The Power of Belief: A Mother, a Son, and an Alonso Miracle

It’s truly an honor to be a part of this growing Mets-themed website, and I’m thrilled to make my first contribution. The piece below gives you an idea of the depth of my Mets fandom and where it all began.

My dad took me to my first Mets game at the Polo Grounds in 1962, but it was my mom who turned me into a fanatic.

Both of my parents had been Brooklyn Dodgers fans. I was born just a few months after Brooklyn’s World Series win in 1955, and there’s even a photo of me in my carriage wearing a Dodgers hat. By the time the Mets came along, I was just starting to grasp what big-league baseball was all about. My dad made it clear—I would be a Mets fan and, just as importantly, I should hate the Yankees.

But dad worked a lot. He owned a butcher shop in Brooklyn, which meant that when it came to watching Mets games, it was my mom and me.

Gil Hodges was her favorite player, so he became mine too. Whenever Gil came up to bat, mom would tell me we had to “concentrate” to help him get a hit. And when he did, I truly believed I had played a role in it.

After Gil was traded to the Washington Senators, my new favorite became Ron Hunt. The ritual continued—whenever Hunt was at the plate, mom and I would “concentrate” together.

And so it went.

Bud Harrelson took Hunt’s place as my favorite after he was traded to the Dodgers in 1966. But eventually, I grew out of having favorite players—and I stopped “concentrating” to help hitters.

That all changed during the ninth inning of Game 3 of the NL Wild Card Series.

Pete Alonso was at the plate, one out, two on, Mets down by two runs to the Brewers. The season—this wild, pulsating season—was hanging by a thread.

Alonso had struggled in big moments all year. Just the inning before, he’d dropped a foul pop. Watching him now was painful. A man seemingly destined to one day own every Mets power-hitting record was about to enter free agency, and it felt like his final act as a Met would be grounding into a season-ending double play.

Like every Mets fan, I felt helpless.

I could accept the season ending in defeat, but I dreaded what one more failure would mean for Alonso—and his Mets future. Pete has been too good a Met, too good a person, to have his time with the team end in misery.

And then, suddenly, it hit me.

It was time to go back to my childhood.

So, I started to "concentrate" for Pete.

I concentrated HARD. I even said a prayer:

"Lord, don’t let Pete’s Mets career end this way."

And then Alonso swung.

The ball shot out to right field.

Over the wall.

We all know what happened next.

My mom is 90 now. She still watches every Mets game—at least the ones she has access to (not Apple TV, Roku, or Facebook, for instance). The next morning, I couldn’t wait to call her and relive the moment.

I called around 11:30 AM. But after a few minutes of talking, I realized something shocking—she had no idea about the comeback.

“Didn’t you watch the game?” I finally asked.

“I shut it off in the ninth inning,” she said. “I didn’t want to see the other team celebrate.”

Classic mom.

“Didn’t you see it on the news this morning?” I pressed.

“When I saw they were going to talk about the Mets, I shut it off,” she replied.

And so, I got to be the one to tell her all about the rally, all about Pete coming up huge—after I had resorted to "concentrating" the way she taught me all those years ago.

Her response?

“So, you made it happen.”

I guess I did.

Thanks, Mom.

And Mets fans—you’re welcome!