Here's mine: I grew up in Queens, not far from Shea Stadium. Predictably, I was a huge Mets fan. They were terrible when they came into the league. I started following baseball when I was 8 years old, the 1967 season. My dad was still upset that the Dodgers moved to California. He rooted for the Mets, but only because he hated the Yankees. He started taking me to one game a year around my birthday in June. In 1969, my birthday game (against the Expos) got rained out. They rescheduled the game as a doubleheader in September. The Mets went on their famous run in late summer. It turned out that our game was the first time the Mets had a chance to move into first place this late in the season. It was a crazy pennant race that year with the heavily favored Cubs. The Mets swept the double header, and the Cubs lost. I had never seen my father as excited at a sporting event before or since. The rest is history. The Mets won the World Series that year. I was 10 years old, but I still remember that feeling.