Better Than Iowa

As those of you who read this Blog know, I’ve been smartin’ about the way the Mets handled the dismantling of Shea Stadium.

Imagine your extended family was giving an old ugly uncle of yours euthanasia. He probably could have held on for a few more years, but his immediate (adopted) family wanted to put him out of their misery. They had a party celebrating all the great things the rest of his family did that he was a part of, but they didn’t mention the tomatoes he planted for many years, the bright blue and orange squared accessories he used to like to wear in his youth before the family decided to dress him in their favorite shade of blue, or the way he used to rearrange his seats when yo came to visit, depending upon whether you wanted to watch baseball or football. The family didn’t focus on him, they didn’t want you to spend much time on him, and they certainly weren’t going to give you a real opportunity to put a period at the end of that sentence.

Sure we said good bye to the Mets at Shea with Tom Terrific and Piazza closing the centerfield gates, but we didn’t say goodbye to Shea itself, and that stuck in my craw… until Friday night.

Thanks to Rich “Chubs” Schaffer, I got to ride shotgun on the opening night of CitiField. We came in at leftfield (formerly Gate A), went up the escalator to the field level (Section 128 - gotta get used to the new naming conventions) and walked in the open air promenade to look at the place. I'll always remember the minute I spent looking out at centerfield, with those 2 big scoreboards, and all that wrought iron and brick. It kinda felt like the first night Spence was born, watching him in the nursery from behind the glass, settling in for his first night’s sleep, and falling in love with him. That’s how it felt looking at CitiField for the first time. I’m over Shea. I’m home.

I felt like I was looking at all those pictures of Ebbets Field (minus Symphony Sid). Take that bandbox, put it on steroids, and open the decks up. It’s like the Wilpons went to Baltimore, San Franciso, Philly, Cleveland, Petco and DC and said, I'll take one of these, and that, and a couple of those, and…

they've successfully “retro”ed Ebbets Field.

All night, as Rich and I explored the park – along with everyone else (no one stayed in their seats), it was like we were all giddy kids on unguided tours bumping into other. A buncha 50+ year old guys with the same shit eating grins. All over the place you heard derivations of, “the hell with Iowa, THIS is heaven”!

I can’t sit in the ballpark I went to with my dad, cause neither of them are here anymore, but I can sit in a newer version of the ballpark my father grew up in, living a newer version of what he saw. It’s probably as close to time travel as I’m going to get to (aside from watching an episode of LOST).

So the lesson (I've relearned again) is, whenever one thing ends, something else begins, and that's not necessarily a bad thing.

Now, to apply that to the rest of my life, but how bout you? What are your memories of Shea? What lemons have you/are you turning to lemonade?