April, Keith and me

How my mother made me a Mets fan — and ruined my life

October 13, 2022 | Story by Connor O’Bryan | Illustration by Christian Lepillan

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This essay is part of Atrium’s Winter 2022 issue. To view the print edition online, visit our Issuu here.

Keith Hernandez: 1979 National League MVP, two-time World Series champion and the man who was almost my father. 

My first exposure to Hernandez was from “Seinfeld,” one of my favorite television shows. I was 11 and watching it on cable with my mother, April, when the episode “The Boyfriend Pt. 1” came on. Hernandez, who was then the first baseman for the New York Mets, played a guest-starring role in which he befriends Jerry Seinfeld and dates Seinfeld’s friend Elaine.

“You know, I used to date him,” my mother said midway through the episode.

“You used to date Jerry Seinfeld?” I replied.

“No, I went out with Keith Hernandez for a bit,” she said.

My brain nosedived. How could my mother have dated a professional baseball player? I asked her again, and she insisted she was telling the truth.

“I went on a few dates with him when he was in Florida for spring training. It was right after I got out of high school. He took me to dinner a few times, then never called me again,” she lamented. 

I was glued to the couch. My mind was racing. How could my mother have dated a New York Met? Her father was the town sheriff and never would have allowed her to date a professional athlete, especially one 16 years her senior. Her, who my uncle regularly describes as a “square.” My mother, who can’t even swim.

I liked Hernandez on the episode and decided to see if he was the kind of guy I wanted my mother dating. So I picked up a copy of Jeff Pearlman’s “The Bad Guys Won.” Pearlman’s book details the 1986 Mets, a team that won the World Series with stars like Darryl Strawberry, Dwight Gooden and, you guessed it, Keith Hernandez. 

I crushed that book, finishing the entire thing in a day. The book looked as though I’d had it for years. Dog-eared pages and a cover bent outwardly. 

Hernandez comes off as an upstanding guy throughout the book. He was a leader on a team that needed one. He had an outgoing, charismatic personality. Plus, he was hitting for average. What was there not to like? 

My mother had just gotten divorced, and the few men she had over had similar personalities to one another. One was a doctor. Another owned a snack mix company.

I thought both guys were lame. Hernandez came into my life exactly when I needed him.

The Tampa Bay Rays had just torn my heart out and stomped on it, trading away players I loved like David Price and Ben Zobrist. I used my mother’s dating history as an excuse to jump ship from the Rays and root for the Mets. 

What ensued were some of the worst years of my life as a sports fan.

From Matt Harvey’s rise and fall, to David Wright’s back injury, to losing in the World Series to the terrible Kansas City Royals, to Noah Syndergaard’s hand, foot and mouth disease, my Mets fandom took a toll. The Mets made me cry and laugh — not with them, but at them. I wasn’t even surprised last season when our star pitcher, Jacob DeGrom, got hurt in the middle of one of the best seasons of his career. So goes the life of a Mets fan, filled with constant strife. 

People are always surprised to find out that I’m a Mets fan. They’re even more surprised to find out why.

My stepfather, David, had known I was a Mets fan for years. And before we attended the 2020 Arnold Palmer Invitational, an annual professional golf tournament put on at Orlando’s Bay Hill Club, he had never asked why.

We walked from the fourth hole to the seventh hole, attempting to follow professional golfer Rory McIlroy. I had worn my favorite Mets hat to the tournament that day. It had a sweat stain halfway down the brim and was tight from countless cycles in the washing machine. I loved it. I had worn this hat loads of times in front of my stepfather, but for whatever reason, it caught his eye that day.

“Why’d you wear a Mets hat to a golf tournament? Are you even a Mets fan?” my stepfather asked.

“Yep,” I replied.

“Why are you a Mets fan?” he probed.

“Well, my mom is a Mets fan. I’m a Mets fan because of her,” I answered.

“I am?” my mother cackled.

My stepfather burst out laughing. My cheeks reddened.

“Why did you think I was a Mets fan?” she asked.

“You told me you dated a Met,” I said.

“What Met did your mom date?” my stepfather asked between laughs.

“Keith Hernandez,” I replied.

“KEITH HERNANDEZ?” they both howled.

“I never dated Keith Hernandez!” my mother exclaimed.

They both stopped walking, parking themselves at a nearby table. They burst out laughing.

I ran into the tournament gift shop and bought a new hat and hid my Mets cap in my mother’s purse. I picked out a white Travis Mathew hat with the tournament’s logo on the front. The brim cloaked my embarrassment.

Connor O’Bryan and his mother, April, pose for a picture at the 2020 Arnold Palmer Invitational. Connor’s Mets hat is in April’s purse, as he was too embarrassed to continue wearing it. (Photo courtesy of Connor O’Bryan)

For nearly a decade, I based my passion on a joke. And yet, somehow, I remained a Mets fan — even after I learned my mother had made up a fantastical story, one that seemed the stuff of dreams for a young boy. 

I didn’t stay mad at my mom. I couldn’t, really. In retrospect, her story was hilarious. My mother has a reputation among my friends and family as someone who “caps” often. Urban Dictionary defines capping as “basically a brand-new word for lying.” 

In February, I told my roommate Philip about how my mother had said she was going to hang out with me for the Super Bowl only to change her mind the next day. 

“There goes April capping again,” he joked.

One would imagine that with this reputation I would be unable to trust my mother.

But I do. I trust her more than anybody. She is always looking out for me and has always been there for me. Plus, she is always right. I still love her exponentially, even though she signed me up for one of the most hellish ordeals of my life. It’s like she enlisted me in a war without my permission. I wouldn’t wish being a Mets fan on my worst enemy.

But I learned to take this hardship in stride. Life is often accompanied by difficulties, but at least my difficulties have Jeff McNeil playing second base. 

I force my mother to watch one Mets game with me every year. Whether it be a trip to spring training in Orlando or ESPN on the couch, she always delivers. I expect her to complain, but she rarely does. Instead, she says she is just happy to spend time with me — and she means it.