The worst day for the Mets at Shea Stadium was the last day of Shea Stadium, which occurred exactly 10 years ago today. And, despite a full decade behind me, I still lose my breath and get visually stressed when thinking about how that cold, rainy day played out...

The easiest, most succinct way to convey the nightmare is to look at David Wright in the following picture, which was taken by the Associated Press as the Mets left their dugout that afternoon.

In it, you can see the pain, sadness and frustration in Wright's eyes, the result of which had been building up since the final out of the 2006 NLCS. It is also how every fan and I looked and felt sitting motionless in the stands watching the 2008 season and our favorite stadium end.

There are people who feel the 2007 collapse was worse than 2008. I disagree. Yes, 2007 was awful, but -- at the time -- it could easily be written off as a freak accident, a bad stretch of games, and a painful but tolerable stumbling block between 2006 and better days to come. But once it happened again in 2008, it was clear 2007 was the start of more pain. To make matters worse, it happened on the last day ever for Shea Stadium, which made the whole experience so much worse.

Thanks to what transpired 12 months earlier, when the Mets missed the playoffs after having a seven-game lead over the Phillies with 17 games to go, 2008 started on a paranoid down-beat. Nevertheless, in late 2008, just like the season before, the Mets were in first place during the middle of September.

However, by the time the team returned home for their final seven games ever at Shea Stadium, the Phillies had taken back first place and bumped the Mets to second.

Thankfully, with the clock ticking and seven games to go, the Mets held a two-game lead over the Brewers for the only available Wild Card spot. Sadly, the Mets continued to lose more than they won, and the Brewers pulled into a tie with them in the Wild Card race entering Game 162.

For the second year in a row, the Mets' season came down to the final game of the year, which, if they lost and the Brewers won, would end up officially shutting the door to Shea Stadium.

As the Mets trailed the Marlins in the late-innings, the Brewers defeated the Cubs to make it a win-or-else scenario for the Mets.

After the Mets lost, with a fly ball off the bat of Ryan Church (representing the tying run) dying on the warning track, I never heard Shea Stadium so quiet and saw fans looking so melancholy and bewildered about whether to go home or stay and watch the already-scheduled postgame celebration honoring the ballpark.

From what I could see through the rage and anger in my eyes, the tribute was wonderful and well-orchestrated. It was a lovely, sentimental goodbye to our home of 45 years and, sadly, nobody seemed to care what was happening on field. Sitting there, watching every notable person from the franchise's history get paraded to home plate, I found myself and saw other fans occasionally glancing up at the scoreboard as if the numbers might change. But, nope, the Mets still lost and the Brewers still won. Hey, look, Jerry Koosman, Willie Mays and Yogi Berra. Damn, the Mets still lost and the Brewers still won. Wow, that's Mike Piazza and Tom Seaver together in the same place. But, ugh, the Mets still lost and the Brewers still won.

The weight of the day, the losing, the second collapse in two years and knowing we would never see another game again in Shea Stadium ... it was all so much to digest.

As a franchise, the Mets always seemed to find a miracle when they needed one. They did it in 1969, in 1973, 1986, 1999 and 2000. The Mets were the team everyone doubted, but who somehow shocked baseball by benefitting from unbelievable moments.

The difference in 2006, 2007 and 2008, though, was that the Mets held the advantage. They were the favorites and, instead, they blew the lead. It was the other teams that found the miracle. And, the worst part is that it all happened inside the building we loved, which was about to be destroyed.

It was surreal and, even today, it still feels like a vague, blurry, bad dream.

Thanks to my relationship with SNY, though, I've been fortunate to experience some unique Mets moments, including during the days leading up to the final game in 2008.

I'm not sure how, but I managed to convince the team to let me take close-up photographs of the ballpark during an off day for posts to MetsBlog. They agreed and left me alone to wander the entire stadium. I went in the dugout, walked on the field and warning track, explored behind the outfield wall, the Home Run Apple and bullpen. I spent close to two hours just drifting, reminiscing and taking pictures of little things I had never seen before and would never see again...

The full set of images can be viewed here, though these are my favorite from the bunch...

In late October, the Mets let me, Ted Berg and an SNY.tv film crew in to Shea Stadium, which they had started demolishing a few days after the regular season. It looked like the aftermath of an earthquake. Holes in walls. Chunks of concrete stacked in piles. Metal, orange poles broken in to multiple sections. Light fixtures and cut wires were swinging in the wind. There were piles and piles of decades-old, petrified peanut shells beneath field level seats that vanished as the rows ascended.

Ted hosted the video. I spent most of time taking photographs...

It was an amazing and disturbing experience, standing in the middle of this wreckage that had been home to so many good and bad memories.

Ted and I later used a lead pipe and wiffle ball we found in the bullpen to create our own last pitch and at bat at Shea Stadium. He hit a line drive over second base, though I like to imagine had Wally Backman been there he would have jumped and snagged it for an out.

In reality, the final pitch was thrown 10 years ago by Seaver to Piazza, who then walked together through the infield, through the outfield and through the door hidden within the center field wall. The padded door shut and that was that...

The stadium lights dimmed, at which point anyone with a credential or affiliation with the team began filling the infield to take pictures and stash memories.

I will always be grateful to the Mets and SNY for letting me be credentialed that day so I, too, could scurry on field and and get one last look from the perspective of the players I grew up idolizing.

Standing on the grass, there was a heavy hush in the air. Nobody was talking. Wide-eyed police officers, current and former players and team employees were standing around the infield, taking pictures, scooping up dirt, and wandering aimlessly while spending their last moments in their home away from home.

"In My Life" by The Beatles continued to play through the sound system. I walked out to the pitcher's mound, stood on the rubber and set, just like I imagined doing when I was nine years old.

As I stood on the mound, right hand resting in my imaginary glove, SNY's Ron Darling stopped at home plate, saw what I was doing and kindly pretended to be a batter. I paused, looked up and around at the lights knowing this was as close as I'd ever get to doing what I dreamed about as a child. I pretended to throw a pitch, Darling graciously swung through, tipped his cap and smiled.

I attended the Grand Slam Single in 1999, the clincher in 2006, the day Darryl knocked out a light in the scoreboard, Game 5 in 2000, and countless innings between. Yet, it's the wonderful and painful moments above, created 10 years ago today, all of which can never be recreated, that I cherish most when I think of Shea Stadium.

Matthew Cerrone (Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Contact) is lead writer of MetsBlog.com, which he created in 2003. He also hosts the MetsBlog Podcast, which you can subscribe to here. His new book, The New York Mets Fans' Bucket List, details 44 things every Mets fan should experience during their lifetime. To check it out, click here!

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