Cliff Floyd doesn’t remember the exact game, the exact date.
“It was one of those times I was hurt,” he says with a laugh. “Too many of those.”
What he recalls, in high definition and high fidelity, is what happened as he stepped out of his car in the player’s parking lot, which was beyond the outfield at Shea Stadium. It was the middle of a game, middle of the season — “Some random Tuesday in May or July,” Floyd says — and as Floyd began to walk to the Mets clubhouse, it happened.
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