At some point, rooting for the Mets stops being a pastime and becomes a personality trait like sarcasm, hypertension, and checking the score even when you swore you wouldn’t. If you’ve ever uttered the phrase “It’s still early” in August, congratulations: you’ve been a Mets fan too long.
Here’s how you know you’re in too deep.
1. You measure time in collapses
Other people say, “That was in 2008.” You say, “That was the Delgado pop-up year.” Your personal calendar has no months, just disasters: The Beltrán Curve, The Castillo Drop, The Wheeler Trade, The Diaz Trumpets.
You could plot your emotional life entirely by blown saves. It’s not healthy, but it’s honest.
2. You instinctively distrust any 7-game win streak
Normal fans enjoy success. Us Mets fans call a doctor.
When the team’s hot, you don’t celebrate, you start checking who’s about to pull a hamstring or get arrested for jaywalking. You know better.
Winning streaks are bait. They’re how the universe softens you up before the bullpen gives up a three-run lead to the Pirates.
3. You’ve watched at least one game muttering, “I’ve seen this movie before.”
And you have. It’s called Mets Lose in New and Creative Ways, Vol. 57. It’s a long-running series, same plot, different villain. This time it’s the bullpen. Last time it was the shift. Next time it’ll be a pigeon landing in front of the catcher mid-throw.
You’ve stopped yelling at the TV. Now you just narrate your disappointment like a nature documentary.
4. You know the word “rebuild” actually means “denial.”
The front office calls it a rebuild, you call it “year 38 of a five-year plan.”
Every spring, they sell “patience.” Every fall, you sell your faith on eBay.
5. You’re fluent in sarcasm and suffering
You’ve become bilingual, fluent in both English and Disappointed New Yorker. You can say “great signing” three different ways and only one of them means great.
You’ve used “typical Mets” as both an insult and a term of endearment.
6. You have opinions about jerseys that sound like war flashbacks
You can identify trauma by textile.
- Pinstripes? Comfort.
- Black alternates? Controversy.
- 2013 “Los Mets”? Tragicomic PTSD.
You once got emotional over the return of blue piping. That’s where you’re at.
7. You can’t watch a ninth inning without pacing
You pace like a man awaiting a medical diagnosis. You stand, sit, stand again. You mutter bargaining prayers to deities that don’t exist.
Even up five runs, you still check the bullpen phone camera feed. Because the Mets have taught you one universal truth: no lead is safe until the postgame show starts, and even then, you’re not sure.
8. You’ve defended a player you didn’t believe in out of pure loyalty
You once called Daniel Vogelbach “underrated.” You didn’t mean it, but you just couldn’t let the Yankees fans have the satisfaction.
That’s Mets fandom, dying on hills you never agreed to climb.
9. You understand “hope” and “delusion” are synonyms
Each offseason, you say the same words: “This feels different.”
It never is, but you need that illusion like oxygen. You start reading quotes about “good clubhouse vibes” and trick yourself into believing vibes can pitch.
10. You’ve compared heartbreaks like war stories
- “2015 hurt, but not like 2007.”
- “2007 was bad, but 2008 was the real trauma.”
- “2015 was cinematic pain, though.”
You sound like a veteran of emotional combat. Your friends stopped asking how the Mets are doing because it’s the same answer every year: “They’re killing me, but I love them.”
11. You still talk about Bartolo Colón’s home run like it was a moon landing
You remember exactly where you were when it happened. The sound. The disbelief. The joy. You’ve shown that clip to non-baseball fans just to prove life can still surprise you.
It wasn’t just a home run, it was a reminder that anything’s possible, even laughter amid chaos.
12. You’ve said “at least we’re not the Yankees” while silently dying inside
You tell yourself you like being the underdog, the blue-collar, beer-soaked, Queens version of hope.
Then the Yankees sign another $300 million star and you find yourself whispering, “We could’ve had him.”
You hate them, but you secretly wish you could borrow their luck for just one postseason.
13. You recognize the 7 Train by sound alone
That metallic screech, comfort, that faint smell of hot dogs and existential dread. It’s your home away from home. You could fall asleep to it and you probably have.
You know exactly how long it takes to get from Times Square to Citi Field depending on how many times the Mets have crushed your soul that week.
14. You can quote Keith Hernandez like scripture
- Keith says “fundamentally unsound,” and you nod like you’re in church.
- Gary sighs audibly, and you know someone just missed a cutoff man.
- Ron smiles, and you remember that baseball can still be fun, in theory.
SNY’s booth isn’t just commentary, it’s group therapy.
15. You’ve cried over a trade deadline
Sometimes tears of rage, sometimes relief. Once, you cried because nothing happened. You’re not sure what’s worse, selling the future or buying a mirage.
16. You remember when Citi Field felt like a mall food court
Pre-2015, it was all Shake Shack and empty optimism. Beautiful stadium, mediocre baseball. You’d walk the concourse like a man pretending to enjoy art while his house burns down.
17. You’ve made peace with chaos
You no longer expect consistency. You just hope the losses are funny. The weird ones, rain delays that last four hours, cats on the field, fireworks that set off the sprinklers. Those are your coping mechanisms.
If the Mets are going to implode, at least let it be entertaining.
18. You own more Mets merch than furniture
You have at least one Mets shirt that’s become a superstition. You won’t wash it after a winning streak. You won’t wear it after a loss. You’ve spent more money on “limited edition” hats than groceries.
The merch doesn’t bring joy; it’s just proof you survived another season.
19. You’ve considered therapy, but instead watched highlights from 2015
You tell yourself it’s “processing.” It’s not. It’s self-harm in HD, but when you see Murphy go deep again, you remember what joy used to feel like, even if it’s just for a few seconds.
20. You still believe next year could be the year
You’ve earned cynicism, but you can’t quit the hope. You still imagine that parade down the Canyon of Heroes, or at least Roosevelt Avenue. You’ll watch the winter meetings, overanalyze the roster, and convince yourself there’s a plan.
Being a Mets fan too long doesn’t make you broken; it makes you durable. The pain sharpens the humor, and the humor keeps you alive.
You’ve been through collapses, curses, and collapses about curses, and yet, you’re still here. That’s the beauty and the sickness of it all.
So yeah, if you’ve ever yelled “LET’S GO METS” like a battle cry in a meaningless September game, congratulations, you’ve been a Mets fan too long.
And you’ll do it again next year, because you’re not addicted to baseball. You’re addicted to believing.
Sources: Fan memories, team archives, and 60 years of collective Queens trauma generously documented by SNY broadcasts, MLB records, and surviving witnesses.