The beat guys barely worried about competing for stories anymore; the '92 Mets simply didn't generate any news. That made it easier for he reporters to be friends, not having to worry if the guy you were sharing a beer with or playing three-on-three hoops with had an exclusive ready to go in the next day's paper. Five years earlier, in the Mets' prime, covering the club was as intense and competitive as any beat in professional sports. Even two years before, as the Mets' crash became real, the competitiveness still bordered on maniacal. After all, the disgraced Mets were just as entertaining as the prosperous Mets, outraging and fascinating the city at the same time. As a result, relationships on the beat were ever fragile, always vulnerable to the stress of competing for stories. . . .

But by 1992 the Mets had accomplished the near-impossible: they had dulled the press corps' cut-throat instincts. Thanks to numbingly bad baseball, the New York press corps had been bonded by indifference.

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