On the day the Jets got Brett Favre in “one of the most stunning trades in their history”, Shaun Powell published a column a page away in the same sports section headlined, “Pedro no event anymore.”
It was about Pedro Martinez, how he’d given up a home run on the first pitch of the Mets’ game against San Diego, how it wasn’t the same anymore when Pedro pitches, how there’s no buzz, “no sense that something special is going to happen.”
There was plenty of buzz when Pedro first came to New York from the Red Sox in 2005, but as Powell points out, in a four-year deal, the Mets got one good season out of him. The Jets have to be hoping for more from Favre.
For a time, Pedro was the face of the new, heavier-weight Mets. At this moment Favre is the face of the new, seriously-contending Jets. Both these teams share the historical problem of playing second banana to an old, established franchise in the same town. The way they make news traditionally is to sign an established player with enough star power to steal headlines from the old, established franchise.
When the Mets started, they had Duke Snider in right field, a Hall of Famer from the Dodgers, and Warren Spahn, a Hall of Fame pitcher from the Braves, and Yogi Berra, from the Yankees. It was like watching one of those greatest hits of the Temptations concerts today on PBS. These guys were great—years ago and someplace else.
When the team finally got good and won a pennant in 1969, “The Franchise” was a 24-year-old named Tom Seaver, and the Mets were his first major league team. He played his Hall of Fame years as a Met. Brett Favre played his as a Packer.
Do I miss the days when all the Brooklyn Dodgers lived in the neighborhood and stayed for years? No, because I am too young to remember it. Players haven’t been our neighbors for a long time. I don't wish they were.
What's unsettling about Brett Favre’s arrival in New York (and Pedro's when he got here) is not that he's from someplace else, but that he became great someplace else.