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That harmless little grounder

Mark Herrmann

August 17, 2006

The Mets and fate always have had an intense relationship.

The fledgling club couldn't have been just a regular struggling expansion franchise; it had to be historically bad.

It couldn't make a gradual climb to excellence; it had to hit the 1969 World Series out of the blue, like a meteor. It couldn't just make a comeback at the end of the 1973 season; it had to come from rock bottom and it had to have a tumultuous triumph over the Big Red Machine, the great team of the era.

The Mets couldn't just be quietly mediocre in their down years; they had to be raucously inept, tossing bleach and firecrackers.

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They couldn't just make it back to the World Series after 14 years in 2000; they had to get into a bitter series with the Yankees.

"When they do something," said Bud Harrelson, who was in uniform for a lot of that history, "they do it spectacularly."

So of course they couldn't just win the 1986 World Series. They had to make one of the most remarkable, memorable comebacks in Series history. They had to be one strike away from elimination twice in the 10th inning of Game 6. They had to win it on a play that has become one of the most famous (and infamous) in baseball history.

A harmless little grounder by Mookie Wilson went through first baseman Bill Buckner's legs and helped send the 1986 Mets where they are today: On the verge of a 20-year championship reunion at Shea Stadium on Saturday.

That play did not end the Series, it merely tied it. It didn't turn a Red Sox win into a loss, even though it might seem that way. The Sox already had blown their two-run lead earlier that inning.

But that play changed lives. It made Wilson a hero and Buckner a recluse, following him to a new home in Idaho. It turned the flickering flame of that odd little Curse of the Bambino into a raging fire that wasn't doused until the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004.

On Saturday night, Oct. 25, 1986, fate had its hands full.

"I watched it in our equipment manager Charlie Samuels' office," said Ron Darling, who had been sent home earlier to rest because he was the scheduled starter for Game 7. He recalls turning around on the Grand Central Parkway and heading back to Shea when his team went down by two. "I got to see it as a fan, like a lot of people at home," Darling said. "The team had won games all year long, coming back. I guess this was the ultimate test. And somehow we passed it."

But when the Mets are good, don't they always win that way, with some ultimate test? "And the Red Sox lose it that way. At least they did until 2004," said Darling, who grew up in Massachusetts. "So I think it was a combination. It was an amazing Series."

It was amazing that Game 7 seems like an anticlimax or epilogue because of that play. And in retrospect, everything earlier had seemed to lead up to it, including the remark by NBC announcer Vin Scully in the third inning of Game 1, when Wilson was at bat.

"I'm still waiting for the Mets to exploit Bill Buckner at first base, or attempt to," the broadcaster said on the air at that moment. He was alluding to the bad shape the first baseman was in, with a sore Achilles and a throbbing left ankle that caused him to wear garish, Johnny Unitas-like high-top shoes.

So it was out there. A Buckner moment was just waiting to happen.

Fate set him up, especially in the top of the 10th, when Dave Henderson homered and Marty Barrett drove home a run with a single to put the Red Sox up 5-3. When Calvin Schiraldi retired Wally Backman and Keith Hernandez to start the bottom of the inning, the Boston bench was electric with the scent of history.

In their clubhouse, cellophane covered the stalls to protect from champagne damage. Bob Costas stood on a platform, waiting to do celebration interviews. This sign mistakenly appeared on the Shea message board: "Congratulations Red Sox!" In the press box, Red Sox pitcher Bruce Hurst was named the Series Most Valuable Player.

The Mets were disconsolate.

"We really did feel a mysterious force moving us in '69. But in '86, we were wire to wire," said Harrelson, who was the shortstop on the 1969 and 1973 teams and was the third-base coach in 1986.