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A [url=http://www.forbes.com/2008/07/17/baseball-stadium-mets-oped-cx_tvr_0718shea_print.html]damn fine article[/url] in Forbes by Tom Van Riper.
]Opinion
Where It's All About The Game
Tom Van Riper 07.18.08, 6:00 AM ET
Come October, a classically original New York City baseball stadium will shut its gates for the last time. For decades, it's played host to thousands of games, thrilling pennant races, countless Hall of Famers and World Series drama.
Yes, Shea Stadium, home of the New York Mets, where my father took me to my first game on Helmet Day in 1970 (Nolan Ryan started for the Mets in a 4-3 win over the Astros), is playing out its final season.
You thought maybe I meant that other stadium across town? No, you already knew that Yankee Stadium is also in its final season. You've been told about that over and over (and over) again. The violins and countless tributes to Yankee Stadium that began in April and reached a fever pitch during All-Star week will no doubt continue through the last out this fall. The never-ending theme: A classic original has its swan song.
The only problem is that Yankee Stadium is not a classic original. The building where Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio et al. became legends? It was wrecked in 1973. Contrary to the prevailing myth, Yankee Stadium went through more than a "face lift" back then. It was closer to a razing and rebuilding. Same name, same grounds--but the stadium isn't a classic in the vein of Fenway Park or Wrigley Field. It's more of a '70s monstrosity. And, like disco, it was outdated about five years after its 1976 debut.
Shea Stadium has had its share of tweaks over the years. But it's still the same building that opened in 1964, right next door to the grounds of the New York World's Fair. In fact, the Mets debut game there coincided with the day Ford unveiled the Mustang right next door.
For fans looking for a baseball museum, complete with bars up and down the neighboring block, Yankee Stadium is the place. But the essence of being a sports fan is going to a stadium to actually, you know, see the game--aesthetics be damned. And to have fun doing it. On that score, it's just no contest.
At Shea, fans chant "Let's Go, Mets." At Yankee Stadium, they give the Bronx cheer. Shea Stadium has had the wave; Yankee Stadium the one-finger salute. Shea Stadium has Mr. Met entertaining the kids and a red apple popping out of a hat after home runs. Yankee Stadium has liquored-up "bleacher creatures" performing an inane roll call of player names as the game is about to start.
Shea has four retired numbers on its left field wall: for Casey Stengel, the Mets' original manager; Gil Hodges, who died while still manager in 1972; Tom Seaver, the greatest player in franchise history; and for Jackie Robinson, whose number was permanently retired by Major League Baseball in 1997. I've lost count of how many retired numbers line Yankee Stadium's left field wall. At last check it was something like 1,800--one for every player who ever hit at least 0.260 in a season.
In a nutshell, Shea Stadium is fun; Yankee Stadium is stuffy. Setting the tone in the Bronx is veteran public address announcer Bob Sheppard, a.k.a. the voice of God. With all due respect to the renowned Mr. Sheppard, a Yankee Stadium fixture for over five decades who has been ill and on the sidelines this season, his ultra-serious baritone delivery never did much for me. Who wants the players introduced by Dudley Moore's butler in Arthur? Sheppard's opening remarks each night might as well go something like this:
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Yankee Stadium, the royal cathedral of sports, where we take our baseball very seriously. Talking is to be limited to a whisper. Anyone who fails to genuflect toward Monument Park at the end of each inning, as house rules require, will be ejected. And please note: No fun is allowed at any time."
Funny how Yankee Stadium was generally thought to be a dump in the early 1990s, when owner George Steinbrenner, threatening a move to New Jersey, constantly whined about narrow aisles, leaky pipes, a shortage of luxury suites and limited parking. The team stunk then too. But by 1996, when Joe Torre and Derek Jeter arrived to lead the Yankees back to championship glory, the stadium somehow became iconic.
Thanks, but I'll take Jerry Koosman jumping into his catcher's arms after the final game of the 1969 World Series, completing the Mets' journey from laughingstock to champions.
Tug McGraw fighting off the fans as he ran for the dugout after the final out of the 1973 playoff upset over the Reds, which sent the team to its second World Series in five years.
Tom Seaver mowing down opponents during the '70s, then coming back to a packed house as a Cincinnati Red in August of 1977 as loyal fans cheered his victory over his old (and their own) team. For one day, a message to management that dared trade Tom Terrific was more important than a win.
Shea is whooping it up with my father as 19-year-old phenom Dwight Gooden whiffs 12 Dodgers one night in 1984, the "K Corner" patrol in the left field upper deck acknowledging each one with a sign. Plate umpire Doug Harvey, normally as staid as they come, got so into the atmosphere that night that he took to ringing up Dodger hitters with more and more dramatic flair as the game progressed, sending the crowd into frenzy.
Shea is Darryl Strawberry and Mike Piazza taking curtain calls after hitting bombs, and Jose Reyes clapping his hands after stretching a double into a triple. And, of course, the way the place shook when Ray Knight stomped on home plate with the winning run of the sixth game of the 1986 World Series, just moments after all seemed to be lost.
Meanwhile, dad and I are set to come full circle, with tickets in hand for the July 25 Mets-Cardinals game at Shea. It's our last one, 38 years after Helmet Day. The only drag will be the sight of Citi Field, the Mets' new state-of-the-art home that opens next season, just beyond the outfield fence; a sober reminder that an era has passed. Am I just being a sappy sentimentalist, ignoring the economic realities of 21st-century baseball? Well, of course. But I have no apologies. We're all entitled to mourn the passing of our youths.
Right now I tell people I'll never go to Citi Field, that my run ends when Shea closes down. Of course, I'll probably weaken eventually, especially because I've got a two-year-old son of my own. Citi Field is where he'll collect his memories. But I've already got mine. So thanks, Shea, it's been a great ride. You are a true original. |
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