From Shea to Immortality: The Mets’ 2026 Inductees: Beltrán, Mazzilli, Valentine

The Mets announced today that three of the franchise’s most memorable figures Carlos Beltrán, Lee Mazzilli, and Bobby Valentine will be inducted into the Mets Hall of Fame in 2026. That brings the total to 38 Mets immortals and three new plaques for the wall at Citi Field, which, at the pace we’re adding them, may need its own renovation soon. Maybe not quite East Wing-of-the-White-House territory, but close enough that an architect should probably start warming up.

When the Mets signed Carlos Beltrán to a seven-year, $119 million contract in January 2005, they weren’t just adding a star; they were planting a flag. His record-setting postseason with Houston had made him the crown jewel of the free-agent market, and his arrival in Queens announced to the baseball world that the Mets were done accepting “pretty good” as a business model. They finally had a true centerpiece to build around.

His first year, though, felt more like a prolonged chiropractor appointment. For the first six weeks, he was cruising along, hitting over .300 and looking every bit the player the Mets thought they’d signed. Then a re-aggravated quadriceps injury turned the rest of his season into a long game of “What Now?” His bat went cold, the boos warmed up, and the tabloids compared him to a “slimmer Mo Vaughn,” which is the sort of thing that should qualify as a workplace grievance. For a player whose entire game was built on explosiveness — and whose right knee had already betrayed him more than once — the physical and mental grind of that first year in Queens made for a rocky start.

Then came 2006, the year Beltrán turned into the superhero Mets fans had ordered. Free of the nagging injuries, he delivered the best season of his career: 41 home runs, a .982 OPS, a Silver Slugger, a Gold Glove, and a fourth-place MVP finish. More importantly, he became the quiet engine of the best Mets team of the 21st century. With Carlos Delgado bringing thunder, David Wright blossoming into a star, and Beltrán doing everything short of driving the team bus, the Mets won 97 games and stormed into the NLCS. His postseason numbers — including a 1.054 OPS — were exactly what a franchise dreams of when it hands out the keys to the kingdom. Yes, everyone remembers the Wainwright curveball, but the truth is simple: the Mets don’t even sniff Game Seven without Beltrán.

The collapses of 2007 and 2008 still hang in the Queens air like the phantom smell of Shea Stadium pretzels, but it’s worth noting that Beltrán quietly delivered two of his most complete seasons during those heartbreaks. He posted consecutive Gold Gloves, back-to-back 112-RBI seasons, and nearly identical OPS+ marks. While everything around him was wobbling, he was the guy holding the building up. He later admitted he had no idea how the Mets missed the playoffs in those years. Watching those teams again, it’s hard to blame him; he did everything short of pitching the ninth himself.

Early in 2009, he looked like the best hitter in the National League. Until May, he led the league in both batting average and on-base percentage, and he said he felt fully healthy for the first time since coming to the Mets. Naturally, that’s when his knee — the oldest recurring character in the Carlos Beltrán story — stepped back into the spotlight. A deep bone bruise sidelined him for more than two months. Even so, in half a season, he hit .325 with a .915 OPS, one of the best partial seasons any Mets position player has ever produced. But it was also a turning point. From 2009 on, the speed that once made him a five-tool marvel disappeared, and long-term knee issues became a constant companion.

The offseason that followed brought the surgery drama. Beltrán had arthroscopic surgery in January 2010, saying he’d informed the Mets in advance. The Mets responded with the sort of public frustration usually reserved for parking tickets. Tempers flared, headlines followed, and for the first time there was real friction between the superstar and the franchise. He didn’t return until after the All-Star break, and while he still hit well enough, it was clear the mobility that once separated him from everyone else had been permanently compromised. The knee brace became part of the uniform.

In 2011, before the Mets finally made the tough call, Beltrán delivered one last flourish. By late July, he was hitting .289 with a .904 OPS, had already racked up 30 doubles, and earned yet another All-Star nod. Even with the knee issues, he remained the team’s best hitter and one of the best in the league. Off the field, he became a mentor to the younger players — the kind of steadying presence every clubhouse pretends it doesn’t need until it suddenly does. Terry Collins praised the way he simplified the game for rookies, and R.A. Dickey called him “a complete individual,” a compliment that sounds simple until you realize how rare it is in professional sports.

When the Mets traded him to San Francisco for a tall right-hander named Zack Wheeler, it was one of the rare deals in Mets history that worked beautifully for everyone involved. Beltrán hit .323 for the Giants, free from the weight of a non-contender, and Wheeler eventually became a cornerstone of the Mets pitching staff. For once, everybody won.

Strip away the final curveball and the noise that followed, and Beltrán’s Mets career stands as one of the finest in franchise history. Across six and a half seasons, he posted a 129 OPS+, won three Gold Gloves, delivered one of the greatest individual seasons a Met has ever had in 2006, and planted himself firmly among the top ten in team history in home runs, walks, WAR, on-base percentage, and slugging. His postseason performance in 2006 remains one of the best by any Mets player in any October.

Beltrán wasn’t just a star. He was one of the most complete, most impactful players the Mets have ever had — dynamic, dignified, and often spectacular. His induction into the Mets Hall of Fame is not just deserved; it’s overdue.

Before Citi Field had club levels and craft beer, the Mets had Lee Mazzilli — the Brooklyn kid with the swagger of a disco-era leading man and the athletic chops to back it up. Born March 25, 1955, in Sheepshead Bay, he grew up splitting time between baseball and speedskating, dominating both before ultimately choosing the diamond. That choice set the stage for a remarkable professional career.

Mazzilli’s fluid athleticism made him a rare talent. He could hit, throw, and catch with either hand, stole bases with skater-like grace, and fielded center with a Willie Mays-inspired basket catch. Drafted 14th overall by the Mets in 1973, he quickly worked his way through the minors, combining patience at the plate with aggressive base running. His major-league debut in 1976 was understated, but a dramatic pinch-hit homer off Kent Tekulve soon cemented his reputation as a clutch performer.

By 1977, Mazzilli was full-time in center, navigating the chaos of the Seaver trade and learning under mentor Joe Torre. He developed into one of the league’s most complete young players, hitting over .300 from both sides in 1979, stealing 34 bases, and reaching base nearly 40 percent of the time — all while providing a spark for a team in decline.

Mazzilli’s personal brand — handsome, charismatic, and effortlessly stylish — only added to his appeal, though he never let it overshadow the game. Even after injuries and a less-than-ideal throwing arm limited his defensive impact, he remained a valuable contributor.

By 1982, with Mookie Wilson ready to take center, the Mets traded Mazzilli to Texas. The return: Ron Darling and Walt Terrell. Darling anchored the rotation, while Terrell would later be flipped for Howard Johnson, giving the Mets a key piece of their mid-80s core. In other words, Mazzilli’s trade directly set the stage for HoJo’s arrival in Queens, cementing a legacy far beyond his own stats.

Mazzilli returned to New York in 1986 as a veteran bench player, delivering crucial pinch hits in Games 6 and 7 of the World Series and helping the Mets capture their first championship since 1969. He stayed through 1989, providing leadership and occasionally calling out teammates when necessary. After retiring, he pursued broadcasting, coaching, managing, and even a stint as a minor-league league commissioner, while keeping an eye on his son L.J.’s baseball career.

From Sheepshead Bay to Shea Stadium to the World Series podium, Lee Mazzilli left his mark on the Mets not just as a player, but as a catalyst for the team’s future stars.

Bobby Valentine played ten seasons in the majors, but it was as a manager that he became a baseball character you couldn’t ignore. Born May 13, 1950, in Stamford, Connecticut, Valentine grew up a neighborhood standout, faster and sharper than older kids, a kid everyone wanted on their team. By high school at Rippowam, he was a two-sport star, excelling in both football and baseball, and catching the attention of scouts and future Dodger manager Tommy Lasorda.

Valentine was drafted fifth overall by the Dodgers in 1968 and quickly made his mark in the minors, earning MVP honors in both the Pioneer and Pacific Coast Leagues. He was versatile — playing infield and outfield — but a severe leg injury with the Angels in 1973 cost him much of his speed. After bouncing through the Padres and Angels organizations, Valentine landed with the Mets in 1977 as part of the multi-team shuffle known as the “Midnight Massacre,” though his time in Queens as a player was brief and limited.

Where Valentine really left his mark was behind the scenes. He joined the Mets in 1982 as a minor-league instructor, moved up to third-base coach by 1983, and spent two seasons mentoring young players under George Bamberger and Davey Johnson. Those years allowed him to develop the managerial style he would later bring to the majors — direct, innovative, and unafraid to challenge convention.

By 1996, after a stint managing in Japan and with the Mets’ Triple-A Norfolk affiliate, Valentine took the helm in Queens. He immediately focused on nurturing the team’s younger players, helping them develop confidence and discipline. Over the next five seasons, he led the Mets to three second-place finishes in the NL East, including a wild-card playoff in 1999 that set up the Subway Series against the Yankees. Valentine’s teams were competitive, often underdogs, and he brought personality and energy — ejections, fake-mustache disguises, and all — without ever losing sight of player development.

Even after leaving the Mets in 2002, Valentine remained influential in baseball, managing successfully in Japan and later taking roles with the Red Sox and in collegiate athletics. But for Mets fans, his legacy is clear: a manager who combined strategy with showmanship, cared deeply about mentoring players, and helped a generation of Queens talent find its footing.

Bobby Valentine may not have a World Series ring with the Mets, but his imprint on the clubhouse, the young players, and the culture of the team is unmistakable — a rare blend of intellect, intensity, and unapologetic style that left Queens a little livelier than he found it.