Below is an excerpt from “The New York Mets All-Time All-Stars” from Lyons Press by Brian Wright, available now at major online retailers and independent booksellers, featuring the ever-popular former first baseman/broadcaster/Hadji caretaker.
For those interested in buying a signed copy, in which a portion of the purchase will be donated to the Jackie Robinson Foundation, you can contact Brian through Twitter (@BrianWright86) or email him at bawright3@gmail.com.
He knew what everyone else did in 1983: Shea Stadium was a major-league abyss. When Hernandez got word he’d be leaving the reigning champion St. Louis Cardinals for a moribund franchise mired in the cellar, the drastic change caused Hernandez to evaluate his future.
“The Mets deserved and received no respect,” said Hernandez, winner of a batting title and NL co-MVP in 1979. “And here I was, coming over from the world champions to a team with four last-place finishes in six years, and the other two next-to-last. Banished. Shipped to the Siberia of baseball.”
In Frank Cashen’s efforts to restore respectability, the GM had cultivated promising prospects that had reached—or were approaching—the big-league level. But no amount of veteran leadership would come from the farm system. At the 1983 trade deadline—ironically, six years to the evening from when the franchise broke with relevancy by shipping away Tom Seaver—Cashen pulled a coup that put the Mets rebuild on the accelerator.
Hernandez and St. Louis manager Whitey Herzog, a former Mets director of player development, were at odds—primarily due to Herzog’s perception of Keith’s lackadaisical play and alleged cocaine use.
Like a present from a heaven-sent carrier pigeon, the Cardinals first baseman was plopped in New York’s lap—and all the Mets had to give up was a declining relief pitcher and another arm which would make seven more big-league starts and win once. In short, this was grand larceny.
The Mets were elated to be getting a player of Hernandez’s caliber. Unfortunately, the feeling wasn’t initially mutual.
As Keith headed into free agency later that year, staying in New York was far from a certainty. He batted .306 over 95 games, maintained his streak of NL Gold Glove Awards, and quickly cemented himself as a team leader. But another last-place finish did little to allay Hernandez’s skepticism.
Cashen’s persuasion strategy centered on the promise in the minors, while Rusty Staub chimed in and spoke from experience about the benefits of playing and living in the Big Apple.
Keith was sold. The greatest trade in Mets history was about to reap its benefits.
“Whitey thought he was going to bury my ass in New York when he traded me here,” Hernandez said. “He had no idea what the minor-league system was like. He thought he was going to stick me here to suffer for two years. Didn’t happen. There was such a wealth of talent.”
That talent needed guidance to grow into its potential and Keith was the perfect pilot. He possessed a sheer force of personality and keen awareness of his surroundings that established confidence in his teammates, often conferencing with pitchers on the mound or lending advice to hitters in the dugout. From this confidence eventually came respect from opponents and a winning attitude that hadn’t been felt in Queens for almost a decade.
During his first five full seasons, Hernandez participated in more victories and gained more MVP support than any other player in the National League. Said former Mets broadcaster Tim McCarver: “I’ve never seen a man ‘in the game’ as much as Keith Hernandez.”
He was a meticulous hitter who dissected at-bats the way he pored over a New York Times crossword puzzle in the clubhouse. His diligence didn’t go without reward. Keith finished with a batting average of .300 or better three times, had the highest batting average among Mets hitters with at least 3,000 at-bats, and drove in at least 83 runs each year from 1984 to 1987.
But what distinguished him as the most unique of first basemen was the way he expanded the capabilities of a position rarely noted for exemplary defense. Keith charged toward the plate on potential bunts, which directly affected the way opposing teams sacrificed. He displayed range rarely seen before and turned infielder’s bad throws into outs. Hernandez won the Gold Glove in each of his first six seasons in New York, extending his streak to a record 11.
His intangibles could also be measured—specifically in how the Mets improved in 1984. The swift organizational attitude adjustment Keith fostered took effect that year. As runner-up for NL MVP, he batted .311, smacked 15 homers, 31 doubles, and drove in 94, often using his cerebral knowledge of the strike zone to generate a key hit at will. The Mets kept pace with the division-winning Cubs into September. Ultimately, they ended with 90 victories—22 more than in 1983.
Before Hernandez, the Mets thought they could win. Now, they knew they would.
Keith couldn’t do it alone, though. His guidance wouldn’t mean much if more talented pieces weren’t in place. Enter Gary Carter, similar in leadership quality, yet vastly different in outward emotion. With the two veterans at the forefront, New York improved to 98 wins and was entrenched in an even tighter pennant race in 1985. But it was by no means a joyride for Hernandez.
While he posted stats comparable to 1984—leading the team in runs, walks, hits, doubles, and batting average—and became one of a handful of Mets to hit for the cycle, doing so in a zany 19-inning contest that began on the night of Independence Day, the comfort Keith felt on the field was negated by squirm-inducing personal troubles.
In September, the Pittsburgh Drug Trials called on Hernandez to testify. There, he admitted to having previously used cocaine. By cooperating, Hernandez was granted immunity from prosecution. He accepted a commuted sentence to donate a portion of his salary to drug-related causes and perform community service.
Mere days after returning to action following the testimony, Keith delivered a ninth-inning single to beat the Cardinals and briefly put the Mets in sole possession of first place—a lead they wouldn’t hold, but would serve as motivation for 1986.
With off-field distractions subsiding, Hernandez played his part in the most dominant Mets season ever. Keith didn’t have a career year in ’86, but like Strawberry, Gooden, and Carter, he didn’t need to. Hernandez topped the Mets in walks for the fourth straight year, and his 94 free passes led the league. He batted .310 and produced the best on-base percentage since his co-MVP campaign of 1979.
The regular season was simply a prelude to a highly anticipated postseason, which began with an NLCS meeting with Houston. As was the case with just about every other Met, Keith couldn’t solve the quandary presented by Astros ace Mike Scott. New York, in fact, had difficulty against the entire Houston rotation—scoring just 11 runs through five games yet still holding a 3-2 series edge. In order to avoid Scott again, the Mets needed to end it in six. This was the closest thing to a must-win scenario without actually facing elimination.
Even the smartest of players seek out others for insight regardless of whether they’re in the ballpark or not. Bob Knepper was the pitcher causing the Mets angst this time—as he preserved a 3–0 lead through eight innings. Keith started the afternoon 0-for-3 when he went into the clubhouse to phone his brother Gary, who Keith regularly counted on for help, to ask if his swing was alright. Gary said he was too tentative.
Sound advice. With one runner on and one run in, Hernandez ripped at Knepper’s offering and drove it into the right-center field gap. Mookie Wilson scored to bring the Mets closer. New York soon made up the rest of the difference, forced extras, took the lead in the top of the 14th, lost the lead in the bottom of the 14th, took it back with three runs in the top half of the 16th, and held on for dear life to advance to the World Series.
That epic was over. Another was on-deck.
