All the love in the world, as we know, won’t get the Mets to the playoffs. But when one season ends another begins. Mrs. Met, for her part, refuses to frown. (A humanoid with a giant baseball for a head, she is stamped with a permanent toothless smile.) The other night, she directed her attention to next spring’s recruits: not ballplayers—brides. In the Foxwoods Club, upstairs at Citi Field, she hosted a wedding expo, with some eighty venders offering “everything you need to plan and prepare for your perfect day,” including florists, travel agencies, limo services, personal trainers, and a light-up robot on stilts.

Mrs. Met has a lot in common with her spouse, except that she has hair and eyelashes. Their relationship began in the mid-sixties, when she was going by Lady Met. (Her first name is Jan.) In the seventies, the pair started showing up at games together; each earned a hundred bucks plus all the hot dogs they could eat. Pretty soon, Mrs. Met got her new title (and, no kidding, the woman inside her married the man in the Mr. Met head). A few years later, the team phased them out; then, in 1994, Mr. Met returned, stag. According to an official team statement, “Mrs. Met has been busy taking care of her family at home in Flushing, Queens, and working part-time as an event planner.” (Other reports indicate that fans in the stands had been grabbing her legs.) When Mrs. Met rejoined the team, in 2013, she’d gone from being a redhead to a brunette.

At the expo, she stepped out in party attire. Whereas at games she suits up in uniform and wears a ponytail, for evening she lets her hair down in a perky bob and wears a little black dress; her shoes are wedges with bows. For a “first dance” showcase, she did the hustle with an instructor from the Fred Astaire Dance Studios to “Shut Up and Dance.” (Mr. Met was off for the night.)

At booths, wedding service providers made their pitches and suggested ways of catering to a Mets-obsessed guest list. Sarah Margaret, an officiant, had a ceramic Mets apple on her table. “This could be on your altar,” she said. A sand ceremony—bride and groom pour two separate vials of sand into a vessel—in orange and blue could also be arranged. “I’m interfaith,” she said. “You want faith, you want spirituality, you want the Mets? I can do that.”

David Schwartz, a magician, had an idea for a Mets-themed wedding. “I would ask people, ‘Who is the best Mets player of all time?’ And then I would read their minds.”

“There—now I’ve taught you everything I know about splitting rocks.” Facebook

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Shopping Cartoon by Gahan Wilson, April 9, 2007

Where would Joanna Kuther, who plans “custom honeymoons,” send Mr. and Mrs. Met on theirs? “On a cruise, for sure,” she said. “They need to get out of New York and see the world.” What if they roll overboard? “They’ll just float.”

True diehards can get hitched at Citi Field. “When are you getting married?” Manny Ortiz, a Mets event-sales coördinator, asked a bride-to-be. He schedules weddings on days when the team is out of town; there was no seventh-inning vows package being offered. Nor can ceremonies be held on the field; couples stand atop the visitors’ dugout. “Your guests sit in seats behind the dugout,” Ortiz explained. “There’s a static message that goes up on the screens—we can customize it for you.” In lieu of an aisle, the bride descends concrete steps. Afterward, a reception can be held in one of the stadium’s dining venues.

It was the first wedding expo Mrs. Met had hosted, and it seemed like a hit. Some five hundred people attended—brides and grooms in Mets outfits, many accompanied by patient parents. A pair of Pete Alonsos (his jersey was blue, hers white) chatted up a guy in a suit and a blue-and-orange tie about his combo service as an officiant-slash-photographer (during the ceremony, his teen-age son takes the pictures). The groom’s dad stood by holding their swag bags. “My son’s a Yankees fan,” he said. “But his fiancée, she loves the Mets. So here we are.”

Mrs. Met made the rounds, greeting fans. She does not speak. When asked where she got married, she pointed down to indicate “here.” Citi Field? A nod. Uh, wait, so, how long have you been married—the wedding wasn’t at Shea? Mrs. Met shook her head and covered her face with her big white-gloved hands.

“Have there been multiple Mrs. Mets?” a bride wondered aloud. “You never hear about the Mets divorces.” As it happened, the original couple that filled the mascot suits called it quits after twenty-five years. But getting married is kind of like rooting for the Mets, isn’t it? The slogan is “Ya gotta believe.” ♦