As you can imagine, I was hoping this letter would never be written.  And just a few short years ago, nothing could be further from my mind.  I had to write one of these to Carlos Beltran a few months back, and that was pretty rough, too.  In that letter-that-he'll-never-see, I just wanted Beltran to know that his haters were way off base and he was always better than his reputation suggested.  But that's not the case with you, Jose.  You weren't some high-priced free agent that came aboard just when things started picking up for this franchise.  It's very different for you.  Thinking about the Mets without Jose, I can't help but shake one thing.

Damn, I must be getting old.

Not that I could have noticed at the time, but Wikipedia tells me the Mets signed you all the way back in August of 1999.  As an 11 year old, I was far too busy watching Piazza and Ventura hit the long ball.  Roger Cedeno and Rickey Henderson stealing bases.  Armando Benitez being able to close out all (most) victories.  Though I must have really cherished that 1988 NLCS trip when I was an infant, 1999 was the year of my first real playoff experience with this team.  Man, it was awesome.  And man Jose you must have been excited to be part of this team one day.

After the team just missed in 1999 and 2000, your time finally came a few years later.  And boy had things changed.  In the World Series just a few years before, the team was in the cellar during the dreaded Art Howe tenure.  We fans hated it.  But the thing that kept us going in the days of Roberto Alomar/Jeremy Burnitz/Mo Vaughn making millions off their strikeouts and Shawn Estes being unable to bean Roger Clemens was the idea that hope was on the way.  The cavalry was en route.  These kids Jose Reyes and David Wright were budding stars in the minors and would one day arrive to turn things around.  

That day came, and you guys were awesome.  Energy, excitement, youth-- with respects to Todd Hundley and Edgardo Alfonzo, you and Wright were probably the most celebrated 'homegrown' Mets of my lifetime.  Things started out a little tough for you with injuries and the Kazuo Matsui debacle, but by the time 2005 rolled around, you were ready to explode.  And with Pedro and the Carlos bashers signed, this team was ready.

The numbers help back it up, but it's no secret 2006 was the best season of my life.  97 wins?  A division title with weeks to go?  It was unlike anything the franchise had done in decades.  Looking back on it, I know that I cherished every single day of that season to the fullest (even though I'm still bitter than Billy Wagner blew that one Subway Series game in May that would have made it a sweep at Shea.)  But looking back, I probably should have appreciated it more.  With you, Wright, Delgado, Beltran, etc...it was just too easy to believe that win or lose, 2006 was the start of a special era of Mets baseball.

Unbelievably Jose, that would be the only time during your Mets career where you played in the postseason.  In the era of 'The Mets are back!' in the mid-2000's, you were part of the only 1st place team of the decade. The only one since 1988 actually.  One of only five since 1962 actually.  So you can take some pride in that.  In the spirit of keeping this letter pleasant and cordial, we won't even address the unspeakable shortcomings of this franchise in the five seasons since.  Save for a few injuries and lapses in concentration, you weren't the reason this team has fallen short.

I was still processing the thought of the Reyes-less Mets when I was listening the WFAN sports radio the other day.  Mike Francesa seemed to know you were gone all along, but now that it was official, he was interviewing GM Sandy Alderson.  His final question was to ask what Mets fans now had to be excited about when they came to Citi Field in 2012.  Alderson's response was very telling, Jose.  He stammered and juggled his words for what seemed like minutes before bellowing out some baloney about not conceding 2012 and yadda yadda yadda.  It made me remember how many fans came to the stadium in 2011 proudly sporting their 'Don't Trade Reyes!' tee-shirts.  How when you are healthy, you're the most exciting player in the entire sport, and how this past season the New York Mets 2011 campaign took a backseat to the Jose Reyes 2011 campaign.  Let the people that inexplicably want to further bury the Mets and the sparse joy their fans get mock at the fact you took yourself out of the final game to ensure the batting title.  You earned it fair and square.  And though I wish you never went out at all, it's sure good to know you went out with a bang.

But looking back, I sure do feel old.  I remember being excited about you and the future of the team during my high school days.  I remember the one glorious season surrounded by disappointment in my college years.  And it's going to be easy to one day forget the disasters of the last few seasons.  Add it all up, and it's nine seasons you sported the blue and orange uniform.  Over 13 years since you signed to be a part of this organization.  That's more than half my life!  It's tough to remember the days of Rey Ordonez and other guys playing shortstop before you came along.  And it's sure as hell gonna be tough getting used to the new guy(s) that the Mets will trot out there.

In closing, just know that I hold nothing against you taking your talents to South Beach.  Right now, it's tough to think what 2012 has in store for the Mets in terms of performance--and even worse, attendance-- but none of that is your fault.  Though this day was crazy to even think about a few years back, most fans came to grips that 2011 would be your last season for a variety of reasons.  Just know that you left this team as the most exciting player I have ever seen.  If the Mets get someone else as electrifying as you during my lifetime, I will be really, really excited.  But let's just say I'm not holding my breath.

Vaya con Dios,

Conor