Brian Kranepool

I was 11 years old at the start of the 1966 Mets season. As a rabid Mets fan, the year continues to linger in my consciousness like the deep October fogs rolled in from the sound. We say those days are long gone, but in the constellation of our hearts, the orbits all spin back to that time, that place, the glorious of that green field beneath the airport, and those men, the incomparable, invincible, inviolable 1966 New York Mets.