He was sitting on a seat in the Riverfront Stadium home dugout, half paying attention to the ballgame in front of him, half paying attention to nothing at all. Doug Flynn was 26 years old on the evening of June 15, 1977, a backup second baseman with Cincinnati who, over the course of two-and-a-half big league seasons, had hit .275 in 378 at-bats.

Although he had won two World Series rings with the Big Red Machine, in the Queen City Flynn was only slightly more famous than Bernie Stowe, the team's equipment manager. He was Joe Morgan's caddy. A spare part. An end-of-the-bench nobody. A scrub.

Midway through the game, for no particular reason, Flynn looked out toward the field and noticed Pete Rose, the Reds' star third baseman, engaged in an animated discussion with several players in the Phillies' dugout. "I wonder what that's all about?" Flynn thought to himself.

At inning's end, Rose returned to the bench, made a beeline for Flynn and patted him on the leg. "You're gone," Rose said.

"Um, what?" replied Flynn.

"The guys over there say you've been traded to New York for Tom Seaver."

Tom Seaver in the dugout. Associated Press

Flynn was dumbfounded. Ever since signing out of a tryout camp for $2,500 six years earlier, the Reds had been the only franchise he'd ever known.

"Straight up?" he asked, realizing the raw inanity of the words as soon as they departed his lips.

"No," laughed Rose. "Not hardly."

With that, Flynn walked into the clubhouse to gather his belongings.

With that, one of the most famous—and in New York, infamously—lambasted trades in major-league history was completed.

Thirty-four years later, the epic deal—Seaver to the Reds for Flynn, pitcher Pat Zachry and outfielders Steve Henderson and Dan Norman—is a hot topic once again. As the Mets battle to stay near .500, while playing before swaths of empty seats for an ownership group crippled by financial implosions, more and more people are questioning whether the team will unleash the Midnight Massacre II by ridding itself of Jose Reyes, the All-Star shortstop in the final year of his contract.

Like Seaver, who was 7-3, with a 3.00 ERA at the time of the swap, Reyes (.338 average, 56 runs, 26 stolen bases through Thursday) is without question the Mets' best player. Like Seaver, who was 32 at the time, Reyes, 28, is in the prime of his career. Like Seaver, Reyes is beloved by the fans in Flushing, who view him as the high-energy centerpiece of a team that, quite frankly, lacks high energy. Like Seaver, Reyes is often the only reason to watch the Mets play.

Like Seaver... well, never mind. "The comparison isn't a good one," says Marty Appel, a baseball historian who spent much of the 1970s as the New York Yankees media relations director. "Tom Seaver was an icon. Tom Seaver was the franchise. Trading him was like the Braves trading Hank Aaron or if the Pirates traded Roberto Clemente. Jose Reyes is a great player. But is he what Tom Seaver was to the city? Not even close."

An emotional Tom Seaver at the news conference announcing the deal. Getty Images

"The circumstances of our trade were very unique," says Zachry, the 1976 co-NL Rookie of the Year and a centerpiece of the deal. "That sort of thing doesn't take place very often, and may well never happen again."

Indeed, back in 1977 organizational ineptitude crippled Shea Stadium. Four years had passed since the "Ya Gotta Believe" Mets won the National League pennant, and in that span M. Donald Grant, the team's chairman, turned a roster filled with young, proud, passionate gamers into sludge. In the spring of 1976 the Mets had signed Seaver to a three-year, $675,000 contract, making him the game's highest-paid player. Four months later, however, a new collective bargaining agreement ushered in unrestricted free agency, and Seaver's riches now looked downright paltry.

According to several former teammates, Seaver, who could not be reached for comment, was actually thrilled by the economic opportunities afforded players—but livid over the Mets' refusal to engage. As the cross-town Yankees added one big name after another, the Mets did nothing, prompting their ace to ask, "How can you not even try?" Those words—along with mounting resentment over his contract—led to war.

Dick Young, at the time the city's most famed, confrontational and ownership-friendly columnist, began to regularly slam Seaver in the Daily News, referring to him as an ingrate who should have greater appreciation for Grant and the franchise. Seaver actually agreed to an extension with the club, but when Young ripped him one last time, in a personal manner, Seaver had enough. He demanded to be traded ASAP.

The Mets were in Atlanta, facing the Braves, when a deal was completed.

"We'd heard the rumors, but when it finally happened we were shocked," says Bob Myrick, a pitcher with the club. "It was like letting air out of a balloon. We weren't a very good team. But to get rid of our ace? It made no sense."

That same day, the Mets shipped Dave Kingman, their star slugger, to the Padres. The Massacre was complete.

And yet, was it really a massacre? Though Worst Trade lists almost always include Seaver-to-the-Reds, the results—from the Mets' end—weren't that awful. Flynn started for 4½ years in New York, winning a Gold Glove in 1980. Zachry was a rotation mainstay for 5½ seasons, going 41-46 for some dreadful teams. Henderson batted .290 or better in three of his four seasons with the Mets and Norman, well, Norman never panned out.

"Look, we played hard and we represented New York well," says Zachry, who lives in Woodway, Texas, where he works as a physical education teacher. "But when a trade involves someone as legendary as Tom Seaver, it's hard to live up to that standard. I suppose that's the risk of trading a star. The return package has to be good.

"It better be awfully good."