The '86 Mets In Full
1980s nostalgia comes alive to delicious effect in "Once Upon a Time in Queens"
The 1986 New York Mets are the stuff sports documentary dreams are made of; the team was crazy good, had loads of talent, feasted on debauchery and in the end, lived up to the preseason hype by winning the World Series in dramatic fashion. But in many ways, the team is also a symbol of unrealized greatness and ultimate disappointment; success came and went quickly and without warning (many of the team’s key players were let go or traded in the seasons following its World Series title and 1986 remains the last time the franchise won a championship).
In the new ESPN 30 for 30 film Once Upon a Time in Queens, producer/director Nick Davis offers up a compelling and remarkably concise summary of not only the baseball might of this team but its cultural relevance at the time, profiling a team that was nearly impossible to miss--baseball fan or not--for that one magical summer in 1986. Coincidentally, there were other great teams around this time, including the ‘85 Chicago Bears and ‘86 Boston Celtics (not to be outdone, hockey’s Edmonton Oilers won three out of four Stanley Cup titles from ‘84-’87) but nobody quite captivated the country like the ‘86 Mets. Part of it was timing; baseball--when interesting--occupies a solid calendar year--summer at that--a time where one can delve into a sport more consistently, like a taking in a grand story that has a beginning, middle and end. Even bad baseball teams can make for a fascinating narrative during the summer. Football, basketball and hockey start in one year and end in the next with a lot of interruptions in between. It certainly didn’t hurt that this team was in New York and came to epitomize the excess and outrageous nature of the 1980s, a time where drugs and financial zealotry ruled the day, making the Mets more entertainers than baseball greats, willing and able clown princes who collectively doubled as the best team in baseball.
Davis manages to create a picture of the time appealing to both fans and nonfans alike, a mosaic of the era where the Mets played a central--but not exclusive--role in shaping a specific space in time, one which the film connects the team to the larger context of a city and country much different than the one in which we live today. For those who lived during that time, the film is a stark reminder of just how outrageous its players could be (drug use, profanity, off field shenanigans, awful rap songs, self promoting music videos and more are all on full display in this film) while younger viewers get an extended look into just how different athletes--and fans--could act and exist in their respective spaces back then.
Fans at Shea Stadium rushed the field after the Mets clinched the division title, tearing up turf, rappelling down stadium rows and even stealing players’ hats in an orgy of celebration which was not only tolerated at the time but even mildly endorsed by observers. Isn’t that what you were supposed to do? To see this today looks unthinkable (and for good reason). Scores of players used drugs and alcohol like it was their job (cocaine was the overwhelming choice of the time) and lived life as baseball gladiators, conquering cities where they played and making a mess of wherever they went. New York City loved the Mets not only in spite of their shortcomings and excesses but because of them, almost living vicariously through their heroes from the diamond.
Once Upon a Time in Queens pulls back the curtain on the darker side of its main characters, too, showcasing drug addictions, domestic battery and even racism rampant in the lives of many Mets players in and out of the clubhouse, avoiding the trap of merely sensationalizing its subjects over giving them a thorough examination. Despite the film being only four parts (an hour each) Davis is largely successful in extracting individual stories and profiles from a wide range of Mets players, including its stars Darryl Strawberry, Dwight Gooden, Keith Hernandez, Mookie Wilson, Ray Knight, Wally Backman, Lenny Dykstra, Ron Darling, Bob Ojeda, manager Davey Johnson and a host of other actors in the play that was the ‘86 Mets. Each offers unique insight into what made the team tick, creating a strange alchemy of success which had fans engaged for months.
Hernandez serves as the film’s most eloquent and nuanced narrator, willingly admitting to things he wished he did (like being in the dugout at the end of Game 6 of the World Series instead of in Johnson’s office having a beer) while offering solid, refreshing truths about what the team was and wasn’t during its championship run (he still manages to roll his eyes when speaking about the media proclivity of the late Gary Carter, the team’s catcher and all around media darling). Viewers get second hand views of Carter (he died in 2012) and his contributions to the team, his qualities clearly more appreciated now by his former teammates than they were at the time (despite Carter’s apparent lust for the limelight he is lauded by teammates up and down as being the team’s ultimate gamer). Dykstra and Backman are every bit as ornery and colorful as they were then while Knight, Darling, Ojeda and Johnson give viewers nuanced accounts of why they treasure their time with the Mets while fully aware of the era’s pitfalls.
The most tragic stories of the ‘86 Mets come from it’s two best players and young black stars, Strawberry and Gooden, as the duo duel their demons through drug addiction, domestic assault, meteoric success on the field followed by ultimately unfulfilled promise. The two served as the franchise’s home grown superstars during the early 1980s (the Mets drafted both players) and quickly became not only the best players on the team but two of the most interesting superstars in baseball. Gooden dominated the sport from the mound in 1985 in a way we haven’t seen since (Pedro Martinez in 1999 was pretty close) while Strawberry gave glimpses into being the five-tool legend everyone predicted he would be by the time he retired but never really became (being called the “black Ted Williams” is perhaps among the most unfortunate and unfair labels endured by a modern sports star in any sport). Gooden simply devoured hitters in those years, his long arm slinging baseballs past hitters with ease and regularity (he led the league in wins, earned run average and strikeouts in ‘85 at age 20). Strawberry’s left handed swing seemed absolutely effortless and unlimited in its range while his baserunning and outfield arm defied logic for someone his size (six-foot-six inches tall). Even by 1986, however, the cracks in the duo’s on field effortless wizardry was already visible as performances became less stellar (but still very, very good) and off the field events began seeping into their respective narratives. Gooden’s absence from the team’s ticker tape victory parade seems even more glaring now than it did back then and the allegations of Strawberry’s domestic battery are more ugly than ever given the current climate of awareness.
Strangely, there probably would have been a documentary on the ‘86 Mets whether they won the World Series that year or not. The team was really hyped and really good on paper when the season started. They had colorful and larger than life characters, most of them from other teams and patched together with a rebellious manager who gleefully cast his team in an “us versus them” role against everyone else, including the media and management. The team didn’t shy away from being heralded as the best team in baseball, agreeing to both a absurd rap recording (it is hilariously bad in a very 1980s kind of way but perversely glorious to hear today) and music video (also hilariously bad in a very 1980s kind of way while also perversely glorious to see today).
The team was, for all intents and purposes, a season-long circus with a vast array of trapeze artists and bearded ladies. But the team was also very, very good. Historically good. The Mets won 108 games that year, clinched its division by over 20 games and then proceeded to grind to a World Series title with two exhausting wins over the Houston Astros and Boston Red Sox.
The team winning makes for a nice ending but there’s a World Series champion every year; that in itself is not remarkable. The way the team won, however, is where the story’s gold is mined. A gut wrenching win in Game 6 of the National League Championship Series against a team whose top pitcher Mike Scott was virtually unhittable that fall (the game was effectively a Game 7 situation given this fact and because Scott sat that game in favor of going in a potential Game 7 likely saved the Mets’ season).
Another disappointing start against the Red Sox (the team went down 0-2 on their own field before rallying to tie the series in Boston) leading to a truly historic Game 6, one which defies logic and belief even 35 years later. Describing it here is futile--one has to watch all its machinations to believe it and even then, it defies belief. It was that kind of game. But the Mets won that night and then managed to go down 3-0 in Game 7 before finally unleashing their hitting and shutting down a very good--but deflated--Red Sox team for good. Finally, after months of hype and relentless media attention, the Mets won the championship. But Once Upon a Time in Queens still could have been made without the rings.
Once Upon a Time in Queens uses local television and fan footage to great effect, including a stunning single take shot of Mookie Wilson leaving the field after his inexplicable Game 6 at bat which saw the winning run cross (or hop on in the case of Knight’s victorious leap) home plate and the Mets leave the field as not only winners but veritable escape artists. The views from the stands at key moments relive a time where social media’s perfection was decades away and reactions were real and film was grainy. Seeing Bob Costas nervously wait in Shea’s visiting team locker room for the soon to be world champion Red Sox but then hustle out with a television crew in mere seconds once the game is tied is stunning decades later. Hernandez ruefully noticing that Roger Clemens ducked into the locker room to shave in advance of his team’s (soon to be dashed) victory gives the game yet another fascinating human element as do so many other details emerge from decades of reflection by those directly involved.
As historically good and dominant as the Mets were in 1986 the team oddly underachieved during their era, making it to the playoffs only once more post-championship (a loss to the Los Angeles Dodgers in the ‘88 NLCS) before unceremoniously letting go most of the championship team’s vital parts. More telling, Carter is the lone player from the ‘86 team to be inducted to the Baseball Hall of Fame. In a way, this makes the ‘86 Mets even more interesting and maybe even more impressive. This was not a super-team or financially propped up juggernaut of stars. The players the Mets drafted were just coming into their own (albeit at a lightning pace) and the team’s veterans were all from other teams and in the last half or even lap of their respective careers.
As a documentary, Once Upon a Time in Queens is unapologetically nostalgic for a bygone era, one where excess ruled and the Mets were the perfect act for the times. For recent comparison, however, it probably ranks a notch lower than last year’s Bulls’ magnum opus, The Last Dance, mainly due to its insistence on connecting the Mets to a larger cultural context of the era rather than simply focusing on the team itself. The film didn’t need this; the Mets of 1986 were enough to fill hours of viewing interest. I’m not sure Chuck D or Cyndi Lauper are going to move the needle of anyone’s interpretation of the team or what happened that summer and fall. The Last Dance deftly sidestepped any 1990s cultural commentary and wisely kept the players, coaches and key management up front and center, knowing all too well Michael Jordan, Dennis Rodman, Scottie Pippen, Phil Jackson and company were timeless subjects worthy enough subject matter for 10 hours of viewing in their own rights.
That said, Once Upon a Time in Queens is wildly entertaining and engaging viewing for both veterans of the era or those who want to dive in for the first time. Seeing the players decades later, in relatively good health and shape, is rewarding for those who lived through 1986, especially since they all appear to truly appreciate their connection to that team and time while still managing to see the truth beneath the growing mythology of that year. In that sense, the ‘86 Mets never left us even if we moved on for awhile after they won it all--isn’t that what good nostalgia is all about anyway?