From my recliner, NY — Below is my open letter to Charlie, the dear little boy who wrote this:
As a God-fearing man, I, too, struggle with that question from time to time. I’d be breaking the ninth commandment if I told you I hadn’t fallen on my knees, begging for one more hit, one more out, one more chance, only to be cast into the wilderness for another 40 years.
It’s been a rough first week of baseball, I know.
Sixty one strikeouts in six games aren’t promising.
Travis d’Arnaud might need an exorcism.
I don’t believe the Trinity should describe a first base platoon (especially when a man named Satin is involved).
Quick, grab some oil and the elders and maybe we can still help Bobby Parnell’s elbow.
But us Mets fans need to stick together. So, I’m here to tell you that it’s not your fault. Look at me son, it’s not your fault. No, it’s not your fault.
I’ve been a Mets fan for 23 years. Every Opening Day they sucker me in, filling my head with promises of hope and a future (I call it being Jeremiah 9:11-ed). Every year I believe them. Believe me, it doesn’t get easier only more predictable.
I wish I had more answers for you. I don’t know why this happened.
For the life of me, I can’t explain why God, in His infinite wisdom, has given so much common grace to Yankee fans.
I can only tell you not to give up.
The day after the Mets were eliminated in 2006, I wore my David Wright jersey to school. On the afternoon the Mets announced Matt Harvey’s injury I wandered around like a creature on The Walking Dead, only to find myself driving to Modell’s to buy his jersey.
We are a resilient bunch, us Mets fans. Have faith. Believe in something.
Believe in Matt Harvey. Believe in Zack Wheeler. Believe in the Son of Odin.
Believe in the Captain friggin’ America.
I’ll leave you with a passage from Saint Paul’s letter to the Romans: “But we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope …”
Ya gotta believe.