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                        MOOKIE WILSON

         Mookie Wilson is on almost everyone’s list of favorite Mets of all time.  He
was, of course, the player who gave us the single most exciting moment in Mets
history.  Yet Mookie is not popular because of that moment, in the way that Al
Weis is popular because of what he did in the 1969 World Series.  Mookie is
popular because he had a career that is exemplified by what happened in the
bottom of the tenth inning of the sixth game of the 1986 World Series.  He hit a
weak grounder that should have been fielded.  But the grounder was not what was
happening.  What was happening was Mookie running down the line, with an
explosive and irresistible conviction that he would make it to first base, that he
would not be out, and that the World Series would not end there.  Because he
believed he would make it to first, the fans believed he would make it, and it
certainly looks on the replay as if he convinced Bill Buckner as well.  And so it
happened.  Throughout his career, Mookie was always more than what he did.  
But he wasn't creating an illusion.  By seeming to be more than what he was, he
was more than what he was.

        The Mets at the beginning of the eighties were a dismal team.  Then
Mookie arrived.  He was eager, hopeful, sweet, and fast.  He had the same real
name as the great Royals centerfielder, Willie Wilson, and his speed and his
flashes of brilliance encouraged us to believe that someday he would play like
Willie Wilson.   Mookie would hit over .300, he'd hit over 20 home runs, and he'd
steal more than 50 bases.  Well, he never hit over .300.  He never hit more than
10 home runs in a season.  He did steal more than 50 bases a couple of times.  
But if Mookie had any kind of real greatness, it didn't show up on paper.  In fact,
anyone thumbing through the Baseball Encyclopedia, looking at the Mets in the
eighties, will not be able to understand why Mookie is still spoken of with love
and awe, while Kevin McReynolds is forgotten.

        What was it that made Mookie so wonderful?  I have an impression that he
was a good clutch hitter but I don't really know if the statistics would bear that
out.  I have a sense that he made some great and important catches, but I also
remember that he wasn't considered a particularly good outfielder.  Mookie was
often called a “sparkplug” as a lead-off hitter, but he didn't walk very often, and
he struck out a lot, so he really couldn't have been such a terrific leadoff hitter.  
There's no controversy about the fact that Mookie was a great guy and that he
had a wonderful attitude, but we all know that those attributes will only get you so
far.  Sure, Mookie was a good ballplayer and he never had the kind of genuinely
bad season that would cause you to lose faith in him.  The speed really was
something else and we all remember him running down balls in the outfield,
making it from first to third on a ground out, stealing home a couple of times, and
hitting a couple of inside the park home runs.  But Mookie wasn’t as good as you
would think he was, considering how large he looms in the memories of Mets fans.
Why was Mookie forgiven the fact that his career was, well, a little disappointing?
Why did we love him so much, when we have not warmed to several players who
were better than he was?

        I think that at some level all Mets fans know the answer to this question.  
Mookie seemed to enjoy playing the game of baseball more than anyone ever
has.  He enjoyed it as a fan would, who had sold his soul to the devil and was put
into the body of a ballplayer.  You weren't in awe of him.  You identified with him.  
He represented your own enthusiasm for the game.  He had all of your nervous,
hopping ecstasy, your imaginary happiness to be on the field, your perpetual
expectation of amazing miracles.  It was as if he was what his childish nickname
implied.  It was as if he was the childish soul of every fan.  

        By playing well enough, and by being so happy to play, Mookie got us to
believe in him.  And because we believed in him, we began to think that the Mets
could win.  And sure enough, soon after Mookie came up, the Mets did begin to
win, big time, and it seemed at some level to be because of him, because of his
energy, his smile, his sense of being perfectly in tune with the fans and their love.  
Actually, the Mets were winning because of the far more talented, yet personally
flawed players around him.  But Mookie was our emotional link with that team.  
And he was the link between the drought and the flood.  He was the most loved
Met in their greatest era and he was the only Met of that era to have fully paid
his cellar-dwelling dues.  And so when he turned a little grounder into an
unfathomable miracle that gave the great team the World Championship they
deserved but were so screwed up in the head they almost didn't get, it seemed
perfect and right.  And it was.

        We savor our memories of Mookie. We remember how we always went  
“Mooooooo!”  every time he came to the plate, and how that was so funny
because there was no way in hell we would ever boo him.  Mookie was not one of
the greatest Mets, but he was the guy with the flag.   And for the fans, the guy
with the flag is important.  He focuses our fandom.  We jump up and down with
him.  At the end of a great game, we hug the other players with his arms.  He
proves that however much baseball may really be a battle of measurable forces,
to the fan it will never really seem that way.  


©Dana Brand 2006