Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing #19: Jeromy Burnitz: Built for Shea, Thrived Everywhere Else

Welcome to the nineteenth installment of Mets Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, where we rummage through the attic of Mets history like we’re looking for that old Starting Lineup figure of Howard Johnson that lost its head somewhere in a 1990s toy bin. These are the guys who didn’t get bobbleheads or Citi Field banners—but for a moonshot to the Shea scoreboard, a moment of mayhem, or just embodying that lovable Mets mix of chaos and potential, they’re forever part of the Flushing family.

Last week, we tipped our caps to Danny Heep, the lefty bat off the bench whose steady presence helped power the 1986 Mets behind the scenes. A lunch-pail player in a clubhouse full of wild cards, Heep was the kind of guy you win with, even if you never quite noticed how.

This week, we’re sticking with the lefty theme—but jumping ahead a decade and change. After touching on Jeromy Burnitz in Friday’s Hit or Error article, I realized he deserved a deeper dive here in Sunday School. So let’s rewind to the tail end of the 20th century—a strange, swirling era of black jerseys, Bobby Valentine disguises, and outfielders with forearms like fire hydrants.

Let’s talk about Jeromy Burnitz.

Jeromy Burnitz looked like he was designed in a lab to hit cleanup in the late '90s. He had the build of a linebacker, the glare of a man who just saw someone try to bunt, and the kind of violent lefty swing that made upper deck seats feel endangered.

The Mets drafted Burnitz 17th overall in 1990 out of Oklahoma State, where he’d mashed baseballs and hearts with equal ease. He came up through the system with the usual fanfare reserved for power-hitting prospects—“the next Strawberry,” some said, because what could go wrong comparing a 22-year-old to a legend with a ring and a rap sheet?

He debuted in 1993 and did what most rookies do in Queens: flashed some promise, struck out a bunch, and tried not to get buried behind a rotating cast of veterans with declining fast-twitch muscles.

To be fair, Burnitz didn’t make it easy on himself. His early Mets numbers were underwhelming (.243/.327/.384 in 1994), and he struck out like he was getting paid by the K. But the raw tools were undeniable. When he connected, it was thunder. When he didn’t, it was an inning-ending breeze.

Still, it was clear he needed reps. At-bats. Patience. And this being the mid-’90s Mets, patience was as rare as a good bullpen. So after parts of three seasons, the team shipped him to Cleveland in a 1995 trade—sending Burnitz and Joe Roa to the Indians for Paul Byrd, Jerry Dipoto, Dave Mlicki, and a player to be named later (who turned out to be minor leaguer Jesús Azuaje).

Yes, that Joe Roa. If we’re talking Forgotten Faces of Flushing, he’s more like a phantom—so forgotten, he never even made it into memory. Even the Mets yearbook probably left him out.

Burnitz, meanwhile, got a brief cameo in Cleveland before landing in Milwaukee—and that’s where the transformation happened.

From 1997 to 2002, Jeromy Burnitz was that guy. Not a household name, but the kind of slugger who’d ruin your day if your team faced him. He mashed 30+ homers four times. He drove in 100 runs. He made the All-Star team in 1999. He even hit two homers in one inning once. He became, essentially, the player the Mets always hoped he’d be—just not in their uniform.

Milwaukee fans loved him. He had that Midwestern folk-hero vibe. Like Paul Bunyan with pine tar. He was rugged, he was streaky, and he didn’t give a damn about batting average as long as the ball went far and fast. And usually, it did.

And here’s the part that stings: the Mets actually got him back in 2002.

Yes, in one of those classic early-2000s splash moves—big names, big hopes, and a front office calculator smoking in the corner—the Mets brought Burnitz back into the fold on January 21, 2002, as part of a convoluted three-team trade that felt like it was cooked up during a snow delay. The Mets got Burnitz, Lou Collier, Jeff D'Amico, Mark Sweeney, and some cash from Milwaukee. In return, they sent Lenny Harris and Glendon Rusch to the Brewers, and shipped Benny Agbayani, Todd Zeile, and more cash to Colorado. The Rockies chipped in Ross Gload and Craig House to the Mets, and sent Alex Ochoa back to Milwaukee in a nice little symmetry move.

The goal? Reunite with the slugging Burnitz of his Milwaukee heyday—the Paul Bunyan type who made pitchers sweat and outfield fences nervous.

Instead, they got a guy who looked like he’d been hitting with a wiffle ball bat and trying to play right field with a frying pan. He batted .215 with 19 homers—less “middle-of-the-order thump” and more “deleted scenes from Major League III: Back to the Minors.”

He rebounded somewhat in Colorado and Chicago after that, but by then the Jeromy Burnitz story was largely written. He played hard, hit bombs, struck out enough to power a wind farm, and called it a career in 2006 with 315 homers, over 1,000 RBIs, and one massive "what if?" in Queens.

Looking back, Burnitz was never going to be the next Straw. But maybe he could’ve been the next Kevin McReynolds—a power bat with attitude, staying power, and one of those burly presences who doesn’t so much walk to the plate as lumber.

Maybe, if the Mets had kept the faith a little longer the first time around, we’d talk about Burnitz as one of the great power hitters in Shea history. Instead, we remember him as one that got away… and then came back at half-speed and double the salary.

But in a way, that makes him the perfect Forgotten Face of Flushing. He showed up with hype, disappeared with disappointment, but left just enough of a boom to make you wonder: what if?

So here’s to Jeromy Burnitz—the slugger who got away… and then got away again.