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• Tommie Agee. Five tool hero. Photo by Bernard Gotfryd.

I have been to many notable Mets games over the past half century.

Ditched school one Passover afternoon to go to Shea and watch Tom Seaver strike out 19 Padres. Sat in section two of the upper deck in 1973 for the Blessed Bounce game (Cleon to Garrett to Hodges). Was seated right above the St. Louis bullpen with my two sons when Endy Chavez tried jumping into it to make an impossible catch. Mezzanine, section one to watch them come from behind late to win Game 7 of the World Series.

But to me, both the most exciting regular season win and the most horrible defeat both came in 1970. Without any Googling, this is how I remember both:

August. The team was in Atlanta, and I was lying on my friend’s living room rug, listening on my transistor radio because channel 9 chose to show a dumb movie instead of the game.

Things were not going well for my defending World Series champs. They were losing as much as they were winning and trailed Pittsburgh in the standings.

This game seemed to be in the bag; bottom of the 9th, two run lead, with the best pitcher in the world, Tom Seaver, still on the mound. As he usually was in the 9th inning of the games he started.

After a couple of uncharacteristic walks, two softly hit singles and two outs, the lead was down to one run and the Mets were one strike away from victory. The bases were loaded with Braves. Full count on the hitter. Sold out Fulton County Stadium was so loud that I could barely hear what Bob Murphy, the broadcaster, was trying to say.

After what was the final pitch of the game, the crowd was screaming so loud that Murphy was completely drowned out; I assumed calamity had struck, having no idea on what momentous scale.

Seaver had thrown his trademark fastball, as everyone in the ballpark, with the exception of the catcher, knew he would. The batter swung and missed for strike three, and the third out. Inexplicably, however, the catcher, Jerry Grote, who was one of the premier defensive catchers of that era and one extremely tough dude, was expecting a breaking pitch, so the ball eluded his glove. And skipped by him.

I’m talking all the way by him, to the distant backstop. And with two men out, all the runners took off with the pitch.

Two. Runners. Scored. Game over. My 14 year old life in shambles (took me a long time to recover in those days)…

It was a different story the month prior. My classmate’s father was taking him to see the Mets host the Dodgers on a proverbial hot summer’s night, and I was invited. Our seats were 20 rows behind third base, and the place was packed, as it was every time the Dodgers or Giants came to town; 1970 was only 13 years removed from when both teams resided in New York, so they were still huge draws.

We sat there for 10 hot, humid, extremely tense innings. This was not a playoff game; it did not even happen during a pennant chase. There was nothing on the line but the outcome of this one ballgame. And yet it was played with such intensity, one would assume the entire season was at stake.

Jerry Koosman had pitched the first 9 innings, and was relieved by Tug McGraw, who got the crowd pumped up as he always did. The game was tied, 1-1, when with one out Tommie Agee, the Mets’ All-Star centerfielder, walked to lead off the bottom of the 10th. Stole 2nd base. Advanced to 3rd on a short passed ball.

Cleon Jones, who hit for a .340 average the year prior – still the highest batting average in Mets’ history – came to the plate. At the time he was stuck in a horrible six week batting slump, so all I had on my mind was a trip to the bathroom in between innings.

The count was 2-1. The crowd was quiet, hoping the Mets’ weak offense could produce a surprise. Watching the Dodger pitcher wind up, I noticed with my peripheral vision Tommie Agee take off for home plate.

I stood up, pointing, and opened my mouth, but was unable to make a sound; I could not understand what I was seeing. Had never even conceived of a runner stealing home. For what seemed like forever but was actually only a second or two, I stood there while over 52,000 other fans sat, seemingly oblivious. Suddenly everyone was standing and pointing. And screaming.

Agee and the ball arrived home simultaneously. As the catcher attempted to apply the tag, Agee slid, feet first. His spiked shoes collided with the catcher’s shin guards and sent the catcher sprawling, face first, on top of Agee. Cleon, refusing to relinquish his ring-side seat, was taken out by Agee’s right arm and fell on top of the catcher. The umpire, leaning over this mess, trying to decide on a call, took the brunt of three bodies plowing into him and landed on top of Cleon.

If this had been 50 years later, the scene would be replayed ad nauseam on the MLB Network. The crowd was in a hysterical state, waiting for the call that the umpire was unable to relay, as he was the top layer of a four person cake. He struggled for several seconds, trying to regain his feet.

Finally he stood up. Waving…SAFE!!!

There have been over 9000 Mets games since then, well over a half century ago. And yet these two games still rattle around in my head…

–As I mentioned, what you have just read is all from memory. I decided to check the facts:

The agonizing game, played on August 15, was accurate, except that there was one out when disaster struck, not two. The thrilling game, played July 24, as it turns out, was even more thrilling than I remembered.

Agee did not lead off the inning: Tug McGraw did, with a single. The relief pitcher, leading off the bottom of the 10th. Can you imagine what sports talk radio would have had to say the next day, if it existed back then? Agee then sacrifice bunted and beat out the throw to first, after which Al Weis pinch ran for McGraw and was promptly picked off second base.

Agee stole second and went to third on wild pitch before his unlikely caper. The decision was entirely Agee’s, and it was a bit peculiar because with one out all Cleon had to do was hit a fly ball to win the game. Plus, Cleon had struck two hard hit doubles earlier in the game.

Cleon said he knew not to swing because Agee had signaled him his intentions (in the World Series the year prior, Agee also attempted a steal of home without filling Cleon in, and Jones had swung, fouling off the pitch and almost taking Agee’s head off in the process).

After retiring, Agee opened a bar about a mile from Shea Stadium. ‘The Outfielder’s Lounge.’ I met him there one afternoon after a game. I was very excited to meet him. Agee…not so much.