From left to right: Keith Hernandez, Edgardo Alfonzo, David Wright, Hank McGraw, Mark McGraw, Cleon Jones, Darryl Strawberry, Jerry Koosman and Tom Seaver. (Photo: Andrew F. Johnston)

The Mets conflict The Observer. We want to love them, but they are forever out of reach, the real provenance of the beaten-down souls in blue and orange we joined Sunday night at the 92nd Street Y to unveil the Mets’ all-time team, position by position, for their 50th anniversary.

Mets fans do not radiate positivity, so our guard was up . These weren’t just fans. They were distinguished members of a social club from Flushing’s ash heaps, who aren’t going to smile for just anything. This team had two no-hitters in a week and sat a surprising three games above .500, yet were clearly on down-low gloom alert. They had gotten swept that very afternoon. But they still believe, and that is why they were here, to watch the presentation that will also air Thursday on SNY.

The format went like this: emcee Kevin Burkhardt would cue a video introducing the four “nominees” before TV man Gary Cohen and radio king Howie Rose would clumsily give away who they chose. The honoree would then be announced and slide onto the stage to answer some questions. The things that came up most in their answers: former manager Gil Hodges, the late Gary Carter and the Mets’ amazing fans, without whom we couldn’t have done it, no we couldn’t have, not at all.

The Cardinals came up quite often, too. All-time right fielder Darryl Strawberry said that before the Mets got all-time first baseman Keith Hernandez, “The Cardinals fans thought we were a bunch of pond scum, which we probably were at the time. But we were the good kind of pond scum.” (Kombucha, then?)

All-time left fielder Cleon Jones kneeled when he came to the stage, an homage to his impromptu kneeldown after catching the last out of the 1969 World Series. He escaped the ensuing sixties madness by hopping the Baltimore bullpen fence, then scurrying off to take his wife to a birthday party.

Tom Seaver’s wife told him not to cry on stage, but it didn’t work. “If there’s any person that should be right here, it’s Gil Hodges,” Seaver said, wet-eyed. Jones noted that Mets baseball in the pre-Hodges, pre-talent era was grim business. “I hated coming to the ballpark,” he said. “All we did was say, who’s gonna be the goat? Who’s going to lose the game today?”

For David Wright, that wasn’t rhetorical. Fresh off a 1-4 performance in an afternoon loss to the Cincinnati Reds, Wright showed up with his .355 batting average and perfect dimply smile and said pleasant things, until he revealed that he washed John Franco’s back as a rookie, which was less pleasant.

Hank and Mark McGraw, respectively the brother and not-Tim son of the late all-time left-handed reliever Tug McGraw, spoke for Tug, and we did not not choke up when Mark talked about how special this was, on Father’s Day. We also leaked tears of hilarity when goats Armando Benitez and Bobby Bonilla were announced as all-time finalists, and so did the hosts.

Then there was the surreal. Mets owner Fred Wilpon was there, and got a warm reception from the crowd, which hates him. That wasn’t even the strangest thing. All-time center fielder Carlos Beltran, who batted .280 in seven seasons for the Mets and is currently batting .301 for the St. Louis Cardinals, apologized to the fans for getting hurt so often, via video.

“I wish all those years I was there I could have stayed healthy,” he said, and the crowd finally had what they were waiting for: explicit remorse for their pain, by the ones that caused it. “I could have done a better job,” he continued.

Next time, kombucha.

The full list of players named to the all-time team:

C: Mike Piazza
1B: Keith Hernandez
2B: Edgardo Alfonzo
SS: Jose Reyes
3B: David Wright
LF: Cleon Jones
CF: Carlos Beltran
RF: Darryl Strawberry
RHP: Tom Seaver
LHP: Jerry Koosman
LHRP: Tug McGraw
RHRP: Roger McDowell
Manager: Davey Johnson

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We were there to watch 27 dancers compete in an “American Idol”-like competition to determine the final spots on the dance squad, whose name at the event was revealed to be the cheeky “Brooklynettes.”

While we waited, heaping cuts of Jay-Z and Biggie boomed over the loudspeakers from DJ Eleven, and we couldn’t help bopping our heads with everyone else, mouthing the words when we knew them.

We took a spot near the action, perched above the stage. Just below it mingled photographers straining their practiced bored looks and excited reporters for small-time media outlets. In just the right lighting, they looked as pretty and well-dressed as everyone else. The dancers were a blur, all flesh and movement. David Diamante, who is also the Nets’ public address announcer, emceed the contest, announcing the women by their first names. It was all very gentleman’s clubby, except for the dreadlocks down to his waist.

A screeching in our left ear led us to strike up a conversation with Long Islander Kimberly Bodden, a stylist for Brooklyn Heights’ City Chemist. She did the makeup for the auditions, and had her favorites, specifically Melissa Timothy-Tozer, the only Brooklyn-bred one of the bunch. She said Melissa’s “Brooklyn comes out” on stage when she “gets into it.” “You can tell the way they pop their bodies if their heart is into it.” We watched the bodies popping for signs, as instructed.

Ms. Bodden’s hunch was correct. Melissa, like most of the girls there, made the team. As coach Adar Wellington—a sophisticated stunner in her own right—told us, this was mostly for picking out the final few spots, and, it was implied by the TV trucks outside and presence of heavyweight Bronx-born choreographer Rhapsody Jones as one of the judges, public relations. Ms. Wellington has been working hard to mold the team and its routine into something that screams “Kings County,” forgoing her typical offseason. “You’ll know we’re in Brooklyn when we walk in,” she promised.

As designer of the team’s uniforms, David Dalrymple also tried to create something distinctly BK. He said he was “really excited about the color statement, color story,” the “sophisticated” black and white compared to the team’s bleedy old red, white and blue. As he spoke, a blur of skateboarders bloomed past in an amazing color statement, color story, totally ignoring the media circus, which included famed designer and ginger Patricia Field lamenting the 1957 move of the Dodgers before reaching for a cigarette.

A few dancers got our attention during the auditions. Jordan, from Charlotte, was a contortionist who basically separated her gummy shoulder on stage just for the whip. She was, like Ms. Field, a coppertop. Most of the dancers were blondes or brunettes. She was making it. Same with Melissa and India, who had loaded the crowd with supporters, sending them into Bieber-like hysterics when she popped her body. Her heart was into it, we think.

For Melissa, it was a commencement and coronation all at once. The LaGuardia High School graduate and Flatbush native said she immediately thought, “There’s gotta be a dance team!” when she first heard about the team’s move. She had tried out for other teams in Philadelphia, but this was serendipity, and in some ways, last night was her show, and everyone knew it. Pomp aside, 50+ gigs for a working dancer is nothing to sneeze at.

Before we left, Ms. Bodden, the stylist, sought us out. She was proud of herself for picking Melissa earlier in the night. “I told you she was good. She’s just got that energy,” she said in her Long Island brogue, then disappeared back into the colorful crowd, heading through the local hipsters for the bar, all sophistication in her black-and-white T-shirt.