The 1986 New York Mets are one of the most legendary teams in Major League Baseball history. Heck, they won 108 of their 162 games, easily securing a place in the playoffs, and boasted five All-Stars plus a lineup powered by one big-name slugger after another. When they clinched the World Series with a now-legendary victory over the Boston Red Sox in the seventh and final game, many sportswriters couldn't resist relaying to their readers the cliched yet satisfying tale of a team destined to triumph: a team of winners.
If only it were so simple.
By most indicators, the Mets were, in fact, a team destined to fail. Their manager, former All-Star second baseman Davey Johnson, was a mediocre strategist who drank excessively and imposed minimal discipline. Their two brightest young stars, pitcher Dwight Gooden and right fielder Darryl Strawberry, were beginning to experiment with cocaine. Catcher Gary Carter was an annoying egomaniac who drove his teammates crazy; rookie Kevin Mitchell was a reformed San Diego gang-banger with a bullet lodged in his back and an alarmingly violent temper; third baseman Ray Knight was a 33-year-old has-been and his backup, Howard Johnson, had been dismissed by his former team, the Detroit Tigers, as a man who would crumble in the clutch. As for experience under pressure, they had next to none. A grand total of two Mets had played in a prior World Series.
"We had a lot of demons and issues to overcome," recalls Ed Hearn, the team's backup catcher. "But there was one thing we had that turned us into winners: one man who wouldn't let us lose, no matter what obstacles we faced.
"Thank God," says Hearn, "for Mex."
In Keith "Mex" Hernandez, the Mets had a leader who absolutely refused to bow down. A veteran first baseman who had won the 1982 World Series with the St. Louis Cardinals, Hernandez was the guy who paced the dugout while screaming at rival pitchers; it was Hernandez who advised Met relief pitchers about why the outside fastball would work better than the inside slider, and who set the ever-important (yet oft-absent) positive tone. Though Hernandez was a skilled player who would go on to win a National League-record 11 Gold Gloves, he was hardly the most talented man on the Mets' roster. Yet, as Hearn puts it, he possessed "that special something."
"Just something about Mex oozed confidence," says Hearn. "It was contagious. It made you need to win." Hence, when the Mets seized the championship from the Red Sox against all odds (New York was twice one strike away from losing), nobody within the clubhouse was especially surprised. "Hell," Hernandez said at the time, "we always expect to win. Always." And they did.
Mentality Over Muscle
The story of the '86 Mets teaches a fundamental lesson: In the world of collegiate and professional team sports, where so much emphasis is placed on talent, talent, talent, and talent (and, uh, talent), the thin line between victory and defeat is one composed not of muscle but mentality. According to myriad athletes and sports psychiatrists, there are—in the most literal of senses—definitive winners and losers who single-handedly alter the playing field by dramatically influencing the approach and attitude of their teammates. On one side are athletes who raise those around them to a higher level. On the other side are the athletes who don't.
"One of the most important things a leader does is promote the idea of task cohesion," says Patrick Devine, a professor of psychology at Kennesaw State University and former sports psychiatrist for the Atlanta Braves and Milwaukee Brewers. "He's the guy who can rally a team to work for a common goal instead of individual goals. You see some teams with big stars who make it all about them—how many points can I score? How many home runs did I hit?" But on the basketball court, for example, "The true team player—the true winner—gets as much pleasure from distributing the ball to a teammate as he does dunking the ball." Involving teammates raises their confidence, includes them in the fun, and motivates them to succeed—improving everyone's performance. "The loser measures success in points. The winner measures success in wins," Devine says.
We usually recognize winners when we see them—the Michael Jordans, the Wayne Gretzkys, the Derek Jeters, the Mia Hamms, the Terry Bradshaws. They are the ones who seem to overcome all obstacles and carry their teams on their backs time after time. Yet would Jeter, the New York Yankees' luminous shortstop, be such a winner were he playing for, say, the Tampa Bay Rays or the Kansas City Royals? Would Bradshaw have quarterbacked, say, the talent-deprived Atlanta Falcons to four Super Bowl crowns the way he did the talent-loaded Pittsburgh Steelers in the mid- to late 1970s?
Answer: Well, yes.
"When you have that one person—that one individual who doesn't care about anything but winning—it's an amazingly powerful tool," says Dawn Staley, Temple University's women's basketball coach and a three-time Olympic gold medalist. "To have one person who's a winner, who can manage personalities, who bleeds for the team—I'll go to battle with him or her any day of the week and take my chances." Staley pauses. "Sadly," she says, "those players are hard to find."
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positive thinking,
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the pauli principle,
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