Gary Carter (1954-2012) -- not just for baseball fans, I think

"Gary Carter was often seen hugging somebody," George Vecsey writes. "It was easy to joke about that. The best hug of all was with Jesse Orosco at the end of the 1986 World Series."

"Up close, Carter was not nearly so ebullient. He was a gentleman, the eternal optimist, but there was also an element of sadness to him."

-- from NYT sports columnist George Vecsey's remembrance,
"A Star With a Smile, Forever Kid"

by Ken

It's that sadness George Vecsey writes about, a sadness that I -- as a fan who saw him play a lot -- didn't know about, that's taken me by surprise and made Gary Carter's passing a lot more painful than I expected. And that passing was, alas, all too expected. Carter had been waging a protracted struggle, apparently as excruciating as it was doomed, against brain cancer.

Even now, at least as of this evening, a poignant "Dear Fans" note still sppears on The Official Website of Gary Carter, warning that, "due to Gary's current condition," they "cannot guarantee fulfillment of any requests" with regard to "mailed in memorabilia items [for signing, that is] and also online orders." There's also an address for the Gary Carter Foundation, for "anyone wishing to send get well wishes or messages to Gary."

To fans, the Kid was always hard-nosed (he played the game's most grueling position tough) but confident and ebullient. And also, in his New York years, as Vecsey notes, somewhat distant. On that great 1986 Mets team, he does seem to have made the choice not to try to compete for dominance with that rosterful of dominant personalities, which represented something of a 180-degree shift in his athletic personality. He sometimes seemed more a strategic ally than a teammate, and it's probably nobody's fault -- just the way things likely had to be for that combination of players in that situation at that time.

He was a great player. Here are some numbers from Wikipedia, to go with the 324 career HRs and 1225 RBIs: 11-time All-Star (and 2-time game MVP), 3-time Gold Glove winner (he was a great defensive catcher), 5-time Silver Slugger winner. But he was something more -- something that's hard to put your finger on, some kind of presence, always intense, always physical, and always smiling. I'm thinking, he knew he was good, knew how good he was, and knew that it came from a combination of outsize physical ability and enormously hard work and intensity, and he accepted responsibility for producing, for being as good on the field, day in and day out, as he thought he was.

Which also means, I guess, that fans had an image of him as being kind of full of himself, an image that seems seriously unfair in George Vecsey's telling: "Carter was as sweet a person as you could meet in that highly competitive world."

SPORTS OF THE TIMES
A Star With a Smile, Forever Kid

Gary Carter in the Mets' clubhouse at Shea Stadium in 1986. It was his second season in New York, and his most memorable.

By GEORGE VECSEY

The players called him Kid. Some fans and reporters called him Camera Carter.

The mask would come off, and the cameras would pick up his radiant smile.

When the Mets were on their run in the 1980s, Gary Carter was often seen hugging somebody. It was easy to joke about that. The best hug of all was with Jesse Orosco at the end of the 1986 World Series.

Up close, Carter was not nearly so ebullient. He was a gentleman, the eternal optimist, but there was also an element of sadness to him. He never brought it up, unless asked, but his mother died of leukemia when he was 12 years old.

According to an old Jim Murray column, Inge Charlotte Carter told him she was going into the hospital for tests; she didn't want him to worry. He found out while he was on the ball field that she had died, Carter once told Murray, the great columnist from The Los Angeles Times.

The grief remained tangible with Carter when he was the final addition for the championship run of the Mets, the way Dave DeBusschere had been for the 1969-70 Knicks. DeBusschere died of a heart attack in 2003 at 62, and on Thursday the other great New York building block died of brain cancer at 57.

At a distance, Kid Carter looked like a cheerleader who could hit home runs and throw out runners at second base. He was more complicated than that.

For a man who had nothing bad to say or do toward anybody, he was strangely alone in the Mets' clubhouse. In Montreal he had been the core of the Expos, but General Manager Frank Cashen and his Mets staff had accumulated so many strong personalities on the Mets that Carter was muted.

When a pitcher needed a lecture, it usually came from Keith Hernandez, making a fist from first base: Settle down or I'll kill you. When a fight was needed, Ray Knight would oblige, willingly. Straw and Doc, Nails and Wally, Roger and Bobby O.

In New York, Kid Carter was pure vanilla for a city with stronger tastes.

But Carter and Mookie Wilson were the nicest people. That needs to be said. Carter played with the enthusiasm of the 12-year-old he had been when his mother died. He and his brother had helped their father run the house. He was used to responsibility. He did not need to assert himself.

Gary Carter was also a Christian who lived his faith, but did not openly profess it. If people asked, he shared, but he did not threaten that highly secular clubhouse. If somebody whispered, "Geez, I love Kid, but why can't he hit the ball to the right side?" Carter turned the other cheek, always seeing the best in people, and in his team.

Some religious guys in sports give the impression: I've got something you don't have. Carter was as sweet a person as you could meet in that highly competitive world. He made the Mets better the day he arrived.

Carter must have known how some of the most talented people in that clubhouse were dissipating their skills. He never let on. He was a true believer, even when doctors told him he had inoperable brain cancer.

Now he gets to see his mom, and she tells him how proud she is.

It's also definitely worth checking out the blogpost by NYT baseball writer Tyler Kepner from this past January 19, which Vecsey references via the "Christian who lived his faith" link, written on the heels of the family's announcement of a grievous turn for the worse in Carter's already-grievous condition. It was being described then as "extremely grave," with doctors "deciding whether to continue his cancer treatments."

It is heartbreaking, of course, as it would be for anyone fighting for his life at age 57. It also makes me wish I had known Carter better. By all accounts, he is gracious and kind, an antidote to the gruff, hard-living Mets of his era. He is also religious, and you have to believe that is helping to comfort him now.

Carter's faith stands out from my only real memory of meeting him. It was in the early 1990s, and I was writing a story about the famous sixth game against the Red Sox in that 1986 World Series. Carter, as Mets fans surely remember, came up with two outs and the bases empty, down two runs to Boston in the bottom of the 10th inning. One more out, and the Red Sox would be champions. I asked Carter to relive the moment.

"The biggest thing that was going through my mind is that I reflected back upon my days in the alleyway dreaming about this," Carter said. "You always think World Series, bottom of the ninth, two outs, that kind of stuff.

"And then, I felt an extreme presence and I knew that our good Lord was with us. I felt like when I went up to the plate, I was not going to make the last out. I prayed from the time I left the on-deck circle to the time I got in the box."

Carter lashed a single off Calvin Schiraldi, scored on a single by Ray Knight, and celebrated – in shin guards and chest protector -- when the Mets capped their comeback.

The next game, Carter squeezed the final strike when Jesse Orosco fanned Marty Barrett to clinch Game 7. Carter thrust his arms in the air, raced to the mound and leaped on Orosco to start the most raucous dogpile baseball had ever seen. It is how Mets fans will remember him, a champion on top of the pile.

Nobody knows what God had to do with it. But Carter believed, and that seems important now.

#