If you’ve been married long enough (one day), your wife tells you the things about you that are crazy, and in turn, drives her crazy. For me, it’s the overwhelming feeling of guilt I get for reasons no one would bat an eye over. It’s my Irish Guilt. It happened for me again today when I saw this tweet:

I didn't realize until I was doing some 2015 research today that former #Mets IF Jeff McKnight died of leukemia in May. Made me sad. RIP

— Jerry Crasnick (@jcrasnick) December 30, 2015

You see in September, I was having fun with the Mets Magic Number to clinch the division. I was seeking to name the worst player I ever saw wear that particular number. As it so happens, I selected Jeff McKnight for the number 17. When I did that, I had no idea Jeff McKnight had died months earlier of leukemia. Had I known, I wouldn’t have said anything. I know better to speak ill of the dead, even when it is good natured fun. 

Reading this, I felt horrible. I felt even worse after learning he succumbed to this disease after battling it for 10 years. Sadly, there’s not much out there on him other than the fact his father also played in the big leagues. What we do know is he was a Met, and he played with them during the tough times. We do know that on “The Worst Team Money Can Buy,” McKnight was probably the lone Met that acquitted himself well. His play did help him earn a role on the 1993 team. In 1993, he had his best year. 

Very few of us make it to the big leagues. It is a major accomplishment no matter how you fare. I hope Jeff McKnight is proud of what he achieved. Even as I poked fun, I do remember those days at Shea rooting for him and the Mets when there was not much to root for. 

With that said, may Jeff McKnight rest in peace.