Torborg actually seems like a nice man. And he has a grandson who's a pig. (Don't ask me! He said so himself during a Mets-Marlins broadcast on Fox Family last week.) But he has no business managing a major league baseball team. He completely lost control of the Mets clubhouse when he was at Shea in 1992 and 1993. It took the Mets years to recover from the damage done by Torborg, Al Harazin, and Dallas Green. Torborg won't last three years in Montreal. And the Expos probably won't either.

I'm sure, however, that the pig is proud that his grandfather is back in a big-league dugout.

I'll never forget the day I joined with the Shea fans in booing a Torborg Mets Mastercard commercial shown on the Diamondvision. You know - the one where he repeatedly snaps his fingers and disappears whenever a reporter shows up.

I'll also never forget how he looked during his last weeks on the job. I have never seen anyone crumble so badly in the public eye, not even Walter Mondale. Torborg must have aged twenty years in only 1.3 seasons. He looked morbid. I almost felt sorry for him.

Still, Torborg (unlike Harrelson) came in with experience and was asked to manage a talented team. The Mets NEVER played well while he was there (at least Buddy left with a winning record), while a few key players behaved atrociously off the field to boot. Might be a nice guy. But Jeff Torborg was definitely the worst Mets manager ever. Even he might agree.

Jeff grew up and lived in my hometown of Westfield, NJ. Doesn't matter...I didn't know him. Never even heard of him. Hell, I didn't even follow sports much. But in '75, something amazing happened, but before I get into it, you need to know something about me: I grew up as a tall, skinny, not-muscular, awkward, unathletic geeky kid. "Play sports?"....I'd vastly prefer to be home building a model or playing records. Sports was a distant thought, and gym class was a horror show. I'm sure I'm not the only one here like that, right?

By the time I was in High School (in highly-competitive, sports-centric Westfield High School), things were only worse. My "athletic prowess" hadn't gotten any better, and my lengthening hair and omni-present electric guitar didn't help matters, either. Jocks ran the school. Gym class was simply where I went every day to get beat up and picked on for 45 minutes.

Anyway, in 1975, my gym teacher went out on sabbatical for the spring semester. Needing a gym teacher, the school called Torborg who was, at that moment, in between gigs...and he accepted the temporary position! For a few months....including softball season...Jeff Torborg was my gym teacher!

First day out on the baseball diamond, it was clear how the jocks treated me and two other kids. Torborg called everyone in, and as we huddled around the plate, he seemed to egg them on. "These three really can't play at all, can they?" The jocks made the most of it! He asked, "raise your hand if you think these guys shouldn't play", and of course almost all hands shot up. "If your hand is in the air, go take 10 laps around the field". BOOM! That was that!

Left there were me and the 2 others...plus 2 or 3 more that hadn't raised their hands. Jeff said "Has anyone ever taught you guys how to throw a ball? How to catch a ball? How to swing a bat?" "Do you know the rules of baseball?"

Speaking for me.... nope. Not really. So Jeff took the time and taught us the basics! Jocks ran laps while we got private instruction on all things baseball.

One snide comment from anyone, and BOOM....more laps, more private lessons! In short order, the jocks figured out which way the wind was blowing, and they all seemed to get in line. Pretty soon, we were playing softball games...as teams!

Look, I'll NEVER be an athlete. It's just not in me. But for a few glorious months, Jeff Torborg taught me how to play baseball and enjoy gym! Moreover, he made it 101% crystal clear to the others: 1.) everyone in this class is equal in his eyes and 2.) therefore WILL be equal in the eyes of one another and 3.) sports is for everyone, and 4.) you're ALL going to learn to respect each other and support one another.

And in a very odd way, it worked! I can't say I got any more than marginally better, but the athletic kids did let up on us! When it was our turn at bat, the hisses and catcalls were replaced by genuine heartfelt yells of encouragement: "You can do it"..."Choke up some more"...etc., etc. It was amazing. And fun! Gym was FUN!

So you want to know what sports player I truly admire? Jeff Torborg. I couldn't care less if he was a good manager or not. To me, he'll always be my baseball hero. For those few months, I was just "one of the boys on the team", accepted as an equal (well, maybe not EQUAL :) ) by the jocks, all because of Jeff's leadership, character and his mission to make sports good for everyone. Gym class fun for the first time in my life.

It was a privilege to have Jeff as my gym teacher, and I'll always be grateful.

After the last game of a series against the Mets at Shea, I got stuck between floors on an elevator for 15 minutes. When the maintenance guy finally got the thing operating again, I got off and ran like a maniac through the tunnel underneath the stadium carrying my laptop in one hand and a satchel stuffed to the gills with media guides and other research material in the other. Just as I got into the parking lot down the right field corner, I could see the back of the bus off in the distance, as it pulled onto Roosevelt Ave. I could still smell the fumes.

In those days, we weren't required to carry a cell phone, and by design, I didn't (which made it harder for GM John Schuerholz to track me down after games to put out a press release if I was out with friends). Not having a phone now came back to bite me, since I couldn't call our traveling secretary and ask him to let me catch up to them. And there were no cabs in the lot, and by the time one arrived, the team would probably be airborne after the short trip to LaGuardia.

Fortuitously, the Mets were also heading out on a road trip after the game, and their bus was still in the lot, about to leave for LaGuardia as well. Jeff Torborg saw my predicament and leaned out the front of the bus and hollered, "We'll give you a lift!" I gratefully accepted, and after I accidentally sat on coach Barry Foote's sandwich that he'd taken from the clubhouse, we finally departed, about 20 minutes behind the Braves bus.

We drove onto the tarmac, but had no luck finding the Braves bus. The driver said, "Good luck, pal" so after thanking Jeff, I disembarked and looked like Steve Martin in Planes, Trains and Automobiles walking around the tarmac of a major airport, dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase.

Fortunately, after 5 minutes of wandering around in vain looking for a bus, a mechanic pulled up in a golf cart, and got me to the Braves charter with two minutes to spare, if that, before it began taxiing down the runway. The first words I heard when I got on came from one of our coaches, former Met Jim Beauchamp, who said, "Dang it, he made it!" Typical baseball humor, which led to plenty of good-natured razzing as I went to my seat. By enabling me to make it to the plane on time, Jeff also gave me the memory of sitting next to Halle Berry for the flight home, while her hub David Justice was hanging out with the guys in the back of the plane. Doing my post-game work updating the player stats was a hopeless endeavor, given the plunging neckline of Halle's summer sun dress.

Jeff also spared me the cost of a one-way ticket back to Atlanta, which I couldn't envision being reimbursed on by accounting. Even around 10 years later, when he managed the Expos and Marlins, Jeff would kid me when we'd see each other on the field pre-game at the start of a series, saying to let him know if I ever needed another lift. Jeff was one of baseball's good guys, and was well deserving of having the Jeff Torborg Youth Baseball Field dedicated in his honor at Echo Lake Park in Mountainside, NJ in 2019. Jeff, if you ever read this, I'll look you up in Manahawkin the next time I'm visiting friends in family in Jersey!