My first recollection of anything involving the Mets is a game my family took me to in what had to be 1977 or 1978- I was all of three or four years old, so my memory of it is rather hazy. It was a day game and we were in the upper deck on the first-base side. I remember a small orange plastic cup with the Mets skyline logo printed on it (we kept that for God only knows how long), and that the opposing team wore powder blue uniforms with cherry red helmets (so it was either Cincy or StL). What I remember the most, though, was the thunderous chants of “Lets! Go! Mets!”

A few years later, we rented the upstairs part of a duplex from a guy named Gene Slowey, who was a hardcore Mets fan. He’d sit out in the backyard watching the Mets on a small TV with a long extension cord; more often than not, when my dad and I would happen upon him and ask how the Mets were doing, he’d give us the thumbs-down. But he was out there; he was a Believer- the first one I’d met- and I admire him for it.

It must have been 1984 when dad and I officially declared ourselves Met fans, and while we did keep the faith (even while he lived in L.A. and I lived in Puerto Rico) we hadn’t yet become true Believers. We both faltered, first becoming unfaithful during the lean early ’90s, then betraying the blue and orange outright during the late ’90s in an “if you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with” scenario when we lived in… well, elsewhere. It was bad. I cannot speak of it.

I moved back to Mets country in 2000, just in time to witness the Amazin’ season they’d put together, and I was proud to see them avoid being swept in the Subway Series, breaking the crosstown smackies’ WS winning streak in the process.

I’d say I vowed never to stray again, but it’s not the case. I never made such a promise because I know in my heart that I will never have to. Dad wound up dying before he could come to his senses and return to the fold, but these days, I Believe enough for the both of us (I’m writing this the morning after the bullpen cost us the 2008 season, if that lends any credence).

What you can expect here is, for lack of a better word, optimism. That’s what being a Met fan is about, isn’t it? Continuing to Believe, despite being given a thousand reasons not to? Tug would have wanted it this way.

Whether you poke around or stick around, it’s good to have you.