The ’86 Mets were the last championship team in New York to reflect the true identity of the city that never sleeps. They were the perfect sports eulogy of a pre-Bloomberg New York. They fit their time, the Ivan Boesky era, hand in glove. The city kids had taken over. It was not a team out of reach. They were not Michael Jordan. But yet they had the same kind of killer instinct. There was nothing timid, no hidden agendas. The ’86 Mets were a brawling, obnoxious, and preeminently dynamic group of guys who won big on the basis of sheer rocks. Their talent and confidence going into that year could only be matched by the city’s expectations. The smart money in baseball for once was on the Mets.