The Mets this weekend have returned to Anaheim, the site of the infamous 3 AM, eastern time firing of Willie Randolph, for the first time since Randolph was let go.
The event was so incredibly “Mets” in what ever sense you want that to mean.
The Mets were in their hotel after winning a game against the Angels when Randolph and long time pitching coach Ricky Peterson were let go. That kick started the Jerry years which have led us to where we are now.
But you already know about this. The rest of this post is a self-serving, as I recount where I was during that time. It’s pretty selfish but it occurred at an interesting time in my life. The summer of 2008 was the first my first of two summers working at a sleep-away Jewish camp in Maryland (and I’ll keep it at that for now), one of the best experiences I’ve had. For those who haven’t worked at an 8+ week sleepaway camp, and are still young enough (must be done during college), go do it. It is more like any brotherhood experience you can get at a fraternity, and you get to help children make positive memories that they will hold onto forever (but as a teacher, my value on that is biased).
Anyway, I’m also shy and this camp, as welcoming as it can be a little rough to break in at first. Counselors from overseas clique up and counselors that completed the camp’s training program clique up. (This passes after a week or so). I was in a small group of counselors that didn’t do either.
However day two of camp, there was a lot to talk about because I was wearing a Mets shirt, and the only person who had contact with the outside world was the camp director. (Side note: phone use at this time was uncommon, and this was on the cusp of smart phone use being really popular, so information trickled to camp via newspaper. This no longer is true for camp, which is sad). The camp director passed me in the registration line and just let off a passing, “by the way, your front office fired your manager at 3 AM this morning.”
Fast forward a year, and in my second year at this camp, I was known for being a Mets fan (shocking, I know). The same camp director made a bet with me at the start of the summer that if the Orioles beat the Mets in the 2009 series, I would have to sing “Don’t cry for me Argentina” in front of the camp. If the Mets won, he would wear Mets stuff in front of the camp.
The Mets would end up losing the series thanks to walking in the winning runs, I ended up singing (but actually rapping in an act of defiance) “Don’t cry for me Argentina” and now the internet knows for all of time how the Mets are laced within some of my favorite summer memories.
