RUDY SHEPTOCK MARCH 28 2025
Is there any day as close to perfect as Major League Baseball’s Opening Day? As far back as I can remember, I would have to come up with annual bouts of some type of rare illness to get out of going to school so I wouldn’t miss the fanfare and pageantry. And most of these recollections only occur in glorious black and white! Having attended my first professional contest at Shea Stadum in Flushing, Queens on the final day of the 1968 season, I couldn’t wait for the start of the 1969 campaign. The Mets were hosting the brand-new expansion Montreal Expos in their inaugural game so how could my team blow this one? Miraculously, my sore throat disappeared by 1:10 p.m. and I was shouting, “Lets Go Mets,” so loud, I’m sure Sister Cecilia heard it just down the road. My forever hero, Tom Seaver, was on the mound and when he was taken out for the bullpen, he was up 6-4. Up until then, the Mets had never won on opening day, but the fortune had to change. I was even praying for forgiveness and making deals with God to do anything to tilt the scale in the direction of the orange and blue.
By the top of the ninth inning, the Mets were losing 11-6. The bullpen wasn’t very good at closing out victories in the late 1960’s any more than they can be relied upon to seal the deal in 2025. But I was nine years old, and I believed in comebacks and Santa and that my Dad could walk on water. My father got home from work just in time to fix this embarrassing display. I filled him in on everything he missed because while I wasn’t very good at math, I was a wiz at keeping score of the ballgames. After Kenny Boswell struck out looking, Cleon Jones singled to left off former Mets southpaw, Don Shaw. Ed Charles who we called “The Glider,” followed with a walk. Al Weis popped out to shallow right, but it took three outs to win the old ballgame. Jerry Grote, the Mets catcher and the first player who ever signed a personal autograph for me singled and Jones scored, making it 11-7. Duffy Dyer was sent up to pinch hit and he proceeded to hit a home run. I thought we had tied the game but Dad pointing out my addition was something less than desired, proceeded to poke a pin into my balloon by sharing that the Mets were still behind by a run. It was only 11-10 and the Expos were still winning. I cried out quickly, “No problem, Dad, Amos Otis is up and he is a power threat,” Amos Otis singled and Tommie Agee walked and then the worst that could happen, actually did. Rod Gaspar took strike one. Rod Gaspar took strike two. Rod Gaspar swung and missed for strike three. Now I really felt sick. I don’t think I even ate supper that night, that’s how downtrodden I was.
But as history would prove, these weren’t the same old Mets. These “Amazing Mets,” would win 100 games that season and become the 1969 World Champions even at the 100-1 odds set for them. It was the “Summer of Man Walking on The Moon in July. It was the summer of “Woodstock” in August. But for me, it will forever be the best year a kid who loves baseball could ever experience. On the actual weekend that everyone was buzzing upstate to Max Yasgur’s New York Farm, Dad and I were at Shea Stadium for what was known as “Banner Day.” During the break in between the doubleheader, we fans could walk on the field parading the artistry of kiddom by stealing Mom’s bedsheets and painting them with slogans like, “Even Though We’re in The Red. The New York Mets Are Far from Dead. So come on Mets and Get Ignited. And Get Us Mets Fans So Excited!” Maybe my poetry ability was right up there with my arithmetic skills. But I cherish those times as some of the best moments that I ever experienced. Dad was alive and well. As a child, my whole world revolved around playing baseball, watching baseball and dreaming about baseball. I used to sleep with my Gogel Tires Little League uniform on and it was made of itchy wool! That Miracle Mets team will always be my team and my favorite players ever because they helped a kid who was always a bit of a dreamer learn that going for the impossible is actually the right stuff! It’s the stuff that lasts long after the last out has been made and the last person has vacated the premises.
I just got off facetime with my daughter Abbie. What was she showing me? My twin grandsons were playing together in the back yard with the wiffle ball set they just received for their birthday. Levi is a Phillies fan like his Daddy, John. Benji is a Mets fan like his Pop-Pop. Baseball continues to be a key ingredient in defining our legacy. I coached all my kids from T-ball through high school level softball and baseball. I still love to go and watch the Shamokin Games. I just asked Felicia who is a power threat from the left side of the plate when her next game is. Baseball has never been boring for me. There are so many facets and nuances that must be addressed when it comes to performing well as a team out there on the local diamond. The Commissioner of MLB, Rob Manfred, has single handedly tried to ruin the sport with time clocks and ghost runners. One of the best aspects of this contest was that there were no time limits other than the sun going down and no lights to turn on. How many of us can remember holding on to that last slice of sunlight to keep on playing? One more pitch! One more bat! One more swing! Isn’t that what we all yearn for anyway?
Hope springs eternal on Opening Day! Everyone is in first place. Everyone has a chance to be the champions. All the uniforms are crisp and shining, all the batting statistics and earned run averages are perfect. It may be sunny in San Diego or snowing in Cleveland. It may be the Los Angeles Dodgers or the Omaha Storm Chasers. It may be a 700-million-dollar pitcher or a five year old bonus baby, but for a moment, it is all new. I remember how excited I would get when the groundskeeper lined the field before the game. Mom used to wonder where all her baby powder went when I was young. It was new. It was untouched. It was Spring ready to be sprung.
Maybe that’s why I have a feeling baseball will be played in Heaven. Not only does the Bible start with, “In the Big Inning,” but the whole purpose of the reason why we are all gathered together is to get home. It is always about crossing the plate and coming home. Could this be why, as in life we get so disappointed when the effort of our days end only on second or third? And unlike any other game, I can sacrifice my time at bat to get you home safe where you belong. “Put me in Coach! I’m ready to play, today, look at me, I can be, Centerfield!”
pastorrudytlc 