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Overview

In The Bad Guys Won, award-winning former Sports Illustrated baseball writer Jeff Pearlman returns to an innocent time when a city worshipped a man named Mookie and the Yankees were the second-best team in New York.

It was 1986, and the New York Mets won 108 regular-season games and the World Series, capturing the hearts (and other assorted body parts) of fans everywhere. But their greatness on the field was nearly eclipsed by how bad they were off it. Led by the indomitable Keith Hernandez and the young dynamic duo of Dwight Gooden and Darryl Strawberry, along with the gallant Scum Bunch, the Amazin's left a wide trail of wreckage in their wake — hotel rooms, charter planes, a bar in Houston, and most famously Bill Buckner and the hated Boston Red Sox.

With an unforgettable cast of characters — including Doc, Straw, the Kid, Nails, Mex, and manager Davey Johnson — this "affectionate but critical look at this exciting season" (Publishers Weekly) celebrates the last of baseball's arrogant, insane, rock-and-roll-and-party-all-night teams, exploring what could have been, what should have been, and what never was.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Drugs, sex and groupies abound in this book by Pearlman, a reporter for Newsday. Only the author isn't a rock critic chronicling the wild escapades of a band; he's describing the very successful 1986 season when the New York Mets won the World Series. As remarkable as the team's performance on the field, the players' escapades outside the stadium are perhaps more memorable, in a far less flattering way. Pearlman, an unabashed Mets fan, offers a behind-the-scenes look at the team, including an insightful portrait of Frank Cashen, the general manager at the time. Pearlman discusses the trades, the players' abilities and unforgettable games. But much of the book is about the difficulties and the unprofessional behavior of many of the players. For example, on one rowdy flight back to New York, United Airlines billed the team an additional $7,500 for damage resulting from food fights and other unruly antics and said the team couldn't fly the airline again. Cashen was upset, but the manager, Davey Johnson, laughed as he tore up the bill in front of the team. The drug use that would become public later was not addressed at the time, though it was obvious to reporters. When asked whether Dwight Gooden was healthy, despite several minor car accidents, Johnson had nothing to say: "As long as Dwight Gooden was smiling and in good physical shape, Johnson required no knowledge about the pitcher's private time. Johnson was a manager, not a babysitter." Pearlman's book isn't simple nostalgia-some of the players have virtually disappeared from the public eye-and much of the wild off-field behavior is still part of the game today. Baseball aficionados, especially Mets fans, will enjoy this affectionate but critical look at this exciting season. Agent, Susan Reed. (May) Forecast: Pearlman's reputation (he wrote about John Rocker for Sports Illustrated) may boost sales, but the book's target audience is New York fans, rather than national. Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
More Reviews (1) Fewer Reviews
From The Critics
Seldom does the title of a book capture its essence as well as this one does. Best known for his revelatory Sports Illustrated article on relief pitcher John Rocker, Pearlman tracks the ascendancy of the 1986 New York Mets while foreshadowing the team's inability to resemble anything approximating a dynasty. Blessed with a terrific manager in Davey Johnson, luminous young stars like Doc Gooden and Darryl Strawberry, top-flight veterans in Keith Hernandez and Gary Carter, and gritty ballplayers on the order of Ray Knight and Lenny Dykstra, the Mets cruised to 108 regular season victories before winning a riveting playoff series against the Houston Astros and an unforgettable championship over the ill-fated Boston Red Sox. But this apparent team-for-the-ages included all too many athletes prone to excess and addiction involving alcohol, drugs, sex, and all-around bad behavior. Particularly sad are the accounts of Gooden's and Strawberry's falls from baseball grace, as they became ensnared in a vicious cycle involving late nights, round-the-clock partying, substance abuse, and temper-laden explosions. All this makes for a fascinating read. Recommended for general libraries. Robert C. Cottrell, California State Univ., Chico Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780060507336
  • Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
  • Publication date: 4/26/2005
  • Edition description: Reprint
  • Pages: 304
  • Sales rank: 163,331
  • Product dimensions: 5.31 (w) x 8.00 (h) x 0.68 (d)

Meet the Author

Jeff Pearlman is a columnist for SI.com, a former Sports Illustrated senior writer, and the critically acclaimed author of Boys Will Be Boys, The Bad Guys Won!, and Love Me, Hate Me.

Read an Excerpt

The Bad Guys Won

A Season of Brawling, Boozing, Bimbo-Chasing, and Championship Baseball with Straw, Doc, Mookie, Nails, the Kid, and t
By Pearlman, Jeff

HarperCollins Publishers

ISBN: 0060507322

Chapter One

Food Flight


It wasn't just guys destroying a plane. It was guys destroying a plane after an emotional roller coaster. There's a difference.
-- Randy Niemann, Mets pitcher

Ray Knight's arms were numb. Not just numb as if he'd spent a few too many minutes in the snow. Numb numb -- as if he'd just swum two thousand laps in an Olympic-sized pool. As if he'd just sparred eight hundred rounds with George Foreman. As if someone had grabbed a 10-foot machete, reared back, and sliced off both limbs. "Maybe someone did," he says with a laugh. "I wouldn't have known."

It wasn't just his arms, either. Inside the head of New York's third baseman a drum was beating. His hands were shaking. His mouth was cotton-dry. His feet were on fire. His uniform must have held twenty pounds of sweat. "I couldn't walk, I couldn't talk, I couldn't move," Knight says. "I couldn't even think." It was exhaustion, more pure and painful than any he had ever felt before. Than any he would ever feel again. "I haven't been in war," he says. "But ... "

But this was war. Or at least the next closest thing.

Sixteen innings. In 16 beautiful, electric, heart-wrenching, gut-churning, bladder-bursting, finger-twitching, eye-bulging, throat-burning innings of baseball, the New York Mets had been pushed to the brink over and over again. On enemy turf, no less. Finally, they had pushed back.

Game 6 of the 1986 National League Championship Series:

Mets 7
Astros 6

The Mets were going to the World Series. It was everything they had dreamed of, but now -- what? The hardest-living players in baseball entered the visiting clubhouse of the Houston Astrodome and didn't know what to do. Scream or cry? Party or pray? A couple of the men had tears streaming down their cheeks. Others slumped in front of their lockers, sandbags for shoulders and rocks for feet. "I could have slept for twenty hours," says Ed Hearn, New York's backup catcher, "and I hadn't even played in the game."

Then and there the Mets reached a collective decision. Perhaps it was inspired by the popping of a champagne cork. Or the cracking open of a beer can. Or the lighting of a cigarette. Or the primal "Whoooo!" bursting from Wally Backman's throat. Whatever the stimulus, the message was clear and powerful: Before they went to the World Series, the Mets would party their fuckin' brains out.

There was one problem: time.

Although the game had begun early enough, at 3:05 P.M., 16 innings was 16 innings. After four hours and forty-two minutes of baseball, it was 8:20 when the first Mets players stumbled into the clubhouse. Even as the bottles of Great Western bubbly were being distributed, Arthur Richman, the club's traveling secretary, was doing everything he could to hurry people along: Congratulations, Ray -- now get dressed! Good job, Keith -- and don't forget your shaving kit! The team had to fly back to New York immediately, and the trip was a long one. Yet in the aftermath of triumph, it didn't matter. Richman was ignored. Kevin Mitchell, the barrel-chested rookie, grabbed Bobby Ojeda around the neck and doused his head with champagne. Ojeda, in turn, doused Jesse Orosco, who doused Doug Sisk, who doused Rick Aguilera, who doused Dwight Gooden, who doused Backman. The Mets didn't just let loose, they bear-hugged and gang-tackled. They were a fraternity without classes to attend, a rock-and-roll band without instruments. Shortly after he entered the clubhouse, journeyman reliever Randy Niemann snatched a bottle of bubbly and poured it on the head of bow-tied general manager Frank Cashen, who responded with a bitter glare of death. As Phil Mushnick of the New York Post wrote, "Cashen's candid crankiness ... created a national image as a party-pooper."

No matter. Some ninety minutes after the victory, a sticky, drenched Cashen, surrounded by empty bottles and crushed cans, made an announcement to his sticky, drenched players: "The World Series bus is leaving! Anyone not on it gets left behind!" This was not a joke. The Mets and their entourage piled onto a pair of buses that went to Houston's William P. Hobby Airport. En route, beers were chugged. The remaining champagne bottles were polished off and then tossed to the ground. Even manager Davey Johnson was indulging.

It was mini-mayhem.

Then they reached the plane.

Women are bad news. Very bad. They take real men -- ball-playing men -- and turn them to mush. They transform ruggedness and determination into sentimentality and passivity. Yes, there are good women in the world. But they are at their absolute best away from the ballpark, preparing dinner over a hot stove and tucking the children into bed. It's a simple equation, really:

Women + Baseball = Trouble

In the mind of Frank Cashen, this was established. Cashen was old school, and he wore the reputation proudly. When Rusty Staub, longtime Mets star, commonly referred to the players' wives as "cunts" and the players' extramarital girlfriends as "special cunts," he was speaking Cashen's language. In his eighteenth year as a baseball executive, Cashen was a throwback to the good old days when a ballplayer would never use the opposite sex as an excuse. Baby due any day? Tough luck -- you're staying with the team. Wife sick? Send her a note. Honeymoon? Not during the season, kid. Cashen's philosophy could be summed up in one sentence: Frank Robinson never missed a day for no friggin' broad, and neither should you. Now, in the midst of the playoffs, this news: The Mets players wanted their wives to fly with the team.

Cashen knew there had been rumblings concerning this issue, but he tuned them out until two of the more respected Mets -- Knight and pitcher Ron Darling -- requested a meeting. In Cashen's office they made an impassioned case for women in flight ...

Continues...
Excerpted from The Bad Guys Won by Pearlman, Jeff Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Prologue 1
1 Food Flight 7
2 The Road to 1986 18
3 "We're Going to Dominate" 41
4 Metsmerized 56
5 Drinking Days 74
6 "The Kid" and the Black Hats 87
7 A Lonely Time to Be Wholesome 103
8 Cooter's-gate 109
9 Doc and Dwight 125
10 Out of Left Field 140
11 Hot Stuff 150
12 Please Stay Off the Field 166
13 Great Scott 174
14 "It Doesn't Get Any Better Than This" 181
15 The Passion of Bill Buckner 205
16 Boston and New York 212
17 Revenge 223
18 Near Death 232
19 World Champs 246
20 What Dynasty? 261
Epilogue 271
Acknowledgments 285

First Chapter

The Bad Guys Won
A season of brawling, boozing, bimbo-chasing, and championship baseball with Straw, Doc, Mookie, Nails, The Kid, and the rest of the 1986 Mets, the rowdiest team to ever put on a New York uniform--and maybe the best

Chapter One

Food Flight


It wasn't just guys destroying a plane. It was guys destroying a plane after an emotional roller coaster. There's a difference.
-- Randy Niemann, Mets pitcher

Ray Knight's arms were numb. Not just numb as if he'd spent a few too many minutes in the snow. Numb numb -- as if he'd just swum two thousand laps in an Olympic-sized pool. As if he'd just sparred eight hundred rounds with George Foreman. As if someone had grabbed a 10-foot machete, reared back, and sliced off both limbs. "Maybe someone did," he says with a laugh. "I wouldn't have known."

It wasn't just his arms, either. Inside the head of New York's third baseman a drum was beating. His hands were shaking. His mouth was cotton-dry. His feet were on fire. His uniform must have held twenty pounds of sweat. "I couldn't walk, I couldn't talk, I couldn't move," Knight says. "I couldn't even think." It was exhaustion, more pure and painful than any he had ever felt before. Than any he would ever feel again. "I haven't been in war," he says. "But ... "

But this was war. Or at least the next closest thing.

Sixteen innings. In 16 beautiful, electric, heart-wrenching, gut-churning, bladder-bursting, finger-twitching, eye-bulging, throat-burning innings of baseball, the New York Mets had been pushed to the brink over and over again. On enemy turf, no less. Finally, they had pushed back.

Game 6 of the 1986 National League Championship Series:

Mets 7
Astros 6

The Mets were going to the World Series. It was everything they had dreamed of, but now -- what? The hardest-living players in baseball entered the visiting clubhouse of the Houston Astrodome and didn't know what to do. Scream or cry? Party or pray? A couple of the men had tears streaming down their cheeks. Others slumped in front of their lockers, sandbags for shoulders and rocks for feet. "I could have slept for twenty hours," says Ed Hearn, New York's backup catcher, "and I hadn't even played in the game."

Then and there the Mets reached a collective decision. Perhaps it was inspired by the popping of a champagne cork. Or the cracking open of a beer can. Or the lighting of a cigarette. Or the primal "Whoooo!" bursting from Wally Backman's throat. Whatever the stimulus, the message was clear and powerful: Before they went to the World Series, the Mets would party their fuckin' brains out.

There was one problem: time.

Although the game had begun early enough, at 3:05 P.M., 16 innings was 16 innings. After four hours and forty-two minutes of baseball, it was 8:20 when the first Mets players stumbled into the clubhouse. Even as the bottles of Great Western bubbly were being distributed, Arthur Richman, the club's traveling secretary, was doing everything he could to hurry people along: Congratulations, Ray -- now get dressed! Good job, Keith -- and don't forget your shaving kit! The team had to fly back to New York immediately, and the trip was a long one. Yet in the aftermath of triumph, it didn't matter. Richman was ignored. Kevin Mitchell, the barrel-chested rookie, grabbed Bobby Ojeda around the neck and doused his head with champagne. Ojeda, in turn, doused Jesse Orosco, who doused Doug Sisk, who doused Rick Aguilera, who doused Dwight Gooden, who doused Backman. The Mets didn't just let loose, they bear-hugged and gang-tackled. They were a fraternity without classes to attend, a rock-and-roll band without instruments. Shortly after he entered the clubhouse, journeyman reliever Randy Niemann snatched a bottle of bubbly and poured it on the head of bow-tied general manager Frank Cashen, who responded with a bitter glare of death. As Phil Mushnick of the New York Post wrote, "Cashen's candid crankiness ... created a national image as a party-pooper."

No matter. Some ninety minutes after the victory, a sticky, drenched Cashen, surrounded by empty bottles and crushed cans, made an announcement to his sticky, drenched players: "The World Series bus is leaving! Anyone not on it gets left behind!" This was not a joke. The Mets and their entourage piled onto a pair of buses that went to Houston's William P. Hobby Airport. En route, beers were chugged. The remaining champagne bottles were polished off and then tossed to the ground. Even manager Davey Johnson was indulging.

It was mini-mayhem.

Then they reached the plane.

Women are bad news. Very bad. They take real men -- ball-playing men -- and turn them to mush. They transform ruggedness and determination into sentimentality and passivity. Yes, there are good women in the world. But they are at their absolute best away from the ballpark, preparing dinner over a hot stove and tucking the children into bed. It's a simple equation, really:

Women + Baseball = Trouble

In the mind of Frank Cashen, this was established. Cashen was old school, and he wore the reputation proudly. When Rusty Staub, longtime Mets star, commonly referred to the players' wives as "cunts" and the players' extramarital girlfriends as "special cunts," he was speaking Cashen's language. In his eighteenth year as a baseball executive, Cashen was a throwback to the good old days when a ballplayer would never use the opposite sex as an excuse. Baby due any day? Tough luck -- you're staying with the team. Wife sick? Send her a note. Honeymoon? Not during the season, kid. Cashen's philosophy could be summed up in one sentence: Frank Robinson never missed a day for no friggin' broad, and neither should you. Now, in the midst of the playoffs, this news: The Mets players wanted their wives to fly with the team.

Cashen knew there had been rumblings concerning this issue, but he tuned them out until two of the more respected Mets -- Knight and pitcher Ron Darling -- requested a meeting. In Cashen's office they made an impassioned case for women in flight ...

The Bad Guys Won
A season of brawling, boozing, bimbo-chasing, and championship baseball with Straw, Doc, Mookie, Nails, The Kid, and the rest of the 1986 Mets, the rowdiest team to ever put on a New York uniform--and maybe the best. Copyright © by Jeff Pearlman. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
Customer Reviews
Average Rating 4
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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 2, 2004

    BASEBALL BEATS THE SOAPS!

    As a woman with little knowledge of baseball I happened on this baseball book about the Mets win in 1986. I loved the humor and perspective Pearlman gave to those outragously bad boys.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted August 4, 2011

    Great job

    Alot of good info

    Was this review helpful? Yes  NoThank you for your feedback.   Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.

  • Anonymous

    Posted February 17, 2011

    The York Mets

    This looks like a good book.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  NoThank you for your feedback.   Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.

  • Posted June 13, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Surprisingly Good Read

    This is a well written, thoroughly researched, comprehensive and balanced account of an interesting group and their one time of truimph. It includes the viewpoints of management, veterans, upcoming megastars, and misfits. Pearlman describes a group cohesion centered around various levels of extreme aggression, rowdy plafulness and sheer confidence. Interwoven within the story of the team and it's development are vivid, revealing, balanced portraits of the individuals. Naively devoted Met Fans will need to remove blinders and swallow that belief that greatness equals integrity. It is a great read for any Baseball Fan except avid NY Met Haters. Highly recommended.

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  • Posted March 24, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    Great Read

    Well worth the bargin book price that I paid for this. I didnt go in with much expecation but it ended up being one of most well written books I've read in a long time.

    This era of Met team took place before the intenet age and unrivaled access to sports teams and athletes. This book makes it seem like you have today's kind fo access to a team from the 80's. A team the likely had the most interesting cast of charachters of any team ever.

    Would reccomend this book to anyone with even a passing interest in baseball or sports in general. It also bares out to have a lot of truth. Many idolized these players, but the book called them out as kind of jerks and squanderers of talent. Strawberry, Doc Gooden, Dykstra all have remained jerks. Straw may be on his path to redemption but he's been there before and thrown it back away. Time will tell.

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  • Posted July 9, 2009

    Revealing

    Definitely not what I expected. The author brilliantly mixes the action of the New York Mets' Champion World Series 1986 Season and the behind-the-scenes doings that the fans generally don't see. The book is a great review of the entire season, and brings back lots of memories. Hearing what Gary Carter, Kevin Mitchell, and Ray Knight said to first-base coach Bill Robinson after getting on base in the sixth game of the World Series was amusing. But some of the other revelations, particularly regarding the players' social behavior, were more startling. For the most part, the book is a look-back at the 1986 season, which any true Mets fan will love. Just be prepared for the unexpected.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 15, 2008

    A new look at an old favorite

    I lived the '86 Mets when I was growing up and I thought I knew how wild and wonderful they were. But it turns out I had no idea. Jeff Pearlman's look inside one of the most storied and star-crossed sports teams of all time is gripping, well-researched, and in many cases shocking. He discovers, with surprising details, the depths of the Mets' perversion. He takes the reader inside the clubhouse, onto the team plane, into the bar and even into the jail cell. Those are unexpected 'pleasures', but the beauty of the book is how those stories -- many of which avid Mets fans will be hearing for the first time -- are woven throughout the fabric of the Mets' incredible season. Because while the details are stunning, it's still the Mets' run to the 1986 World Series championship that makes them relevant. They're not just another championship team, and they're not just another team with boorish behavior. The two are related, and by the book that's clear. I never knew the Mets like I thought I knew the Mets. Now, thanks to this book, I know them too well.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 30, 2006

    The Second Greatest Team ever: The '86 Mes

    The Bad Guys Won was an absolutely amazing book. When Frank Cashen first arrived with the team in 1980, the Mets were a washed up bunch of losers. Then they traded away Mike Scott, George Foster, and Rusty Staub retired. By 1983, in came new players like 'Straw' Strawberry, 'Mex Hernandez.' By 1984, they'd sign 'Doc' Gooden, and hire a new manager, under the name of 'Davey' Johnson, who's philosophy was, 'Run as wild as you want, just as long you keep winning games.' 'Kid' Carter, Kevin Mitchell, and Bobby Ojeda came along in 1985 and New York sent Calvin Schiraldi to Boston. By 1986, it was all set: Gooden, Darling, Ojeda, Fernandez, Sisk, McDowell, Orosco, Aguilera, Carter, Hearn, Hernandez, Teufel, Heep, Backman, Santana, Knight, Wilson, Dykstra, Mazilli, Hojo, Strawberry, and some others. And with Davey Johnson and his philosophy, the team steamrolled to 108 victories. They trashed airplanes, bars, spent nights in jail cells (Teufel, Ojeda, Darling, and Aguilera), they hated every team, every team hated them, and yet they won 108 games. Unbelievable. In the NLCS, they beat Houston in six games and in that sixth game, they beat Houston 7-6 in 16 innings. They'd face 24-year-old fireballer Roger Clemens (24-4) and the Red Sox in the World Series. After Buckner's error in the 10th inning of Game 6, they'd win Game 7 8-5. The Bad Guys won it all. Unfortunately, it wouldn't last. Gooden and Strawberry were overcome by drug abuse, trades and retirements occured, Davey Johnson left the team, and by 1991, they were left with nothing. They've only reached the World Series once since (2000) and lost to the Yankees in five. To many people, the future once again looks bleak and dismal but the '86 team will live in the hearts of Mets fans forever.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 16, 2005

    Super Team Shot Itself In the Foot

    I really enjoyed this book, being a long-time Mets fan. I liked how he described how bad the team was before Cashen took over, how he built the team, and saw it disintegrate before his eyes, with his own help. I didn't realize Gooden was already on the downhill by 1986, nor did I know how the Mets destroyed his pitching brilliance. A nice job.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 15, 2005

    NO BIG DEAL!

    I eagerly awaited to read this but was greatly disappointed after I finished it. I expected new revelations about the 1986 Mets but walked away from this book without any new insights into the team. If you followed the Mets back then, you really don't find out anything new or earth-shattering about this so called 'Wild Bunch'.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 25, 2005

    A fantastic read...a real page-turner

    I had heard an interview Jeff Pearlman had done for this book and as he relayed some of the stories of the 1986 Mets I was amazed. Only being eight years old during the season (but still a huge baseball fan) I really remembered very little about the team. All the drugs, parties, sex, disgusting practical jokes etc. were unfamiliar to me. I bought the book and was not disappointed. I finished off the book in no time as the humor and great stories kept on coming. Pearlman did a fantastic job. He certainly has a bright future if he can continue with strong efforts like this one.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 29, 2004

    Bad Guys Won

    I love sports books, and this is one of the best I've ever read. Pearlman is a very funny writer (I first saw his articles when he was a young writer in Nashville in the early 90s), and this is a great forum. The Mets were crazier than anyone could ever imagine: The food fights, the women, the drinking. Pearlman presents it in a very breezy way. I really love this book.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 10, 2004

    Bad Guys Won

    I've read a lot of baseball books, and few provided as much enjoyment. Unlike a lot of the recent releases, this is anything but a stiff biography. The '86 Mets were crazy, and you learn a ton about them here.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 4, 2004

    A Victory to Remember Put In Context

    The 1986 Mets/Red Sox series was the first world series I ever followed. A New Yorker attending her freshman year of college in New England (where everyone was an adopted Sox fan), I made a bet on my hometown Mets when they were down 0-2 and got my laundry done by a cocky Sox fan for a month! Mr. Pearlman has done an excellent job of putting the series into perspective and providing colorful background on the players who pulled out that unbelievable come-from-behind victory. His humor and incredibly deep reporting made the book a fast read that delivered enjoyment and well as extensive knowledge. I'd recommend it to anyone, sports fan or no.

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    Posted May 17, 2011

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