IT'S A DUMP, BUT IT'S OUR DUMP


For the fist time since it opened, I'm missing a home Bengals game at Paul Brown Stadium.  The list of things that would pull me away from a Bengals/Browns game, an afternoon picnic with Jules Asner, maybe a backyard acoustic Bruce Springsteen concert, and the sendoff to the place where I fell in love with baseball.

Shea Stadium closes today.  You know I'm a Mets fan (one day I'd like to write about how I was told I'm not supposed to share that with anyone, but doesn't your average sports fan get that a guy is attached to the first team he became a fan of?) and today is huge.  Not only can the Mets stave off last day elimination for the second straight year, but the place they've called home for 45 years shuts down after the season.  Today is the final planned regular season game. 

Shea has been called a lot of things:  a toilet bowl, dumpy, stench ridden, and a bunch of stuff I'm not allowed to print.  Most of it is true, though most of the people offering up the criticism have either never been there or never ventured out of the press box to walk around the park.  The concourses are too small, the restrooms are tiny, the escalators rarely work, the ushers make the GABP fossils seem as perky as Richard Simmons on speed, the seats are falling apart, and it looks every bit that much like Elizabeth Taylor, it stopped taking care of itself some time in the early 80s.

It also saw some pretty cool stuff within its confines.  The most improbable World Series ever in 1969 (sorry '90 Reds), the most improbable comeback in World Series history (10/25/86), the Grand Single, Tom Seaver whiffing 19 Padres in 1970 (a record at the time), Rose v. Harrelson, the Jackie Robinson ceremonies in 1997, Todd Pratt's walkoff in 1999, among many, many others.

Shea wasn't limited to baseball.  It hosted the Beatles, The Who, The Pope, Joe Namath, and Springsteen.  Lord Tariq and Peter Gunz also filmed a music video there.  They were wearing Yankee gear the entire time, but far be it from me to make fun of their confusion.

Most important, it hosted some huge moments in my life.  I saw the Mets score 5 runs in the ninth against Curt Schilling to win in 1999.  Mike Alessi's mom took us to see them clinch the NL East against Philly in 1988.  Dan Freeman and I scored two high school girls' phone numbers there in 1991.  They were bum digits, but for a night, we were studs.  My friend Kenny's fake ID bought us about 19 beers there in 1997.  On the 20th, it was confiscated and we were told we could leave.  In 2002, my wife met my friend Carrie at Shea, which sucked.  In 1999, my buddy Nick met his wife there while I entertained the decidedly far heavier friend, which didn't.  At least for Nick.

Most important, on July 25th, 1984, a dad took his kid to the ballpark and a love affair with a team and a sport was born.  I can remember the events of that day like it was yesterday.  The first time I saw the inside of a Major League Baseball park, the sound of the first homer I witnessed (Darryl Strawberry), and the first time I ever saw a man volunteer to squeegie my dad's car windows, then berate him for not giving the guy money.

There will be decidedly less pomp and circumstance for Shea's closing than for the other ballpark in New York last week, which is appropriate.  The Yankees gave their stadium a proper sendoff, but the problem is, they had to share it with the everyone else.  Shea might not have the history, the tradition, or the Bronx youths breaking into your car next door that Yankee Stadium did, but it had a charm all it's own that those of us who decided to root for the less fascist will always remember and enjoy.  And the Shea goodbye won't lack for star power, the greatest player of all time (Willie Mays), the greatest living pitcher (Tom Seaver), and the greatest offensive catcher ever and holder of the best press conference of all-time (Mike Piazza) will be among the legends in attendance for the farewell.  And none of them will be animated.

Shea's doors close.  The memories will remain.  The Browns and Bengals will both be just as awful on the DVR Monday, and if they choke in the final game of 2008 I'll feel decidedly less sentimental about the 'ol dump.  And if that happens and the Bengals impersonate an actual NFL club, I'll punc myself in the face for missing the game.  But for now, thanks Shea, and thanks Dad.  Two underappreciated ones of a kind who deserve their due.

(I'm off on Monday, back on Tuesday)