Being a New York Mets fan is an emotional roller-coaster. It’s filled with manic highs and enervating lows. It’s beautiful, terrible, exciting and ugly all at the same time. It’s where “wait ‘til next year” is a religious harmony. Where there’s a fine line between paltry and proficient. Where perpetual overshadowing created New York’s underdogs. But have we become too pessimistic?
To answer this question, we need to get back to the roots of our fandom. We need to look at the lifespan of a Mets fan. Where did we come from? What did we go through?