Oh, Yes, I Remember Them Well

By Deb McIver
Posted Sunday, December 2, 2007

The sad and tragic events of the past few days in sports have really started me thinking about guys in the Mets' organization that we lost, too early.

I thought I’d take a moment to pay tribute to a couple of them.

Like Danny Frisella. Remember him? The tandem of Frisella, the right-handed forkball thrower, and Tug McGraw, the left-handed screwballer, was the substantial meat of the 1971 Mets’ bullpen. Danny showed great promise, despite arm trouble in 1972, and moved on to pitch for several other teams, most notably the Milwaukee Brewers, until his death at age 30 in a dune buggy accident in California.

Danny, by all accounts, was a wonderful husband and father, and a genuine all-around nice guy who seemed to go out of his way for the fans, no matter where he encountered them. He also served in the National Guard during the Vietnam conflict, which certainly could not have been an easy thing.

Gil Hodges, the Mets manager, thought very highly of Danny, and tragically, of course, did not live much longer than Danny did, dying of a heart attack, suddenly and without warning, right before the start of the 1972 season.

Gil was, of course, the former great Brooklyn Dodger, who played on the 1959 team that, as it propitiously turned out, won the only World Championship in the history of that great franchise. Gil, a superb defensive first baseman, not onlyl won multiple Gold Gloves, but was highly regarded and respected by his fellow players and by pretty much everyone, in general, which did not change when he became the Mets' manager. In fact, the venerable Met Hall-of-Famer, Tom Seaver, repeatedly states, to this day, that of all the people he’s met during his lifetime, both in and out of baseball, Gil taught him the most about how to go about his business and what it means to be and to act like a professional.

I recall Gil’s death very distinctly, as if it were yesterday. I remember watching WOR-TV, Channel 9, and viewing a tribute to Gil, which ended touchingly, poignantly, with a shot of a beautiful cloudy blue sky, with the sun brightly shining in the background, off in the distance, and just wondering to myself whether Gil was there, watching us back.

I'll betcha he was... and is.

And how about Danny’s pen-mate, none other than the redoubtable Tug McGraw? Probably, most of us could go on and on about Tug, from his now famous “Ya Gotta Believe” to the ubiquitous thigh-slapping of his glove upon coming off the mound, usually after pitching with the bases loaded, nobody out, and striking out the side, or something like it.

Tug was a special guy, indeed. He seemed to live for the most difficult situations, and seemed to thrive when placed in the middle of them. I recall many times watching him race to the mound, glove in hand, wild blond hair in the style of the time flying out from the back of his cap, as he impatiently warmed up on the mound, as anxious as a child on Christmas morning, unable to wait to face his first batter.

And usually, with guys occupying all the surrounding bases, and with nobody out.

He coined “Ya Gotta Believe,” and made it both his own and the team rally cry, during the 1973 season, when the Mets, seemingly hopelessly trailing the division by more than ten games as late as August, unbelievably rallied to win the division, go onto the NLCS, win there, and subsequently lose the World Series to Charlie Finley’s Oakland A's in 1973, in seven games.

I remember I was on my way home from a trip to eastern Pennsylvania with my parents and my brothers, listening to that game on the radio. Although the Mets lost, I remember feeling an unbelievable sense of pride and accomplishment and yes, even joy, in what that team, with Tug as its de facto head, accomplished that year. In some ways, that year became a watershed one for me, after which I never really believed that the Mets were ever out of it, ever.

Ya Gotta Believe, right, Tug?

Tragically, Tug died on January 5, 2004 of a malignant brain tumor. He will live forever, though, in the hearts and memories of Mets fans everywhere.

And then there was Tommie Agee, who also didn’t live to see age 60. Tommie, as we all know, hit THE tremendous home run on April 12, 1969 against the Montreal Expos, which ended up in the left field upper deck at Shea Stadium, something nobody did before OR after him. How many times have all of us seen the painted “20” sign (commemorating Tommie’s uniform number) at everyone's best guess of the exact spot in Shea where the home run ball hit?

A true portent and foretaste of what was to come that miracle year…

Tommie went on, that season, to hit 26 homers. score 97 runs, and play brilliant defense. He was a huge part of the Mets’ five-game victory over the much-vaunted Oriole team in the 1969 World Series. Even Sports Illustrated opined that his part in the Mets’ victory in Game 3 of that Series could have been the best single game performance by a center fielder.

But hey, Mets fans were used to that from Tommie.

When Tommie died unexpectedly, at age 58, of a heart attack on January 22, 2001, there was surely a void in Metsland.

Then there was Nino Espinosa, a journeyman pitcher, who also died of a heart attack at age 34 on December 24, 1987.

For those of you who don’t remember Nino, he was a Dominican player who was the “ace” of the frankly miserable Mets of 1977 and 1978.

And finally, “Marvelous Marv” Throneberry. Throneberry, representative of most of the early Mets, became a Mets legend, and not necessarily in a flattering way!

Marv, the starting first baseman for the inaugural 1962 Mets team, seemed to develop sort of a cult following, and many stories circulated about him that year. Whether or not they are true, it is still likely that many of them have made Marv “Marvelous,” and a bona fide legend in the culture of Mets fans.

In one story, Throneberry hit a triple in a game against the Cubs, but was called out by the umpires since he apparently failed to touch second base on his way to third. As manager Casey Stengel came out of the dugout to argue the call, the umpire nicely told him not to bother; apparently, Marv had also neglected to touch first base. Well, the next batter predictably hit a home run, causing Stengel to come out of the dugout, follow the batter around the bases, helpfully pointing out each and every one of them lest the batter/runner miss one. Of course, Throneberry’s “mistake” resulted in the Cubs winning the game, 8-7.

Another time, as the story goes, the team decided to throw manager Casey Stengel a little birthday party, complete with a cake. When Marv realized he didn’t get a slice of cake, Casey supposedly told him that they were going to give him a piece, but they were afraid he’d drop it.

I guess Marv’s reputation of being a lousy first baseman didn’t start far from the Mets’ clubhouse, huh?

Through it all, though, Marv kept his sense of humor and became a fan and media favorite, even being honored with a fan club all his own. Later on, he became a spokesman for Miller Lite beer, delivering his most famous line -- “If I do for Lite what I did for baseball, I'm afraid their sales will go down."

Jimmy Breslin, THE New York columnist, used to say that having Marv Throneberry play for your team “is like having Willie Sutton work for your bank."

And in case any of you don’t know who Willie Sutton was, he was only one of the most prolific bank robbers of all time!

Sadly, Marv died at a too-young age of 60 in his home state of Tennessee.

Too many men, too many lovable characters, such a part of Mets’ history, too suddenly gone.

Oh, yes, I remember them well...........