Shea Hey

It's happening. It's really, really, really happening.

I had tuned into the Mets' opening day festivities before I left for the Dodger home opener. Beyond the centerfield fence, a landscape, once adorned with chop shops, scrap metal, and Serval Zippers, now features a single huge crane. And I was close. I mean, I thought it could reach down and pick up Carlos Beltran the seats of his uniform pants. It was a huge ugly monstrosity and I thought we had seen the last of those when Mo Vaughn left the Shea Stadium clubhouse buffet table. And then it dawned on me...

In two years, Shea Stadium will be gone. My processing will need to begin. Admittedly, losing Shea will be easier for me now that I spend 75% of my year (both calendar and baseball) in another National League city. But, what will come flooding back to me like the overflowing Raritan River will be memories. Of my childhood. Of Saturday afternoons and nights. Of George Theodore hitting Don Hahn on the warning track like an Acela train would run over a stray cat. Of the girl in Loge, Section 5. Of the dentist and his grandson in the row behind me in Loge, Section 7. The memories will return slowly, and, by August 2008, frequently. It is the last tangible thing still remaining from my childhood. And, unfortunately, even that now has an expiration date.

But, there will be more on that in subsequent days, weeks, and months.

What struck me about the picture shown above is how damn close that new park is. I hear there's literally ten feet separating Shea's outer fence from the construction site. And I am thinking that, as the new place goes up, it's going to seriously impact shadows and wind conditions at Shea. It's a matter of time before David Wright gets a hold of one in Shea and sends it over to Shitty Field, probably forcing some construction workers to drop their bologna sandwiches and scurry for cover. Of course, saying that parking at Shea the next two years will be a nightmare is like saying George Bush has had some bumpy moments in his administration.

The Mets have announced that the old Shea Stadium will not be imploded as they normally do with all those other baseball toilet bowls built during the late 60s and early 70s. (Remember beautiful Veteran's Stadium in Philadelphia?) Instead, they plan to dismantle Shea piece by piece and sell it off to fans. Well, I want to reserve the cement stairway block in Section 1 of the upper deck. It should be easy to remove: the damn thing has been loose for twenty-six years. Somewhere I still have the letter I got from Joan Payson's daughter, Lorinda De Cirque de Soleil, after I complained when I almost broke my neck going for a hot dog.

And, as I wrote in an earlier post, Shea Stadium hot dogs are not something you spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair for.

Dinner last night: my favorite turkey burger at the Cheesecake Factory.