I Had Lunch With Richard Nixon Five Or Six Times. He Just Wanted To Talk About Baseball.

Eventually, Keith Hernandez went to a shrink.

- Chris Smith

TWO PEOPLE CHANGED my attitude and my life. I came to New York, to spring training for the Mets, in ’84, and Rusty Staub said, “You’re single! You’ve got to live in the city.” Rusty got me to live in the city. Ed Lynch, Danny Heep—who was married, but Janey was one of the boys—Ron Darling, and me were the only four who lived in the city. We’d have lunch at Rusty’s restaurant on Third, baby back ribs, and then go to the ballpark in his meat wagon.

In ’86, we win the World Series. I remember after the final game, Bobby Ojeda, my brother, me, and some other people get a limo and we’re going to Columbus, a restaurant on 69th. That was a pretty hot little spot, a lot of entertainment people went in there. We walk in around 1:45 in the morning and it’s packed. They all stood up and gave us a standing ovation, started yelling, “Speech, speech, speech!” I almost didn’t make it to the parade the next morning. I overslept. I didn’t shower. Stupid me, we took a cab downtown, Ojeda and me. We couldn’t get near the cars we were supposed to ride in for the parade. It was a throng of people. There’s a wrought-iron fence, ten feet high, separating us from where we need to be. People lifted us up, Bobby and me, and passed us over the fence.