubles in 11 seasons), Sid Fernandez (14 doubles in 10 seasons) and Jerry Koosman (12 doubles in 12 seasons).  But right behind all of them with 11 two-baggers is a guy who's only been a Met for four seasons and one of them was spent entirely on the disabled list.

From 2008 to 2010, Johan Santana collected 11 doubles in 182 at-bats, am impressive feat for a player who had spent his entire career in the American League prior to joining the Mets in 2008.  That's as many doubles as Willie Randolph hit as a Met in 286 at-bats.  Even Jason Bay, who is paid to be a big-time hitter, needed 360 at-bats to reach 11 doubles in 2011.

Santana has averaged a double every 16.5 at bats as a Met.  Let's compare that to the top ten doubles leaders in Mets history:

• David Wright: 281 doubles in 4,161 at-bats (14.8 AB/double)
• Ed Kranepool: 225 doubles in 5,436 at-bats (24.2 AB/double)
• Jose Reyes: 222 doubles in 4,453 at-bats (20.1 AB/double)
• Howard Johnson: 214 doubles in 3,968 at-bats (18.5 AB/double)
• Edgardo Alfonzo: 212 doubles in 3,897 at-bats (18.4 AB/double)
• Carlos Beltran: 208 doubles in 3,133 at-bats (15.1 AB/double)
• Mike Piazza: 193 doubles in 3,478 at-bats (18.0 AB/double)
• Darryl Strawberry: 187 doubles in 3,903 at-bats (20.9 AB/double)
• Cleon Jones: 182 doubles in 4,223 at-bats (23.2 AB/double)
• Mookie Wilson : 170 doubles in 4,027 at-bats (23.7 AB/double)

As you can see, only David Wright and Carlos Beltran had a better doubles per at-bat ratio than Johan Santana, and their ratio isn't that much better than Santana's.

There are two Hall of Famers who hit fewer doubles while they were on the Mets than John Santana.  Duke Snider hit eight doubles as a Met in 354 at-bats and Richie Ashburn hit seven doubles in 389 at-bats.  Did I mention that both Snider and Ashburn were All-Stars as Mets despite their lack of two-base hits?

Mike Hampton was considered by many to be one of the best hitting pitchers of his generation.  But in his one season as a Met, he did not collect a single extra-base hit, despite his .274 batting average.

Johan Santana spent the entire 2011 season on the disabled list.  Obviously, the Mets missed him on the mound.  But looking at his career numbers, they might have missed him more at the plate.  Without question, Johan Santana not being available is double trouble for the Mets.  And I do mean double.

Hey, Veterans Committee! Vote Hodges Into The Hall!

On Thursday, the 16-member Veterans Committee announced the names of the ten players up for consideration in the next Hall of Fame class.  Among the many worthy candidates was one particular name that should stand out to Mets fans - Gil Hodges.

Gil Hodges was a New York baseball legend.  He made his major league debut as a Brooklyn Dodger in 1943, then returned to the Dodgers for good in 1947.  Prior to 1947, the Dodgers had won one pennant in 26 years (1941) and had finished with a sub-.500 record in half of those 26 seasons.  With Gil Hodges and National League rookie sensation Jackie Robinson on board for the '47 season, the Dodgers began a streak of excellence that lasted for two decades.

Hodges was a member of seven pennant-winning Dodger teams, winning the 1955 World Series in Brooklyn and the 1959 Fall Classic in Los Angeles.  In his 15 seasons with the team, the Dodgers finished at least 10 games over .500 in all but one season (1958, their first season in Los Angeles).  Gil's exceptional ability in all aspects of the game was instrumental to the Dodgers' extended success.

As a hitter, only teammate Duke Snider had more home runs and RBIs than Hodges in the 1950s.  Snider and Hodges were the only two players in the major leagues to hit 300 HR and drive in 1,000 runs during the decade, with Hodges amassing 310 HR and 1,001 RBI from 1950-1959, including seven consecutive seasons with 100 or more RBIs (1949-1955).

As a fielder, Hodges won the Gold Glove Award at first base in each of the first three seasons of the award's existence.  Had Gold Gloves been handed out prior to 1957, Hodges would certainly have won more.

After 15 seasons as a Dodger, Hodges became an original Met in 1962, hitting the first home run in franchise history before being traded to Washington in 1963 to become manager of the Senators, who were in their third year of existence.  (The original Washington Senators became the Minnesota Twins in 1961, with an expansion franchise replacing them in Washington.)  Hodges led the Senators to their first 70-win season in 1965 and managed them to a sixth place finish two years later, which was quite an accomplishment for a team that had never finished higher than eighth in the ten-team American League.

Hodges was traded to the Mets following the 1967 season, becoming their manager in 1968.  Just like he did in Washington, Hodges led the Mets to their first 70-win season in '68, before surpassing all expectations in 1969 by leading the team to its first World Series championship.  It was Hodges' third championship of his career, after winning two as a player.

Although the 1969 championship was Hodges' only title as a manager, he was still able to keep the Mets in contention for the division title in 1970 and 1971, the second and third winning seasons in franchise history.  Sadly, Hodges passed away just days before the start of the 1972 season, ending a four decade love affair with the game of baseball.

Prior to his death in 1972, Gil Hodges had been on the Hall of Fame ballot for four seasons, never getting more than 50% of the vote.  However, after his sudden passing, Hodges began to receive posthumous support from the voters.  After receiving 161 votes (40.7% of the 396 ballots cast) in 1972, Hodges was named on 57.4% of the ballots (380 ballots, 218 votes) in 1973.  Hodges continued to gain support from the writers in later years, cracking the 60% mark on three occasions (1976, 1981, 1983), but never reaching the magic 75% mark needed for enshrinement.

In his final 13 seasons of eligibility, Hodges received at least 50% of the votes 11 times.  His teammate on the Dodgers, Duke Snider, received no more than 35.6% of the vote in each of his first six seasons of eligibility.  However, he was able to gain more support from the voters in the late '70s before he was finally enshrined in his 11th year of eligibility (1980) with 86.5% of the votes.

Gil Hodges has been unfairly kept out of the Hall of Fame for almost half a century.  How is it that his teammate and contemporary, Duke Snider, was able to garner more support from the voters over the years while Hodges didn't?

Once again, 75% of the votes will be needed for enshrinement.  That means 12 of the 16 veterans will need to write Gil Hodges on their ballot to make things right.

Gil Hodges was one of the best players of his era, both offensively and defensively.  After his playing career was over, he led two expansion teams out of the cellar and won a championship with one of them.  If that's not enough to make it into the Hall of Fame, I don't know what is.  On December 4, the Veterans Committee will cast their votes.  It's time for them to fix things once and for all by voting Gil Hodges into the Hall of Fame.  

Will Joan Hodges be celebrating her late husband's Hall of Fame induction soon?  We sure hope so!

An Open Letter To Brooklyn Dodger Lover Fred Wilpon

Dear Mr. Wilpon,

I was recently at the Mets Team Store on the Field Level at Citi Field looking for some Mets T-shirts. After being pleasantly surprised to finally see R.A. Dickey and Angel Pagan number shirts for sale, my jaw dropped when I saw yet another piece of Brooklyn Dodgers merchandise.

This wasn't yet another tribute to Jackie Robinson or Ebbets Field. This was something else entirely. Ladies and gentlemen, I give to you photo documentation of the latest shirt for sale at the Mets Team Store.


A Sandy Koufax Brooklyn Dodgers shirt? Really? Let's look up a few things about Mr. Koufax to share with our readers.

Sandy Koufax had a great career in the major leagues. He finished his career with a .655 winning percentage (165 wins, 87 losses), pitched four no-hitters (a record at the time), struck out 382 batters in a single season (also a record at the time), won three Cy Young Awards and was the National League MVP in 1963. He also was a member of four pennant winners and three World Series champions. As a result of his outstanding career, Koufax was inducted into the Hall of Fame in 1972, his first year of eligibility.


That's a lot of accomplishments for a pitcher whose career was cut short because of arthritis. But that's not what stands out most for me on his Hall of Fame plaque. Let's focus on Sandy himself, or rather, let's focus on the cap he's wearing in the plaque. What's that on his cap? Oh, yeah...

It's a LOS ANGELES DODGERS cap!

Now why is he wearing an LA on his cap rather than a "B" for Brooklyn? That's because Koufax did very little in Brooklyn as a Dodger.

From 1955-1957, the last three seasons the Dodgers played at Ebbets Field, Sandy Koufax's record was 9-10, or the same record compiled by Jonathon Niese in 2010. He was also very wild, walking 108 batters in 204.2 innings and posted a 4.00 ERA.

Once the Dodgers packed their bags and left Brooklyn for LA, Koufax blossomed into one of the all-time greats in baseball.

So why on Earth is Citi Field selling Sandy Koufax Brooklyn Dodgers shirts when he did practically nothing as one of Dem Bums? It surely can't be because the Mets appreciate pitchers who go 9-10 while pitching in one of the outer boroughs. If that were the case, then the store would also have a full stock of Jonathon Niese T-shirts (which they don't; what's up with that?).

No, Mr. Wilpon. You know the reason as well as I do. Sandy Koufax was a childhood friend of yours. The two of you went to Lafayette High School in Brooklyn together. Sandy comes to spring training as a favor to you to talk to your pitchers.

We get it. You're BFFs. Fine.

But please. Sandy Koufax wasn't a Met. He was barely a Brooklyn Dodger. Stop trying to make it seem like he was. The Mets don't play at Ebbets Field. They don't have a "B" on their hats. Therefore, if you could, we'd like you to stop trying to shove the Brooklyn Dodgers down our throats. We know this is probably hard for you to do, so perhaps we can reach a compromise.

Do you remember which two players led the major leagues in home runs and RBI during the 1950s? Maybe the photos below will help.



The man in the photo on the left is Duke Snider, who played in Brooklyn for 11 seasons (1947-1957). The man on the right is Gil Hodges, who came up to the Brooklyn Dodgers for good in 1947 after playing in one game for the team in 1943.

Both men played the majority of their major league careers as Brooklyn Dodgers, winning six pennants and one World Series in Brooklyn. They also have one other thing in common. Let's roll out the photo album one more time to assist you.



Your eyes are not deceiving you, Mr. Wilpon. They were indeed both members of your New York Mets.

Duke Snider played one season for the Mets, making the All-Star team in 1963. Gil Hodges played parts of two seasons for the Mets (1962-63), hitting the first home run in franchise history on April 11, 1962. He also did something on a grander scale seven years later. It may or may not have involved winning a championship. I'll have to look that up.

Do you see what I'm getting at, Mr. Wilpon? Why are you selling Sandy Koufax merchandise when you can sell Duke Snider or Gil Hodges gear? They were both Brooklyn Dodgers far longer than Koufax was and contributed to more success in Brooklyn than your boyhood buddy did. Plus, they have the added appeal to Mets fans because they both donned the orange and blue at some point.

As of right now, there is nothing for Duke Snider at Citi Field and only a first base entrance named after Gil Hodges. I know I'm not the only fan who's appalled that you're trying to sell Sandy Koufax as a Brooklyn Dodger to Mets fans. In fact, my wife (you might know her as "The Coop") also has an opinion on the lovefest between you and the Brooklyn Dodgers, which she will share with you now:


Speaking of both teams for whom to pay homage, you also discredit the origins of the “orange” from the term “orange and blue” in your child-like fascination with the Brooklyn Dodgers, and that’s the New York Giants.

While the Dodgers were quick to embrace their new identity on the west coast with winning a championship in two years, the now-San Francisco Giants had to do nothing BUT embrace their New York roots. And why was that? Because prior to 2010, they had not won a championship in their 50 year old home and a lot of their rich history was based in New York. Even when the team won, they visited the old site of the Polo Grounds (where both the New York Giants and…oh some other team…oh yes, the New York Mets once upon a time played) with the Commissioner’s Trophy to pay homage to where their history originated. I don’t believe that the Dodgers visited the old site of Ebbets Field after winning a championship so quickly after switching coasts. The Giants embrace New York and the Mets need to embrace the Giants history as well.

It’s not so much the Koufax jersey or this blatant “to the victor go the spoils” attitude at Citi Field that is troublesome -- there is also no mention of New York Giants history. You’d like to be fair, then how about this? In addition to selling Brooklyn memorabilia, why not include the Giants as well in a nostalgia store? Not to mention, one of the most storied baseball players in history, Willie Mays, played for both New York and San Francisco Giants AND ended his career with the Mets. Wouldn’t it be great to not only acknowledge those teams but to also have an actual connection to the Mets? There’s no limitation to having Giants or Dodgers jerseys either in the nostalgia store – you can sell old Mets jerseys as well and even other items such as collectible yearbooks and souvenir cups.


My wife and I are just two people, Mr. Wilpon. But we're not the only ones who feel that you have overdone it with your homage to the Brooklyn Dodgers at Citi Field.

You're the owner of the New York Mets. You also love the Brooklyn Dodgers. If you absolutely must share that Dodger love with the fans who pay their way into your homage to Ebbets Field to see the Mets play, at least share it with players who have ties to both teams. Is that so hard to do, Mr. Wilpon?

Peace, love, Mets, y'all,
Ed Leyro and Taryn Cooper