I apologize for my hiatus; I’ve been distracted by the Mets postseason run. It’s been exhausting and excruciating, but I thank that Amazin’s for a terrific season and for being one of the most lovable teams of my lifetime of New York sports fandom.

And props to the Shea crowd, which came up absolutely huge in games 6 and 7. Really, the feeling of camaraderie in the ballpark was what being a fan is all about. Sure, I’ll always fantasize about what would have happened if Carlos Beltran stroked a gapper and sent little Andy Hernandez racing around the bases with the winning run, beating a futile throw and causing Shea to absolutely erupt in ecstasy.

But sometimes baseball, and sports, can be cruel. I can take solace in the fact that that ol’ rickety Shea was rocking like no place I’ve ever seen. People talk about loud venues, but it’s not just the decibels – it’s the feeling behind it. I’ve been in the Metrodome during the Twins playoffs, and while it was probably louder than Shea can ever be, it was not the same type of noise: it was noise for the sake of noise, but not the guttural passion that can only be found in New York.

Okay, that’s it.