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So it was 35 years ago Monday -- Aug. 4, 1973 -- that my Uncle Bill took my brother Jim and me to our first big-league ballgame: 10 stops down the No. 7 line from his apartment in Queens to Shea Stadium. When Fresno's greatest athlete was still the beloved ace of the Mets' staff, Yogi was managing and Tug was starting to tell everyone "Ya gotta believe!" When Shea still had those cool blue-and-orange squares and rectangles on the outside that screamed '60s as loudly as the girls inside screamed for The Beatles those two legendary nights. We sat in the upper deck in foul territory in short left. And I got to see the beginning of a second Mets miracle. And it began with a loss. The Cardinals (back when Joe Torre rocked those muttonchop sideburns) were in first in the National League East; the Mets were in last, I think nine... [read full story]
