When I was young, I had my mother iron on these felt letters and numbers on the back of a Mets undershirt. It had a real 70’s font to it. Looked something like this:
Rusty Staub served as nostalgia for those of us who remember the 1973 team and rued the day when he was traded for Mickey Lolich. For those like me who didn’t, he was a reminder that the world existed before this 10-year-old existed, and a reminder that the Mets were once winners and could be again.
We named a cat after him. (Although we long suspected he was a jinx, as the Mets kept giving up runs when he was in the living room.)
Rusty isn’t doing well now. He’s been battling health issues for years and now it’s worse than ever. (I guess that happens as you reach 73.) Between his on field career which saw him go from a World Series hero in his first Mets stint to a pinch hitter extraordinaire in his second Mets incarnation, and his business presence and philanthropic efforts, Rusty is not only a Mets icon, but a New York icon. Here’s hoping and praying for an icon from our childhoods.