November 1986 (or maybe December).  The Mets had just won the World Series.  I was waiting in line with a few dozen other people freezing their butts off outside Groo’s Shoes in Vails Gate, NY.  We were suffering for a chance to meet one of our heroes.  No, not Keith or Gary or Dwight or Darryl.  Not even Mookie or MVP Ray.  We were there for relative newcomer and backup infielder Howard Johnson.

Read more »