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Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, where every week we climb back into the Mets attic, brush off a little dust, and see what kind of baseball story is hiding behind the old scorecards. Last week, we wandered into the outer edges of the statistical universe. We talked about extremes. A Mets ERA so high it looked like a typo, courtesy of Garrett Olson, and an ERA that didn’t exist at all, thanks to Stephen Tarpley. One number you couldn’t believe, and o

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly stroll through the Mets attic, the place where the yearbooks are a little dusty, the bubble gum cards stick together, and every once in a while you stumble across something that makes you stop and say, “Wait… I remember that.” Last week, we took a detour down to Florida and spent some time with the St. Lucie Legends, a team that felt like a baseball reunion wrapped in sunshine, nostalgia, and just enough p

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly stroll through the Mets attic the place where the yearbooks are a little dusty, the bubble gum cards stick together, and every once in a while you stumble across something that makes you stop and say, “Wait… I remember that.” Last week, we sorted out the tale of the two Bob Millers, a pair of pitchers who shared not only a name, but a spot on the same 1962 Mets roster forcing Casey Stengel to rename one of

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly stroll through the Mets attic the place where the yearbooks are a little dusty, the bubble gum cards stick together, and every once in a while you stumble across a name that makes you stop and say, “Wait… I remember that guy.” Last week we untangled the curious case of the two Bobby Joneses two pitchers, same name, overlapping in the larger orbit of baseball history, and enough confusion to make even a sco

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly stroll through the Mets attic — the place where the yearbooks are a little dusty, the bubble gum cards stick together, and every once in a while you stumble across a name that makes you stop and say, “Wait… I remember that guy.” Last week we tangled with the curious case of the two Mike Marshalls — yes, two Mike Marshalls, both on the roster at different times, both leaving fans scratching their heads and

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly stroll through the Mets attic — the place where the yearbooks are a little dusty, the bubble gum cards stick together, and every once in a while you stumble across a name that makes you stop and say, “Wait… I remember that guy.” Last week we dusted off the file on John Buck, the catcher who spent most of his career being a solid, dependable big league backstop — until April of 2013, when he briefly turned

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly stroll through the Mets attic where the yearbooks are a little worn, the bubble gum cards stick together, and every once in a while you come across a name that makes you stop and say, “Wait a second… how did we forget that guy?” Last week we opened the attic door and found a man who spent nearly two decades quietly standing in the background of Mets history. The traveling secretary who appeared in every of

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly stroll through the Mets attic where the yearbooks are a little worn, the bubble gum cards stick together, and every once in a while you come across a name that makes you stop and say, “Wait a second… how did we forget that guy?” Last week we talked about the time the Mets brought in Hall of Fame pitcher Bob Gibson to serve as what manager Joe Torre jokingly called the team’s attitude coach. Because if your

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets’ attic, where we brush the dust off the bubble gum cards, flip through curling yearbooks, and rediscover the names that once made you stop mid knish and say, “Hold on… he was a Met, right?” Last week we explored the day the fastest man on Earth showed up in camp to teach the Mets how to run. This week we stay in the same aisle of baseball oddities, only instead of Olympic speed we

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets’ attic, where we brush the dust off the bubble gum cards, flip through curling yearbooks, and rediscover the names that once made you stop mid knish and say, “Hold on… he was a Met, right?” Last week we stood, removed our caps, and revisited the voices that opened Mets games long before the first pitch and the first second guessing of the bullpen. From Pearl Bailey setting the tone

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets’ attic, where we brush off the dust, squint at old photos, and rediscover the people, places, and moments that once made Mets baseball feel new, hopeful, and occasionally sunburned. Last week, we were in St. Petersburg, Florida, the Mets’ original spring home. Before Shea. Before Port St. Lucie. Before winning seasons were anything more than a rumor. Back when baseballs occasionall

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly stroll through Mets history, where we dust off the forgotten, squint at the overlooked, and remind ourselves that Mets lore is about far more than box scores and batting averages. The last couple of lessons wandered slightly off the basepaths. First, we tipped our cap to Kathy Kersch, Miss Rheingold 1962, the smiling face of the Mets’ first major sponsor and the most photogenic rookie of their inaugural se

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets’ attic, where we brush the dust off the bubble-gum cards, flip through curling yearbooks, and rediscover the names that once made you stop mid-knish and say, “Hold on… he was a Met, right?”                This week’s installment is a logical follow-up to last week's, when we focused on Kathy Kersch, the first woman crowned Miss Rheingold during the Mets era. And, actually, this wee

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets’ attic, where we brush the dust off the bubble-gum cards, flip through curling yearbooks, and rediscover the names that once made you stop mid-knish and say, “Hold on… he was a Met, right?” Last week’s lesson took a slight detour from the usual roll call of orange-and-blue alumni. Instead of Mets who were, we studied Mets who almost were, a half-dozen draft picks whose names were o

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets’ attic, where we brush the dust off the bubble gum cards, flip through the curling pages of old yearbooks, and rediscover the players who once made you pause mid–potato knish and mutter, “Hold on… he was a Met, right?” Last week, class focused on Joe Frazier , not the heavyweight champion, but the Mets manager whose brief tenure somehow produced a better winning percentage than Ter

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets’ attic, where we brush the dust off the bubble gum cards, flip through the curling pages of old yearbooks, and rediscover the players who once made you pause mid potato knish and mutter, “Hold on… he was a Met, right?” We closed out 2025 by revisiting one of the strangest detours in Mets history, when Tom Seaver, Ron Swoboda, Ralph Kiner and Yogi Berra paid a visit to Sing Sing pri

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets’ attic, where we brush the dust off the bubble gum cards, flip through the curling pages of old yearbooks, and rediscover the players who once made you pause mid potato knish and mutter, “Hold on… he was a Met, right?” Last week, we told the story of Jim Beauchamp, a baseball lifer whose time in Flushing was brief, bruising, and ultimately redemptive, a reminder that baseball caree

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets’ attic, where we brush the dust off the bubble gum cards, flip through the curling pages of old yearbooks, and rediscover the players who once made you pause mid potato knish and mutter, “Hold on… he was a Met, right?” Last week, we told the story of Randy “Moose” Milligan, a man whose Mets career could fit comfortably on a cocktail napkin but whose fingerprints somehow wound up al

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets attic, where we brush the dust off the bubble gum cards, flip through the yearbooks that still smell faintly of pretzels, and rediscover the players who made you pause mid potato knish and mutter, Hold on, he was a Met, right? Last week, we took a sentimental stroll through Shea Stadium’s old organ loft and revisited the legacy of Jane Jarvis, the musical magician who could turn a

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets’ attic, where we brush the dust off the bubble-gum cards, rummage through the old yearbooks, and rediscover the players who made you pause mid–potato knish and mutter, “Hold on… he was a Met, right?” Last week, we dove into the rarest of Mets species, the two-sport unicorn himself, DJ Dozier, NFL running back, major-leaguer, and a man who collected job titles the way the rest of us