Dwight Gooden Stats

Dwight Gooden was born on Monday, November 16, 1964, in Tampa, Florida. Gooden was 19 years old when he broke into the big leagues on April 7, 1984, with the New York Mets. His biographical data, year-by-year hitting stats, fielding stats, pitching stats (where applicable), career totals, uniform numbers, salary data and miscellaneous items-of-interest are presented by Baseball Almanac on this comprehensive Dwight Gooden baseball stats page.

"I'd rather let my pitching do my talking. I was blessed with a strong arm. In high school all I had to do was throw hard. In the minors all I had to do was throw hard strikes. In the majors, though, you have to spot your pitches. That's hard work." - Dwight Gooden in Boy's Life (Jim Brosnan, September 1986, 'Dwight Gooden: AMBITION UNLIMITED', Page 23) [ Dwight Gooden Quotes ]
Dwight Gooden

Dwight
Dwight "Doc" Gooden Autograph on a 1987 Topps Baseball Card (#10)

Birth Name:
Dwight Eugene Gooden ( Twitter : @DocGooden16 )
Nickname:
Dr. K - Doc
Born On:
11-16-1964  (Scorpio)
Place of Birth Data Born In:
Tampa, Florida
Year of Death Data Died On:
Still Living ( 500 Oldest Living )
Place of Death Data Died In:
Still Living
Cemetery:
n/a
High School:
Hillsborough High School (Tampa, FL)
College:
None Attended
Batting Stances Chart Bats:
Right
Throwing Arms Chart Throws:
Right
Player Height Chart Height:
6-03
Player Weight Chart Weight:
210
First Game:
04-07-1984 (Age 19)
Last Game:
09-29-2000
Draft:
1982 : 1st Round (5th) / Signing Bonus = $85,000
Dwight Gooden

Dwight Gooden Pitching Stats

G GS GF W L PCT ERA CG SHO SV IP BFP H ER R HR BB IBB SO WP HB BK HLD
1984 20 Mets 31 31 0 17 9 .654 2.60 7 3 0 218.0 879 161 63 72 7 73 2 276 3 2 7 -
1985 21 Mets 35 35 0 24 4 .857 1.53 16 8 0 276.2 1,065 198 47 51 13 69 4 268 6 2 2 -
1986 22 Mets 33 33 0 17 6 .739 2.84 12 2 0 250.0 1,020 197 79 92 17 80 3 200 4 4 4 -
1987 23 Mets 25 25 0 15 7 .682 3.21 7 3 0 179.2 730 162 64 68 11 53 2 148 1 2 1 -
1988 24 Mets 34 34 0 18 9 .667 3.19 10 3 0 248.1 1,024 242 88 98 8 57 4 175 5 6 5 -
1989 25 Mets 19 17 1 9 4 .692 2.89 0 0 1 118.1 497 93 38 42 9 47 2 101 7 2 5 -
1990 26 Mets 34 34 0 19 7 .731 3.83 2 1 0 232.2 983 229 99 106 10 70 3 223 6 7 3 -
1991 27 Mets 27 27 0 13 7 .650 3.60 3 1 0 190.0 789 185 76 80 12 56 2 150 5 3 2 -
1992 28 Mets 31 31 0 10 13 .435 3.67 3 0 0 206.0 863 197 84 93 11 70 7 145 3 3 1 -
1993 29 Mets 29 29 0 12 15 .444 3.45 7 2 0 208.2 866 188 80 89 16 61 1 149 5 9 2 -
1994 30 Mets 7 7 0 3 4 .429 6.31 0 0 0 41.1 182 46 29 32 9 15 1 40 2 1 0 -
1996 32 Yankees 29 29 0 11 7 .611 5.01 1 1 0 170.2 756 169 95 101 19 88 4 126 9 9 1 -
1997 33 Yankees 20 19 0 9 5 .643 4.91 0 0 0 106.1 472 116 58 61 14 53 1 66 8 7 0 -
1998 34 Indians 23 23 0 8 6 .571 3.76 0 0 0 134.0 580 135 56 59 13 51 0 83 3 9 0 -
1999 35 Indians 26 22 0 3 4 .429 6.26 0 0 0 115.0 532 127 80 90 18 67 3 88 4 9 0 0
2000 36 Astros 1 1 0 0 0 .000 9.00 0 0 0 4.0 20 6 4 4 1 3 0 1 2 0 0 0
2000 36 Devil Rays 8 8 0 2 3 .400 6.63 0 0 0 36.2 173 47 27 32 14 20 0 23 2 3 0 0
2000 36 Yankees 18 5 3 4 2 .667 3.36 0 0 2 64.1 274 66 24 28 8 21 3 31 1 0 0 2
G GS GF W L PCT ERA CG SHO SV IP BFP H ER R HR BB IBB SO WP HB BK HLD
16 Years 430 410 4 194 112 .634 3.51 68 24 3 2,800.2 11,705 2,564 1,091 1,198 210 954 42 2,293 76 78 33 2
Dwight Gooden

Dwight Gooden Hitting Stats

G AB R H 2B 3B HR GRSL RBI BB IBB SO SH SF HBP GIDP AVG OBP SLG
1984 20 Mets 31 70 5 14 0 0 0 0 3 1 0 14 10 2 0 3 .200 .205 .200
1985 21 Mets 35 93 11 21 2 0 1 0 9 5 0 15 9 0 0 1 .226 .265 .280
1986 22 Mets 33 81 5 7 0 1 0 0 4 2 0 16 13 0 1 3 .086 .119 .111
1987 23 Mets 25 64 4 14 0 0 0 0 4 1 0 9 5 1 0 1 .219 .227 .219
1988 24 Mets 34 90 8 16 1 0 1 0 9 1 0 18 9 1 0 1 .178 .185 .222
1989 25 Mets 19 40 1 8 3 0 0 0 1 0 0 7 3 1 0 1 .200 .195 .275
1990 26 Mets 35 75 4 14 1 1 1 0 9 2 0 15 14 1 2 0 .187 .225 .267
1991 27 Mets 27 63 7 15 3 0 1 0 6 0 0 9 8 0 0 1 .238 .238 .333
1992 28 Mets 33 72 8 19 3 1 1 0 9 1 0 16 4 0 0 1 .264 .274 .375
1993 29 Mets 30 70 5 14 2 2 2 0 9 0 0 11 6 0 0 1 .200 .200 .371
1994 30 Mets 7 12 1 2 0 0 0 0 2 0 0 1 4 0 0 0 .167 .167 .167
1996 32 Yankees 29 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 .000 .000 .000
1997 33 Yankees 20 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 .000 .000 .000
1998 34 Indians 23 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 .000 .000 .000
1999 35 Indians 26 2 1 1 0 0 1 0 2 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 .500 .667 2.000
2000 36 Astros 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 .000 .000 .000
2000 36 Devil Rays 8 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 .000 .000 .000
2000 36 Yankees 18 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 .000 .000 .000
G AB R H 2B 3B HR GRSL RBI BB IBB SO SH SF HBP GIDP AVG OBP SLG
16 Years 434 741 60 145 15 5 8 0 67 14 0 135 85 6 3 13 .196 .212 .262
Dwight Gooden

Dwight Gooden Fielding Stats

POS G GS OUTS TC TC/G CH PO A E DP PB CASB CACS FLD% RF
1984 Mets P 31 31 654 45 1.5 43 21 22 2 0 n/a n/a n/a .956 1.78
1985 Mets P 35 35 830 65 1.9 63 25 38 2 6 n/a n/a n/a .969 2.05
1986 Mets P 33 33 750 74 2.2 72 36 36 2 5 n/a n/a n/a .973 2.59
1987 Mets P 25 25 539 40 1.6 37 15 22 3 3 n/a n/a n/a .925 1.85
1988 Mets P 34 34 745 88 2.6 83 27 56 5 3 n/a n/a n/a .943 3.01
1989 Mets P 19 17 355 27 1.4 24 8 16 3 0 n/a n/a n/a .889 1.83
1990 Mets P 34 34 698 54 1.6 50 15 35 4 5 n/a n/a n/a .926 1.93
1991 Mets P 27 27 570 45 1.7 43 15 28 2 3 n/a n/a n/a .956 2.04
1992 Mets P 31 31 618 55 1.8 49 9 40 6 1 n/a n/a n/a .891 2.14
1993 Mets P 29 29 626 45 1.6 43 19 24 2 1 n/a n/a n/a .956 1.85
1994 Mets P 7 7 124 13 1.9 12 1 11 1 1 n/a n/a n/a .923 2.61
1996 Yankees P 29 29 512 36 1.2 35 9 26 1 1 n/a n/a n/a .972 1.85
1997 Yankees P 20 19 319 27 1.4 27 9 18 0 1 n/a n/a n/a 1.000 2.29
1998 Indians P 23 23 402 24 1.0 24 6 18 0 1 n/a n/a n/a 1.000 1.61
1999 Indians P 26 22 345 21 0.8 21 5 16 0 1 n/a n/a n/a 1.000 1.64
2000 Astros P 1 1 12 1 1.0 1 0 1 0 0 n/a n/a n/a 1.000 2.25
2000 Devil Rays P 8 8 110 3 0.4 2 0 2 1 0 n/a n/a n/a .667 0.49
2000 Yankees P 18 5 193 18 1.0 18 4 14 0 3 n/a n/a n/a 1.000 2.52
POS G GS OUTS TC TC/G CH PO A E DP PB CASB CACS FLD% RF
P Totals 430 410 8,402 681 1.6 647 224 423 34 35 n/a n/a n/a .950 2.08
16 Years 430 410 8,402 681 1.6 647 224 423 34 35 n/a n/a n/a .950 2.08
Dwight Gooden

Dwight Gooden Miscellaneous Stats

SB CS SB% PH PR DH AB/HR AB/K AB/RBI K/BB K/9 BB/9
1984 Mets 0 0 .000 0 0 n/a 0.0 5.0 23.3 3.78 11.39 3.01
1985 Mets 0 0 .000 0 0 n/a 93.0 6.2 10.3 3.88 8.72 2.24
1986 Mets 0 0 .000 0 0 n/a 0.0 5.1 20.3 2.50 7.20 2.88
1987 Mets 0 0 .000 0 0 n/a 0.0 7.1 16.0 2.79 7.41 2.65
1988 Mets 0 0 .000 0 0 n/a 90.0 5.0 10.0 3.07 6.34 2.07
1989 Mets 0 0 .000 0 0 n/a 0.0 5.7 40.0 2.15 7.68 3.57
1990 Mets 0 0 .000 0 1 n/a 75.0 5.0 8.3 3.19 8.63 2.71
1991 Mets 1 1 .500 0 0 n/a 63.0 7.0 10.5 2.68 7.11 2.65
1992 Mets 0 0 .000 2 0 n/a 72.0 4.5 8.0 2.07 6.33 3.06
1993 Mets 0 0 .000 1 0 n/a 35.0 6.4 7.8 2.44 6.43 2.63
1994 Mets 0 0 .000 0 0 n/a 0.0 12.0 6.0 2.67 8.71 3.27
1996 Yankees 0 0 .000 0 0 0 0.0 0.0 0.0 1.43 6.64 4.64
1997 Yankees 0 0 .000 0 0 0 0.0 4.0 0.0 1.25 5.59 4.49
1998 Indians 0 0 .000 0 0 0 0.0 2.0 0.0 1.63 5.57 3.43
1999 Indians 0 0 .000 0 0 0 2.0 2.0 1.0 1.31 6.89 5.24
2000 Astros 0 0 .000 0 0 0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.33 2.25 6.75
2000 Devil Rays 0 0 .000 0 0 0 0.0 0.0 0.0 1.15 5.65 4.91
2000 Yankees 0 0 .000 0 0 0 0.0 2.0 0.0 1.48 4.34 2.94
SB CS SB% PH PR DH AB/HR AB/K AB/RBI K/BB K/9 BB/9
16 Years 1 1 .500 3 1 0 92.6 5.5 11.1 2.40 7.37 3.07
Dwight Gooden

Dwight Gooden Miscellaneous Items of Interest

1984 New York Mets 16 $40,000.00 Stats -
1985 New York Mets 16 $450,000.00 Stats -
1986 New York Mets 16 $1,320,000.00 Stats Stats
1987 New York Mets 16 $1,500,000.00 - -
1988 New York Mets 16 $1,400,000.00 Stats -
1989 New York Mets 16 $2,416,667.00 - -
1990 New York Mets 16 $1,866,667.00 - -
1991 New York Mets 16 $2,466,667.00 - -
1992 New York Mets 16 $5,166,667.00 - -
1993 New York Mets 16 $5,916,667.00 - -
1994 New York Mets 16 $4,616,667.00 - n/a
1996 New York Yankees 11 $950,000.00 - -
1997 New York Yankees 11 $2,000,000.00 - -
1998 Cleveland Indians 16 $2,787,500.00 - -
1999 Cleveland Indians 16 $2,637,500.00 - -
2000 Houston Astros 16 $500,000.00 - -
2000 Tampa Bay Devil Rays 16 "     " - -
2000 New York Yankees 17 "     " - -


Did you know that Dwight Gooden is one of only eleven Major League ballplayers who played in both a Little League World Series & Major League World Series during his career? Did you know that Dwight Gooden threw so hard in high school that he once broke a catcher's hand and another time a catcher's wrist? Join Baseball Almanac as we allow Dr. K himself to explain what it was like to not just to make a splash, but to explode - probably like no other had ever done before - into the the big leagues:

Parade Rest (by Dwight Gooden)

GROWN MEN AND WOMEN were clapping and waving. Little children were yelling themselves hoarse. Secretaries leaned out of upper-floor windows, tossing shredded computer paper to the street. A throbbing mob of blue and orange, people as far as you could see, jammed together on the sidewalks, shouting out our names.

" Mookie , Mookie , Mookie !"

" Ray , Ray , Ray !"

Three men in shirts and loosened ties were dancing on a narrow ledge six stories up, doing a high kick they must have stolen from the Radio City Rockettes. One false step - they'd never kick again.

They didn't look too worried though. They were too stoked to care.

Big-bellied construction workers hugged total strangers, as rolls of toilet paper flew through the air. Wall Street office drones wept tears of joys. If I had to guess, I'd say zero New York children made it into school that day. Even some Yankees fans couldn't help but cheer. Anyone who beat the Red Sox was okay with them.

For only the second time in history, and for the first time in seventeen years, the New York Mets had won the World Series. We'd finished off the hated team from Boston, and now the official victory parade was rolling up Broadway. The crowds were so huge and so pumped, the wooden police barricades were no more than a suggestion. Every time an open convertible passed, another wave of fans would burst forward. Then the cops would run into the street and shoo them back.

So this is what two million people looks like?

The Canyon of Heroes, this stretch of Lower Manhattan is called, for all the great achievers who have been celebrated here. Not just sports champions, but people who really changed the world: Charles Lindberg, Douglas MacArthur, Albert Einstein, the Apollo 11 astronauts, the American hostages released from Iran - all of them have taken that slow ride up Broadway to City Hall. And now it was our turn, this bad-boy mob of talent and heart, some of the greatest guys you could ever play ball with, as loud and rambunctious as the city we'd just won it all for.

Davey in the lead card followed by two sanitation trucks with snow plows, sent to clear the knee-deep confetti.

Keith and Gary , Howard and Jesse , pumping their fists in the air. Lenny , Wally , and Tim , looking thrilled in their open cars. Darryl waved from a bright-red Cadillac. Ray Knight , the series MVP , was positively beaming. Pitcher Ron Darling's smile was so bright, he could have subbed for the lights at Shea Stadium.

Every time a politician tried to speak - Ed Kock or Alfonse D'Amato or Mario Cuomo - boos swelled up from the crowd. No one had come to hear them . The fans were there to cheer their champions - and themselves. "Thank you all for making a dream come true," our catcher Gary Carter said, and the people roared.

Of course they did. It was their dream too.

"This is so much fun," our manager, Davey Johson , told the people on the sidewalk and the many, many others watching on TV. "I think we ought to try to do it again next year."

Mookie Wilson , our switch-hitting center fielder, was thinking even bigger. "Nineteen eighty-six," he thundered, "the year of the Mets. Nineteen eighty-seven, year of the Mets. Nineteen eighty-eight, year of the Mets." Our victory was barely twelve hours old, and Mookie was already talking dynasty.

It was a glorious celebration. And right at the front of the crowd, a small boy was standing with a hand-lettered sign.

WE LOVE YOU, DOC, it said.

Too bad I couldn't thank him or even wave.

I really wish I could have. But as everyone gathered in Lower Manhattan, I was twenty-five miles away.

As my teammates rode through the Canyon of Heroes, I was alone in my bed in Roslyn, Long Island, with the curtains closed and the TV on, missing what should have been the greatest morning of my life.

I'd spent all night in a sketchy housing project apartment near the Roosevelt Field mall, getting wasted with a bunch of people I hardly even knew. I was drinking shots of vodka. I was snorting lines of cocaine. And more lines of cocaine - and more lines of cocaine. I didn't leave the drug party until after the sun came up. As my teammates toasted our triumph, I was nursing a head-splitting coke-and-booze hangover, too spent, too paranoid, and too mad at myself to drag my sorry butt to my own victory parade.

I had never felt so lonely before.

I hope I never feel that way again.

You'd have to look hard to find another young athlete in any sport who had risen so high so quickly and then fallen so hard. Too much, too fast, too young, my life was spinning wildly, and I was the one who didn't have a clue.

I'd been the National League Rookie of the Year . I was the youngest player to ever appear in an All-Star Game, and when I stepped on the mound - one, two, three - I retired the side. Three days before my twenty-first birthday, I won the Cy Young Award as the league's best pitcher. That year, I also won the pitching pitching Triple Crown , leading in wins, strikeouts and earned runs. No pitcher had done that in thirteen years, and it would take another dozen before anyone did it again. For most of that breathless run, there was truly no stopping me. Sports Illustrated called me "Dwight the Great." I was featured on the cover of Time . Nike hung a 105-foot mural of me on Manhattan's West Forty Second Street. I was facing west, coming out of my wind-up, looking like I just might hurl the ball across the Hudson River to New Jersey and beyond.

Heads up, LA!

And why not? With all that I'd accomplished as the Mets' young pitching ace, who could rule anything out?

New York's combative sportswriters could hardly agree on anything, but all of them seemed to agree on this: in a very short time at a very early age, I had become one of the most dominant pitchers in baseball, well on my way to greatest-ever territory. The Hall of Fame talk had already started. And now, to cap it all off, my team had just won the World Series in a come-from-behind seventh-game victory in front of the home crowd at Shea Stadium.

If I had died that moment, I would have died a happy man. In hindsight, that might have saved a lot of people a lot of grief - me at the top of the list.

I was still only twenty-one.

After Jesse Orosco threw his final game seven strikeout and the Red Sox were put away at last, I ran out of the bullpen, where I'd been warming up for a late-game relief call, and out to the pitcher's mound, dry-diving onto a twisted pile of my teammates. In an instant, it seemed like the whole team was there. Hugging, slapping each other's backs, rolling around together in the infield dirt. Fans were bursting past police officers in riot gear, including some cops on horseback, and jumping onto our pile. As quickly as possible, team security hustled the players off the field and into the safety of our locker room.

The party revved up fast. Champagne corks were flying as the TV crew grabbed their postgame sound bites. The players were shouting each other's names. People started pouring champagne over other people's heads. All of us agreed how great we were.

But in the early craziness of the locker room, two thoughts were crowding all the others out of my head: I gotta call my dealer. And I gotta call my dad .

My father was watching at home with my mom in Tampa. I called him from the clubhouse phone, getting it out of the way as soon as I'd had my second gulp of champagne. I always called my dad after a game. He deserved this victory as much as I did. "Yeah, it feels great, Dad - thanks," I told him before hanging up the phone. "I love you."

I traded a few more handshakes and hugs.

Then I grabbed my chance.

I didn't think anyone would notice in the excitement of the moment, and no one did. I slipped into the trainer's office, where I knew I could make the call without being disturbed. I had the number memorized. I tried to appear casual, like maybe I was ordering a pizza.

"Hey, I'll be coming by later tonight," I said to my dealer.

"Congratulations, man!" he said.

"Yeah, thanks," I said. "Just make sure you're available, okay? It's gonna be a big party."

"I got whatever you need," he told me.

The drinks were still flowing. People were still hugging and calling each other's names. Guys who'd had little squabbles during the season were making up, shaking champagne bottles, and spraying each other.

I bumped into Bob Ojeda , who was shouting, "I love you, man!" I told Ron Darling how awesome he'd pitched in the series. Lenny Dykstra , as bouncy and wide-eyed as ever, looked as though he could hardly believe he was there - or that he'd whacked that clutch game three home run.

"The parade's gonna be awesome," Lenny said to me.

"Awesome," I agreed.

We had to get up early the next morning. I knew that. We were due at the stadium in Queens between eight and nine. Then we'd all pile onto buses and ride into Manhattan for the start of the parade. But no one looked ready to call it a night. I certainly wasn't. Word went around that the party was moving to Finn MacCool's, a bar on Main Street in Port Washington, close to where many of the players lived.

I was already too drunk to be driving. I'd had three or four glasses of champagne and at least as many vodka-and-grapefruits. But I didn't give drunk driving a second thought. Back then, I never did. I walked out to the players' parking lot and climbed into my car, a gray 1986 Mercedes 300SE. I turned on the ignition and, bleary but still fairly steady, I headed in the general direction of the bar.

But I never got there.

Instead, I jumped off the Long Island Expressway at the Meadowbrook Parkway and headed south, straight for the projects.

My whole plan was to meet my dealer, buy some coke, and do a little bit - then depending on how I was feeling and how late it was, maybe circle back to Finn MacCool's and have a few last rounds with the boys.

On my way to the dealer's apartment, I stopped and picked up my friend Bobby, who lived in the same projects. Bobby wasn't a close friend, just someone I'd partied with in Tampa who lived part-time in New York. He had introduced me to the dealer a few months earlier. When I first started buying, I would give the money to Bobby, and he'd make the transaction for me. But as I'd grown bolder, I was usually buying myself.

We stopped at the dealers's apartments. I gave him the money for the drugs. Then Bobby and I headed back to his place to get high. The dealer followed us there.

Bobby's apartment was on the second floor. It was tiny, and people were already there. Bobby's sister was one of them, and there were others I didn't recognize, five or six women and seven or eight men. The music was loud - Run-DMC, Whodini, Public Enemy, old school hip-hop. The TV was on, playing game highlights with the sound off. It was the last week in October. Even though the windows were open, it was hot and stuffy in there.

Everyone congratulated me.

"Oh, man," one guy said, hugging me so hard I could feel the heavy gold chain around his neck.

"Oh, man," I said back to him.

"You're a world champion," said a woman in a shiny gold top.

Right away, the drugs came out.

I laid two lines on a mirror Bobby handed me. I slid a rolled-up dollar bill into my nose and sniffed hard. Ah, that felt good.

I did it again on the other side.

A nice, warm feeling was already sweeping through me. This, I thought, is what I had been waiting for.

The first time I remember checking the clock, it said twelve thirty. Then, what seemed like twenty minutes later, it said a little after two o'clock.

I could hear fans partying in other apartments. People were yelling outside and lighting off fireworks. If they'd only known where one of the Mets was! It was crazy, even being there. Somewhere in my mind, I must have realized that. There was no security. At any moment, the cops could have burst in, and I would have been busted. or someone could have robbed me. My $50,000 Mercedes was sitting outside.

But I didn't care. This was were the coke was, so this is where I wanted to be.

That's pretty much how the evening went.

Do a shot.

Do a line.

Talk nonsense.

Look at the clock.

Notice how late it was.

See the coke.

Do another line.

Forget about the clock.

Hear how great I am.

Do a shot.

Watch some highlights.

Bullshit with strangers.

Look at the clock.

Do another line.

And that clock was moving like you wouldn't believe. I knew I had to get up early, but I had a plan.

"I'm gonna stay here till four o'clock," I said to myself. "That'll give me time to go home, get an hour or two of sleep, grab a shower, and be at Shea in time."

The next thing I noticed, the clock said four thirty. "A couple of more lines, and I'm out of here at give," I told myself. "No matter what."

But the drugs kept coming. The shots too. People kept laughing. I was having too much fun to leave.

A girl came over and climbed onto my lap. She was pushing her breasts again me and wiggling around. We were doing everything but having sex. I'm sure if I wanted to, I could have taken her into the bedroom. But sex wasn't my top priority at that moment. I was far more interested in drugs.

"Okay, I'll stay another thirty minutes," I thought, still managing to bargain the worry away. "Then I'll get out of here."

I looked out the window at one point and felt my first wave of fear. The purple-black sky was turning ever so slightly gray. Dawn was coming soon.

"I gotten get out of here plenty soon," I decided.

But I was still bargaining. Drug addicts are always bargaining with themselves.

Deciding to stay another fifteen minutes seemed totally logical to me. And then another. I was dripping with sweat. My eyes were totally bloodshot. My clothes stank. But I kept recalculating. I could still rush home, take a shower, get to the stadium, and make the parade. I was resigned to the fact that I wouldn't get any sleep. But I'd gone without sleep before. How often would my team win the World Series?

The coke was keeping me up. The booze had been keeping me mellow, though not so much anymore. Both of them had clearly wrecked my judgement.

The sun through the window slammed me hard.

"Uh-oh," I finally realized. "That's not good."

It was after six thirty by then.

Everybody was talking. But suddenly, the voices all sounded like noise. I didn't want to talk to anybody anymore, and I didn't want anyone talking to me.

The TV was shifting to the morning shows. The game highlights were still on the screen. I was on the couch where I'd been laughing and talking for hours. Now I was staring straight ahead. This wasn't fun anymore.

"I'm in no condition to drive," I thought. "Maybe if I do a line, it'll pick me up and I can get out of here."

I did another line, and things got worse.

"This is stupid," I said to myself. "You shouldn't even be here."

One guy looked at me and smiled. "You're a real dude," he said. A real dude? I was a real mess. That's all.

When I first walked in with Bobby, everyone was saying, "There's a hero." What were they thinking now? It was more like, "Look at that fuckin' guy."

As sunshine filled the small apartment, my high was evaporating fast. You can't say I was sober. After all I'd put into my body, that made no sense at all. I was just feeling numb and disgusted.

I still had some coke left. But without saying good-bye to anyone, I put the drugs in my pocket and quietly skulked out of there. I was praying no one would see me in the project parking lot.

I looked like crap. I smelled like crap. I can't vouch for my driving. As I drove toward home with the sun streaming in the passenger window, I was still sweating out of control.

And then I totally lost it.

I started crying, sobbing loudly, literally blubbering in the car.

This was pathetic.

I couldn't go to the parade this way. I knew that. But how could I not go? Everyone would know what I'd been doing all night. Or at least they would suspect.

My mind was racing nowhere. Everything was pouring down at once.

I walked into my empty apartment and started taking off my clothes. I was thinking I could get a quick shower and maybe still make the parade.

I had messages on my answering machine. The first three were from the Mets' PR man, Jay Horwitz.

"Hey, Doc, just calling to make sure you're up for the parade."

"Doc, you up?"

"Doc, let me know if you need a ride. No problem. We can send a car."

Just then, I heard a knock on the door. A loud bang, really. I didn't look outside, but I was pretty sure it was D Darryl Strawberry . Darryl lived in the next complex over. A lot of times, we'd ride to the park together. Either he would drive or I would drive. I couldn't remember what plans we'd made the night before.

But I didn't answer. I was too dejected and scared. After a few more bangs, the knocking stopped.

I finally got the courage to get into the shower. When I came out, I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. I looked horrible.

In my insanity, I thought if I did one more line, maybe I would get the boost I needed. So I did another line.

The phone kept ringing. I heard my mother's voice on the machine. "Honey, are you on your way to the parade?" The Mets must have called her in Florida. My girlfriend, Carlene, called too. And Jay called again. "Hey, Doc. We're worried. Wherever you are, we'll send a car."

I started putting my clothes on. I wasn't sure what I should do. But who was I kidding? I was in no condition to go anywhere, much less to ride in front of two million people at the victory parade.

"Oh my God," I thought. "What am I going to do?"

If I did one more line, I thought, maybe my heart would explore and I would die. Or maybe I could buy an airplane ticket and go somewhere far and hide. I could stay away long enough that people would forget I wasn't there.

No answer seemed any good. What could I say when people started asking? Major League Baseball had called me in during the season. There were already rumors about me and drugs. This would prove everything. Who would believe me now?

I took off the clothes I'd just put on. I pulled on some shorts and a T-shirt. I climbed into bed and turned on the news, thinking, "I'd better watch this. I know they're gonna say something about me."

But as soon as my head hit the pillow, it seemed like the live parade coverage began. I couldn't have started that quickly, but that's how it seemed to me.

I stared at the TV through narrow, squinting eyes. And that's how I watched my own victory parade.

I saw Mookie and Darryl , Keith and Ray , and all the Mets I had played with.

I heard Davey talk and politicians get booed. I saw a kid with a hand-lettered sign.

Source: Doc: A Memoir . Dwight Gooden. New Harvest Publishing. June 4, 2013. Page vii - xviii. Reprinted with permission from publisher.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED, this is only the introduction of a 300+ page autobiography by Dwight Gooden - one every baseball fan should add to their baseball bookshelf today.

Bob Feller ( 1938 All-Star Game ), Dwight Gooden ( 1984 All-Star Game ) and Bryce Harper ( 2012 All-Star Game ) are the only teenaged Major League players in history to be named to a Midsummer Classic .

In July 1995, the famous longstanding Dwight Gooden Times Square mural, which he mentions up above, was replaced with a Charles Oakley mural. That landmark Dwight Gooden mural was part of the New York City landscape for over ten years, but it's time was over. The mural was taken down. The awards were gone. But Doc still stood on the mound, still struggled with his demons, and still had skills. Enough to throw a gem versus a powerful lineup that included Ken Griffey, Jr. , Edgar Martinez and young powerful shortstop named Alex Rodriguez :
Dwight Gooden No Hitter
Dwight Gooden No Hitter | Photo by The New York Post | May 15, 1996 | Photoshop by Baseball Almanac

Dwight Gooden No Hitter (Box Score: May 14, 1996 )

Long before he took the mound Tuesday May 14 , for the AL East's first place Yankees, many thought the career of Dwight (Doc) Gooden was over. Before the 1996 season, the 31-year-old hurler had not pitched in the big leagues since June 1994 when he was suspended for violating his drug aftercare program, and he had not had a winning season since 1991.

Gooden was trying to make a comeback, but had only a 1-3 record as he faced the AL West's second place Seattle Mariners and Sterling Hitchcock before a crowd of 20,786 at Yankee Stadium. With Gooden struggling and trying to overome his various troubles, a no-hitter was the last thing on anybody's mind, least of all the hurler's, whose father Dan was scheduled to undergo open heart surgery the next day.

But, looking like the Gooden of old, the one-time flamethrower set down the powerful Mariners without a hit. Relying mainly on his trademark fastball, Gooden struck out five and walked six while throwing 134 pitches. Seattle hit nine fly balls to the outfield, several of which required spectacular catches by the Yankees.

Especially spectacular were two great grabs by center fielder Gerald Williams , who made a superb running catch of Alex Rodriguez's smash in the first inning and a shoestring catch of a sinking liner by defending AL batting champion Edgar Martinez in the sixth.

Gooden had a shaky first inning. He walked leadoff batter Darren Bragg . Rodriguez followed with his blast to the warning track that looked like a sure double. Williams , subbing for the injured Bernie Williams hauled it in, then threw to cut-off man Derek Jeter who fired to Tino Martinez at first to double up Bragg . Ken Griffey walked, but was stranded when E. Martinez lined out to deep right.

In the second, Paul Sorrento drew a one-out walk, but after Dan Wilson flew out to right, was forced on Joey Cora's grounder to second. Russ Davis opened the third with a fly to the warning track in right. One out later, Rodriguez walked, only to die at first as Griffey went down swinging.

Seattle didn't get a runner on base again until the sixth when T. Martinez booted Bragg's hard grounder with the runner taking second as the ball caromed into the stands. Bragg moved to third on Rodriguez's ground out, and stayed there as Griffey struck out and Williams made another brilliant catch on E. Martinez liner to center.

The Yankees scored both their runs in the bottom of the sixth on a sacrifice fly by T. Martinez and a single by Jim Leyritz .

Gooden seemed to get stronger as the game progressed, retiring nine batters in a row, including Cora on a fly to right. Davis on a grounder to the mound, and Bragg on strikes in the eighth.

In the ninth, Rodriguez drew another walk to start the inning. T. Martinez then snatched Griffey's hard grounder and dove to the bag to beat the runner. E. Martinez walked, but Gooden fanned Jay Buhner on a 2-2 pitch. Then he got Sorrento to hit a high pop on a 1-2 pitch that Jeter squeezed at short for the last out.

Gooden went on to post an 11-7 for the season in what could be considered a comeback of epic proportion.

Last-Modified: August 21, 2018 10:52 AM EST

Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac18 Jan
Willie Mays, in 1955, had 51 HRs & 24 SB, 1st in #MLB history with a 50-20 season. Brady Anderson, born OTD1964, di… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac17 Jan
Carl Hubbell went 23-12 in '33, won MVP & signed a new contract OTD1934, a $6,000 raise. On #BaseballAlmanac, you c… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac16 Jan
TRIVIA TIME: He died OTD1965. He set the still-standing #MLB record for triples in a season by a rookie. [Answer:… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac16 Jan
OTD1974: The Baseball Writers' Association of America (@officialBBWAA) put Mickey Mantle & Whitey Ford in the Hall… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac16 Jan
Happy Birthday Brooks Conrad. Born OTD1980, he hit a walk-off super slam, making a little #MLB history, making a li… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac16 Jan
CURT FLOOD: OTD1970 he filed a $1 million lawsuit against Commish Kuhn & MLB, alleging violation of federal antitru… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac15 Jan
It's only "Haderade" days until Opening Day 2020! Number 71 has been worn 70 times, first by Johnny Hodapp in 1929.… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac15 Jan
NOT A TOPPS TYPO: Mike Marshall, born OTD1943, appeared in 106 games in 1974, setting NL / MLB record for most game… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac15 Jan
OTD1942: The President of the United States, Franklin D. Roosevelt, sent his "Green Light Letter" to the Commission… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac15 Jan
Baseball Movie Checklist: When "For The Love of the Game" was released, in 1999, we built this page, and we now hav… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac15 Jan
@expos_exposed You nailed it! The name stuck with him, and clearly inspired him to record the song later in his life.
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac14 Jan
#TuesdayTrivia: You know who that future #HOF pitcher is on the left (@ClaytonKersh22), but did you know Kersh face… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac14 Jan
OTD1928: Alfred James Reach passed away. His business, A.J. Reach Company, was once the largest manufacturer of spo… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac14 Jan
Happy Birthday to Terry Forster. DYK he once appeared on the David Letterman show AND he once recorded a novelty so… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac14 Jan
You are welcome Kyle, and if we can EVER make that piece of cake even better, please don't hesitate to let us know… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac13 Jan
Bob Forsch: Born OTD1950. DYK he was the first pitcher in MLB history to win a Silver Slugger Award? Read about his… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac12 Jan
Searching through OLD issues of The Boston Globe (@BostonGlobe) courtesy of Newspapers (@_newspapers) to find a sol… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac12 Jan
Why is Bill Madlock happy? Because today is his birthday! And, he won four batting titles. And, he once made a litt… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac11 Jan
UPDATED: Patsy Tebeau. Added GREAT quote about his perspective on the way baseball should be played. Then, I integr… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Baseball Almanac@BaseballAlmanac11 Jan
@rip_mlb @baseball_ref I appreciate you tagging us. We were using the date from his actual death certificate, but I… twitter.com/i/web/status/1…
Desktop Version