One Summer With The Kid

The news last night of Gary Carter's death shocked and pained me, like it did so many. For the majority of baseball fans in New York, Carter was the epitome of a fan favorite. He was a gritty, hard-nosed player who gave it 120% for all nine innings.

His career stats spoke for themselves as he was inducted into the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame in 2003. An 11 time All-Star, a 3 time Gold Glover and five Silver Slugger Awards to go along with the 1986 World Series Championship over my beloved Red Sox.

For everyone my age, Carter was the guy your dad (if he was a Mets fan) told stories about. Pure, unalduterated joy came from his body when his years of hard work paid off. It would continue throughout his career, in his return to Montreal where he was drafted, and to the bench where he became a manager in his later years.

That was the Gary Carter I knew. A man who used his passion for the game to teach and mold younger players. In 2009, Radio Hofstra University (where I was a rising junior), became a media outlet for the Long Island Ducks of the Independent Atlantic League. As a true baseball fan, covering a semi-pro team was a dream. Covering one managed by a Hall of Famer, was a fantasy.

The first time I met Carter, he was busy leading a few of players in prayer prior to the game. Devout in his religion, the then 55 year old was gracious with his time and allowed a kid by nature, not name, to pick his brain about the sport he loved and wanted as long and illustrious career as the man in front of him had. He remembered your name the next time you saw him, whether it was one day or one week later.

Little did I know that for three months I'd come to watch an exciting brand of baseball with a passionate man leading the helm. 2009 was his only season with the Ducks. And his reason for leaving only deepend the affection I have for him.

Carter's daughter just had a child and was living in California. Instead of chasing a dream to get back to the majors, he went west to be with the next generation of his young family. Something I admired tremendously. When I heard of his disease, and his death, a part of me cried. Not the part that cries for someone so transcendent of a thing as trivial as sports. The part that cries for a family member you rarely got to be with.

Gary Carter made you feel like part of his family. And yesterday, we all lost our favorite Kid. Rest in Peace, Gary. Thanks for one helluva summer.



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