The games are over. The hot stove hasn't lit yet. This is the part of the year when a Mets fan's mind wanders — to the shoebox in the closet. Last week we opened 1965, the farewell summer of Casey Stengel, Yogi Berra and Warren Spahn. This week it's 1966 — the first year of the rest of the franchise's life. Casey is gone. Wes Westrum is running the club. And if you read the checklist the way you'd read a box score, you can see 1969 starting to assemble itself, one solo card a

The Mets had once again just dropped back-to-back gut-punch losses. My Strat-O-Matic team was somehow performing even worse, which is really saying something because unlike the Mets, my roster doesn't have actual human beings making millions of dollars. So there I was sometime around midnight, staring at my bedroom ceiling, watching imaginary box scores bounce around my head like a pinball machine. But if you've read any of my previous work—whether it was my deep dive into "T

Every now and then I stumble into a rabbit hole so deep that I'm convinced my search history is used by Google as part of employee orientation, right after the slide titled, "Yes, These Were All Real Searches." This latest journey began innocently enough while putting together a presentation for the SABR Baseball Memories Program for our Long Island Chapter. (feel free to join us) If you're not familiar with the program, it's designed to use baseball memories to engage people