Stop the Madness : An Open Letter to Mets Fans.
- Mark Rosenman
- Jun 28
- 9 min read
I've reached my breaking point.
Not with the Mets.
But with Mets fans.
Actually, let me be more specific.
With the never-ending, soul-crushing, keyboard-smashing, microphone-yelling, social media-fueled, twenty-four-hour-a-day misery that somehow passes for being a Met fan these days.
The Mets lose a game?
The season's over.
The Mets win a game?
Well, they should have won by more.
Juan Soto goes 2-for-4 with a double, two walks and a run scored?
"Yeah, but he's not earning that contract."
David Stearns makes a trade?
Within three minutes, people who couldn't identify a Double-A prospect if he delivered their Amazon package have decided they could run a Major League front office better than someone who's spent his entire adult life doing exactly that.
Sports talk radio even worse.
Every host has the perfect trade, for every single sport no less.
The perfect lineup.
The perfect bullpen.
The perfect draft.
Apparently, watching sports on television has become the equivalent of earning an MBA in Sports Management, player development, and every skill needed to run a successful franchise.
Stop.
Please.
Just...stop.
I've been a Mets fan since I was six years old, thats 60 years.
I've seen every imaginable version of this franchise. The good, the bad and the ugly.
I've seen Tom Seaver make hitters look helpless.
I've seen Dwight Gooden make hitters look terrified.
I've seen Mike Piazza, David Wright, Jacob deGrom, Francisco Lindor and now Juan Soto wear Mets blue and orange.
I've also lived through seasons where the highlight was getting excited because they opened a Carvel behind home plate that served ice cream in a Mets helmet.
Trust me.
I know what bad baseball looks like and yes this season has been bad baseball, I am not going to try and defend the current product on the field.
But that being said I also think we've completely lost perspective.
Want to know what suffering looked like?
It wasn't blowing a late lead to Atlanta in June.
It wasn't losing three straight games.
It wasn't finishing 83-79.
It was the Mets most of us who remember Kiner's Korner grew up with.
From 1974 through 1996, the Mets had seven winning seasons in twenty-three years.
Seven.
They finished under .500 sixteen times.
There were seasons of 59 wins.
63 wins.
64 wins.
65 wins.
66 wins.
Between 1977 and 1983 they averaged barely 62 wins a year.
By Memorial Day you weren't checking the standings.
You were checking the back of the yearbook for next years prospects.
Shea Stadium had entire zip codes of empty seats.
Hope wasn't postponed.
It was cancelled.
Then something happened.
Since 1997, the Mets have quietly become something many fans refuse to admit.
A winning franchise.
Over the last 30 seasons the Mets are 2,364-2,303.
That's a .506 winning percentage.
Seventeen winning seasons.
Eight playoff appearances.
The 2000 National League champions.
The 2006 juggernaut.
The 2015 National League champions.
A 101-win season in 2022.
An NLCS appearance in 2024.
Even over the last five seasons—with all the complaints, all the drama and the current struggles of 2026—the Mets have played .525 baseball.
Think about that.
The perception of the Steve Cohen era is chaos.
The reality is it's actually been better than the Mets' 10-, 20-, and 30-year averages.
Has it been perfect?
Of course not.
Have they gotten value for their money, not even close.
But the 1986 team which was the best team in franchise history lost 54 games, and had it not been for Bill Buckner, well ...
Apparently people have forgotten that baseball teams lose sometimes.
Here's what drives me crazy.
We've somehow convinced ourselves that if a team doesn't win the World Series every few years, everybody has failed.
Really?
Let's visit Atlanta.
For over a decade the Braves rolled out what was arguably the greatest starting rotation of the modern era.
Greg Maddux.
Tom Glavine.
John Smoltz.
Three Hall of Famers.
Now add Chipper Jones.
Fred McGriff.
Andruw Jones.
That's six Hall of Fame players or future Hall of Famers wearing the same uniform.
They won 14 consecutive division titles.
Fourteen.
They reached five World Series.
They won...
One.
Can you imagine that team playing in New York?
Sports talk radio would have exploded.
"Trade Maddux!"
"Smoltz isn't clutch!"
"Fire Bobby Cox!"
"This team chokes every October!"
Instead, today we look back and say, "Wow...what a privilege it must have been for Braves fans to watch those guys every night."
Exactly.
Because that's what it was.
A privilege.
Now let's talk about the Yankees.
Living on Long Island, I hear it all the time.
"The Yankees know how to win."
"The Yankees have championship culture."
"They're the gold standard."
Fine.
We're now ten seasons into the Aaron Judge era.
One of the greatest players of his generation.
An MVP.
A likely Hall of Famer.
The Yankees have made the postseason regularly.
And what do they have to show for it?
One World Series appearance.
No championships.
They lost that World Series to the Dodgers in five games, the same year the Mets lost to the Dodgers in six in the NLCS.
Does that make Aaron Judge a failure?
Of course not.
It reminds us of something baseball has always known.
Winning a World Series is incredibly hard.
The difference between a championship and going home can be one bad hop.
One hanging slider.
One pulled hamstring.
One rain delay.
One hot opponent.
That's baseball Suzyn !
Here's a radical idea.
Maybe we should enjoy greatness while it's wearing our uniform.
Juan Soto hasn't won a World Series yet as a Met.
I wish he had.
I hope he still does.
But do you know what else he is?
One of the greatest hitters on the planet.
We get to watch him every night.
That's not something to complain about.
That's something to appreciate.
Tom Seaver spent twelve full seasons as a Met.
The Mets reached the World Series twice during those twelve years.
Two out of twelve.
About 17 percent.
Here's a question.
Would I trade away ten years of watching Tom Seaver pitch just to add another World Series appearance or two?
Honestly...
I'm not sure.
Because those memories weren't created only in October. (which by the way were not Tom's greatest moments)
They were created on warm summer nights at Shea.
On complete games.
On nineteen strikeouts.
On standing ovations.
On driving home thinking...
"I just watched the greatest pitcher on Earth."
Championships matter.
Of course they do.
But so does greatness.
So does the journey.
I can already hear the criticism.
What about Pete Alonso, Brandon Nimmo, Jeff McNeil, Edwin Díaz and other fan favorites that Stearns let leave or traded away. How can you possibly defend that?"
That's a fair question. Those players meant a great deal to this franchise and to its fans and to me.
But let me ask you something—and answer it honestly.
Last season, were you content simply because those familiar faces were still wearing Mets uniforms?
Remember where this team was.
Through June 12, the Mets owned the best record in baseball at 45-24. They had a 96.2% chance of reaching the postseason. Everything pointed toward October baseball.
Then came one of the most stunning collapses in franchise history.
The Mets went 38-55 the rest of the way. They suffered three separate losing streaks of seven games or more. Night after night, social media was filled with frustration. Fans weren't saying, "It's okay—we still have Pete, Brandon, Jeff and Edwin." They were demanding changes. They questioned the roster construction, the lineup, the bullpen, the manager, and in many cases the entire direction of the organization.
If we're being honest, most of you weren't satisfied with simply keeping a familiar core together. We wanted a team capable of winning a championship.
That's the challenge that faced David Stearns.
You don't have to agree with every move he's made. Some have proven to be huge mistakes. They cost Carlos Mendoza his job.But it's worth remembering that many of the same fans now lamenting the departure of popular players were among those calling for significant changes as the season unraveled.
It's easy to become nostalgic after players leave. It's much harder to remember how frustrated you were while they were still here.
Can I remind everyone of something?
Baseball is entertainment.
That's all.
It's entertainment.
Think about your favorite television series.
Was every episode great?
No.
Some were classics.
Some were average.
Some made you wonder if the writers took the week off.
But did you stop watching?
Did you decide you could write better scripts than the professionals?
Did you think you should replace the lead actor? Although you probably could have been a great Mr. Roper.
Every episode was part of the story.
Well, baseball gives us at least 162 episodes every year.
If we're lucky...
We get even more.
Some episodes are unforgettable.
Some are Fonzie jumping a shark.
Some you'll remember forever.
Some you'll forget before you reach the parking lot.
That's the beauty of it.
Not every episode has to be Emmy-worthy.
Not every game has to be Game Seven.
One Last Thing...
Criticize bad decisions.
Question trades.
Debate lineups.
Second-guess bullpen moves.
That's part of being a fan.
But enough with the venom, the negativity and the hatred, we have enough of that in politics.
Enough with declaring the season over every June.
Enough with pretending every loss is a franchise-ending catastrophe.
Enough with "Same Old Mets."
Because if you've watched this team for the last thirty years, you know that's simply not true.
And if you watched this team before 1997...
You really know it's not true.
I've spent 60 years loving this baseball team.
I've experienced the miracles.
I've endured the disasters.
I've celebrated division titles.
I've cried after World Series losses.
And you know what I've learned?
The World Series isn't the only reward for being a Met fan.
The reward was getting to watch Tom Seaver.
The reward was getting to watch David Wright.
The reward was getting to watch Jacob deGrom.
The reward was getting to watch Pete Alonso.
The reward was getting to watch the 1969 and 1986 Mets.
The reward is getting to watch Francisco Lindor.
The reward is getting to watch Juan Soto.
The reward is watching Gary, Keith and Ron or listening to Howie.
The reward is sitting in the stands with your kids.
Arguing over a hot dog.(even if it now costs $14.00)
Keeping score in the program.
High-fiving a stranger after a walk-off home run.
That's Mets baseball.
That's why we became fans.
If you've forgotten that...
If every game leaves you angry...
If every season feels like a failure unless there's a parade down the Canyon of Heroes...
Then maybe it's time to ask yourself a simple question.
Why are you still watching Met baseball...
Or have you forgotten how to enjoy it?
Because after 60 years, here's what I know.
One day Juan Soto will retire.
One day Francisco Lindor will retire.
One day this era of Mets baseball will simply become another chapter in franchise history.
And years from now, none of us will wish we'd spent more time trashing the team on social media.
We'll wish we'd appreciated it a little more while we had it.
So stop the madness. Stop the negativity.
Stop treating every loss like the end of the world.
Stop assuming you know more than every general manager, every scout and every manager who has devoted his life to the game.
Most of all...
Remember why you fell in love with Mets baseball in the first place.
It's a game.
A beautiful, maddening, impossible game.
And if we're lucky...
Tomorrow night, we get another episode.
Nobody is asking you to stop caring.
Quite the opposite.
Care deeply.
Live and die with every pitch if that’s who you are.
That’s what makes this game matter.
Just remember there’s a difference between passion and poison.
Passion is debating whether the manager should have let the starter face one more hitter.
Passion is arguing about a bullpen move over coffee the next morning like it actually determines the fate of civilization.
Poison is deciding the season, the front office, the owner, and the entire franchise are doomed because they don't have a clue, and you know better.
One makes baseball more enjoyable.
The other makes it exhausting.
And here’s something else to think about.
Just imagine what it’s going to feel like when the Mets finally win another World Series.
Really think about it.
The pure joy of it.
The release.
The decades of frustration turning into one October where everything finally breaks the right way.
Knicks fans know that feeling now.
Rangers fans knew it too.
They lived through the wait.
They lived through the noise.
They lived through the doubt.
And when it finally happened?
It didn’t feel smaller because it took too long.
It felt bigger.
More meaningful.
More real.
That’s the part nobody talks about when they act like every season is a referendum on the entire franchise.
The longer the wait, the sweeter it is when it ends.
So maybe—just maybe—instead of spending every night telling ourselves how miserable we are…
We should leave a little room for the possibility that we might actually be watching something building toward that moment.
Because when it finally happens…
You’re going to want to say it was worth it all and you enjoyed the ride.
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