One day soon, there will be no one left to call. One day, sooner than anyone would like, secondhand stories will have to suffice.
There will not be anyone who played home games at the Polo Grounds or played bridge with Gil Hodges, who took hitting tips from Rogers Hornsby or struggled to make sense of Casey Stengel’s speeches.
There are seven men who still remember, still processing the paradox of life as an original Met — inept, adored, enduring.
“They loved a loser,” said Jim Marshall, 94, the oldest living Met. “It was a special place, a special time. It was unlike anywhere else I had ever been. They treated us great. Everyone was so enthusiastic. I could never forget all of that.”
