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One of the first deals under the Mets’ Fred Wilpon regime was to reacquire Dave “King Kong” Kingman in 1981. I suppose they wanted to add some pop to their lineup, and Kingman, a power hitter, was certainly capable of doing just that. At least 10% of the time.

Kingman was a surly guy, as I found out when my friend asked him for an autograph. And he did not want to be in New York. Story is, when Keith Hernandez showed up in 1983, Kingman was overjoyed: “You’re my ticket out of here!” he said.

There was a mass exodus three years earlier (of which I was a participant) when Tom Seaver was traded, so they also reinstated a load of promotional dates, trying to get fans to return to Shea Stadium.

One of my first games back was on ‘Seat Cushion’ night. Every ticket holder received a seat cushion upon entering the stadium. Sounded like a good idea; the seats at Shea were made of slats of wood and were very uncomfortable. The seat cushions, however, were very thin pieces of plastic with very little filling. More like square frisbees than cushions.

Anyway, on to the action. The Mets were losing (as usual) by a run when Kingman came to the plate with two men on base and two men out in the bottom of the seventh inning. Kingman was as big as Jack Reacher and could hit the ball a mile. When he connected. Which was not a frequent occurrence in important situations.

Kingman took three huge swings at the only three pitches he saw and struck out. Didn’t seem a bit upset as he strolled back to the dugout. Boos echoed through the mostly empty stadium.

His next at bat came in the bottom of the 9th, only now the Mets were losing by four runs.

Kingman led off the inning.

He hit the first pitch he saw 450 feet, into the parking lot in left field.

Great, I thought. Now he hits a home run. When it’s meaningless.

Apparently other fans felt the same way; there was no cheering, just a collective sense of exasperation. And as he rounded second base, hundreds of seat cushions came raining out of the stands. People were flinging them as if they were frisbees! As Kingman approached third base, he was running with his arms folded over his head, as if he was running in a rainstorm.

That was the moment people began to cheer. It was some sight. Took the grounds crew quite a bit of time to clear the field. It was the last ‘seat cushion’ night in Mets history.