The 1986 New York Mets

The Greatest Team That Couldn't Handle Success

They won 108 games in the regular season — the best record in baseball by a comfortable margin. They had five starting pitchers with double-digit wins, a lineup that could beat you with power or speed, and a bullpen that shut doors in the late innings. The 1986 New York Mets were, by any objective measure, one of the greatest teams in the history of the sport.

And they should have been a dynasty.

Instead, 1986 was both the summit and the beginning of the end. Within a few years, the core of the team would be scattered, broken, or both. Dwight Gooden would fail a drug test in 1987 and miss the first two months of the season. By 1994, he was suspended for the entire year. Darryl Strawberry left for the Dodgers after 1990, beginning a nomadic decline that included stints with the Giants and Yankees, multiple drug suspensions, and prison time.

The supporting cast faded too. Ray Knight, the World Series MVP, left via free agency after a salary dispute — and the Mets never adequately replaced him. Lenny Dykstra was traded to Philadelphia, where he had his best years. Kevin Mitchell went to San Francisco and won the NL MVP in 1989.

The 1986 Mets had enough talent to win multiple championships. They had enough dysfunction to ensure they only won one.

Davey Johnson managed the team through the chaos, but even he couldn't control the partying, the drug use, and the egos. The Mets would return to the playoffs just once in the next 13 years — a 1988 NLCS loss to the Dodgers. The window was open for a decade. They climbed through it once and then slammed it shut on their own fingers.

The '86 Mets remain a fascinating paradox: a team too talented to fail and too self-destructive to sustain. They proved that winning a championship requires more than ability. It requires something they never had enough of — discipline, sobriety, and the willingness to put the team above the party.

Game 6: The Night the Ball Went Through Buckner's Legs

The Mets were dead. Everyone knew it. The scoreboard at Shea Stadium had already flashed a congratulatory message to the Boston Red Sox. In the NBC broadcast booth, Vin Scully was preparing to narrate a Red Sox celebration. Boston led 5-3 in the bottom of the 10th inning with two outs and nobody on base.

What happened next defied every law of probability in sports.

Gary Carter, who had been having a miserable series, fought off pitch after pitch before singling to left field. Then Kevin Mitchell, pinch-hitting, singled to center. Two men on, two outs, and Ray Knight — the man who'd nearly been cut from the roster — stepped to the plate against Calvin Schiraldi.

Knight singled to center, scoring Carter. 5-4, Boston. Mitchell moved to third. The Red Sox removed Schiraldi and brought in Bob Stanley to face Mookie Wilson.

What followed was one of the most excruciating, unforgettable at-bats in the history of the sport.

Wilson fouled off pitch after pitch, refusing to go down. On a 2-2 count, Stanley unleashed a wild pitch that sailed inside. Mitchell scored from third. 5-5. Knight moved to second. The game was tied. Shea Stadium was shaking.

Then Wilson hit a slow ground ball down the first base line. Bill Buckner, playing on aching knees that had plagued him all season, bent down to field it. The ball went under his glove, through his legs, and into right field. Knight raced home from second. Mets win 6-5.

The image of that ball rolling into the outfield, of Knight leaping onto home plate, of Buckner standing frozen at first base — these became the defining images of 1980s baseball. For the Mets, it was salvation. For Buckner, a lifetime of unfair blame. For baseball, it was proof that the impossible sometimes happens.

The NLCS Nobody Talks About: 16 Innings in the Astrodome

Everyone remembers World Series Game 6 — the Buckner game. But many baseball historians argue that Game 6 of the NLCS was actually the better game. It was certainly longer. At sixteen innings, it remains one of the longest postseason games ever played, and it was contested with an intensity that left both teams physically and emotionally drained.

The Astros jumped out to a 3-0 lead early, and it looked like the series was headed to a decisive Game 7 — where the terrifying Mike Scott would be waiting. The Mets had been accusing Scott of scuffing the baseball all series, and they were desperate to avoid facing him again.

The Mets clawed back, tying it in the 9th. Then the game stretched on — inning after inning of high-wire tension. In the 14th, the Astros scored to take a 4-3 lead. The Mets answered right back. In the 16th, Houston scored again. And again, the Mets answered — this time with three runs to take a 7-6 lead.

Jesse Orosco, pitching on fumes, struck out Kevin Bass with two runners on to end it. He fell to his knees on the Astrodome turf. It was past one in the morning.

The players were zombies afterward. The celebration on the charter flight home reportedly destroyed the plane — ripped seats, broken overhead bins, champagne soaking into every surface. The airline sent the Mets a bill for damages.

It was the kind of game that either forges a championship team or breaks it. For the '86 Mets, it forged them. They had survived the fire and come out the other side believing they could not be beaten. Ten days later, when they were down to their last out in the World Series, that belief — born in the Astrodome at one in the morning — is what carried them through.

The Tragedy of Doc and Darryl

In 1986, Dwight Gooden was 21 years old and Darryl Strawberry was 24. They were two of the most talented baseball players alive — a pitcher with a 98-mph fastball and a devastating curve, and an outfielder with the most beautiful left-handed swing anyone had ever seen. They were supposed to be the foundation of a Mets dynasty that would last a decade.

Instead, they became the cautionary tale of their generation.

Gooden's troubles began almost immediately. He missed the 1986 victory parade — he was doing cocaine while the team rode through the Canyon of Heroes. He tested positive for drugs in 1987 and entered rehabilitation. He came back, pitched well at times, but was never the same dominant force. By the mid-1990s, he was suspended from baseball entirely. He threw a no-hitter for the Yankees in 1996 — a brief, shining reminder of what he could do — but the drugs always pulled him back. Arrests, prison time, and broken relationships followed.

Strawberry's arc was equally devastating. He left the Mets after 1990, bouncing to the Dodgers, Giants, and Yankees. Cocaine and alcohol addiction led to multiple suspensions. He was diagnosed with colon cancer in 1998. Tax evasion charges, domestic violence allegations, and more drug arrests followed. He hit rock bottom repeatedly, each time the fall seeming more painful because everyone could remember how high he'd once been.

They were supposed to own New York for a decade. Instead, New York — with all its temptations and excesses — owned them.

The story of Doc and Darryl is ultimately one of wasted potential on a scale that's hard to comprehend. Gooden should be in the Hall of Fame. Strawberry should have 500 home runs. Instead, they became walking reminders of how fragile greatness can be, and how quickly the brightest flames can be extinguished.

Both men eventually found some measure of peace. Strawberry became a minister and addiction counselor. Gooden has struggled more, with relapses continuing into the 2000s and 2010s. But in 1986, for one shining season, they were everything baseball could be — young, talented, electric, and seemingly invincible. That was the tragedy. They seemed invincible. They weren't.