Rolling the Curse: The Secret Hand Gesture That Still Haunts Mets Opponents
Rolling the Curse: The Secret Hand Gesture That Still Haunts Mets Opponents
Behind home plate at Shea in 1986, a simple fan gesture became something more: a good luck charm, a curse, and a piece of Mets magic. Here’s the story of the rolling hands that still haunt opposing pitchers — and why the tradition lives on today.
Rolling the Curse: The Secret Hand Gesture That Still Haunts Mets Opponents
I was watching the Mets game this afternoon when something caught my eye.
A few young fans, sitting right behind home plate, started making a slow rolling motion with their hands during a rally in the 8th.
And just like that — I was back in 1986.
It was a gesture I hadn’t seen in nearly 40 years. But in the fall of ’86, you couldn’t miss it. There it was on every national broadcast shot from Shea, night after night. And back then? It wasn’t just a fun little rally move. To my young eyes, it looked like a full-on curse aimed straight at the opposing pitcher.
The Memory That Never Left
If you watched the 1986 World Series as a Mets fan — or even as a casual baseball fan — you probably remember it too.
There was a small group of diehard season ticket holders who sat directly behind home plate at Shea Stadium. Their seats were always visible on the center field broadcast shot. And during tense moments, they’d start doing this odd little hand motion: fists clenched, arms extended perpendicular in front of their chest, slowly rolling their hands in a circular motion toward each other.
But what burned itself into my memory wasn’t the whole group. It was one woman in particular.
When the Mets were up, or the opposing pitcher started laboring, she’d lean in, eyes locked on the field, and roll her hands before each pitch with such eerie intensity that it felt like she was trying to hex the poor guy on the mound. It was mesmerizing — and more than a little unsettling.
To this day, I can still see her. Rolling. Staring. Willing the game to tilt in the Mets' favor.
Where It Came From
The "rolling hands" motion wasn’t an official Mets thing. It wasn’t on the scoreboard. No mascot taught it to the crowd. It started organically, as the best fan rituals do.
The core group was a handful of longtime season ticket holders. A couple of them — Howie Greenberg and Stanley Goldstein — were written about in Newsday and the Daily News. But the woman who truly made it iconic was named Barbara “Bo” Field.
Bo became a small legend in Mets circles during that postseason. One writer described her as “rolling her arms… driving Red Sox pitchers to distraction and doom.”
Photos of Bo are rare, but here’s one of her later in life — still repping the Mets with pride.
Bo Field — later in life (fan photo):
The Miracle of Game 6
If you want proof that baseball is a game of rhythms, rituals, and maybe a little magic — look no further than Game 6 of the 1986 World Series.
The Mets were down to their final out. Two outs, nobody on. And then — Gary Carter singled. Kevin Mitchell singled. Ray Knight singled — Carter scored to make it 5–4.
The crowd surged. A wild pitch to Mookie Wilson tied the game 5–5.
And then…
A little roller up along first… behind the bag! — and the miracle was complete.
And if you think I’m exaggerating about the rolling hands? Go see it for yourself.
If you watch that Game 6 clip, you’ll see Bo Field herself — the original Roller — doing the famous motion behind home plate at the height of the Mets’ miracle run.
There’s actual footage of her, fists clenched, arms extended, rolling her hands like she’s casting a spell — and this is during the most famous moment in Mets history:
After ’86, the rolling hands faded a bit. That core group moved on. Bo passed away in 2012.
But like all good baseball traditions, it never fully disappeared. Hardcore Mets fans have kept it alive, passing it down like a secret handshake.
And in a fun twist, the rolling hands gesture has even made its way onto the field. In recent seasons, Mets players — led by Pete Alonso and Francisco Lindor — have adopted a quick rolling-hands signal after base hits, flashing it back to the dugout to say “keep it rolling.”
It’s not an official nod to Bo Field’s original version — it’s a common baseball rally gesture these days — but for Mets fans, the connection is unmistakable. The players’ version is fast and punchy, the fans’ version slow and hypnotic — but both carry the same message: momentum matters.
And that’s the beauty of baseball rituals. They evolve, but they never really die.
And today — when I saw those young fans doing it behind home plate — something clicked. The old magic is still there.
Some Magic Left in It
Baseball is a game of ghosts. A game of stories, rituals, and superstition.
It’s not so different from organized religion.
The rolling hands behind home plate? That’s pure Mets magic—born in ’86, still spinning today.
And maybe there’s still a little magic left to squeeze from the shared beliefs we hold as fans. That’s why we keep rolling our hands, hoping it helps.
And maybe belief itself is the point. Jeff McNeil had to believe he could change his game completely — and did. Just like fans believe that doing something weird in the stands might tilt the outcome, even a little. I saw those kids rolling their hands this afternoon. A couple innings later, Jeff McNeil walked it off in the 10th after the Mets came back from a 4–2 deficit in the 8th against the Nationals.
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