But the last three years have been trying timesfor us Met lovers. We wanted to think of Mexcareening down the first-base line to snag a buntand nab a runner at third, not Keith Hernandeztestifying about cocaine deals in Pittsburgh. Dr.K winning the Cy Young, not Dwight Gooden in cokerehab. The Kid diving into the fourth row for aseventh-row foul ball, not Gary Carter mugging forTV and irritating everyone with his golly-geefamily man routine. Straw slamming 35 taters, notDarryl Strawberry acting like a two-year-old.Nails hitting the miraculous round-tripper, notLenny Dykstra wigging out in the Pasta Pot.

It's not that these guys were my heroes. Theywere just cogs in the machine that I loved. Butthen they had to go out and act like human beings.Mediocre ones.

Still, I was faithful to my squad. After all,they were the Mets. But now, I don't even know whothey are. The attrition began with the swapping ofDykstra and fun-loving Roger McDowell toPhiladelphia. Mookie was next, sent to Toronto todrag the Jays into the playoffs.

October has been the cruelest month.Co-Captains Hernandez and Carter have been let go.The final blow will drop tomorrow when Cashenfires Johnson. All Davey has done is win moregames than anyone else since he was hired. Herefused to kick dirt on umps, like Earl Weaver. Hedidn't abuse his pitchers, like Billy Martin. Henever tried to win games by himself, like WhiteyHerzog. He wasn't a celebrity, like Tommy Lasorda.He just let his players win.

Who will I be cheering on at Shea as the Metsenter their third new era of the decade? Will I beable to get excited about Dave Magadan, KevinElster and balding Barry Lyons?

Sure I will. Once you adopt a team, you don'tabandon it, even when its prominent players moveon. Even with an altered cast of characters, theMets are still the Mets. Shea is still Shea. Andthe memories of the '80s are still mine