Photo Essay - A Day in My Shea Stadium Seats

41 years. Loge, Section 7, Row E, Seats 1 and 2.

A good deal of good baseball.

A whole lot of bad baseball.

A lifetime of memories with friends, relatives, and parents.

My tenure as a Saturday Plan ticket holder may be coming to an end as Shea Stadium closes in 2008. There are no guarantees that we will be invited to the Ebbets Field wannabe that sits just ten feet to the north of Shea. But, for now, there are still games. And pictures to be immortalized on the internet from last Saturday, June 28. The last Saturday Met-Yankee game that will ever be held at Shea Stadium. I could put in the disclaimer that this does not include possible post season contests.

Yeah, right. For now, enjoy this photo essay.

Here's my view approaching the now 2 stadiums of Flushing Meadows. No preferred parking for me at Shea. There was, at one junction, pre-paid reserved parking for partial plan holders. The only problem is you could never find a parking space. The lot was oversold like a Southwest Airlines flight during rush hour. For years, we have opted for the marina parking lot that is about 15 minutes of a walk away. When the Mets went through years where they stunk, there was no charge to park there. Now, there's a booth and an exchange of 15 bucks for the honor. By the way, close friends and I have long called this parking lot the "Donald Manes Memorial Parking Lot." Apparently that's where the beleaguered former Queens Borough President shot himself. The new Citi Field is perilously close to the old Shea and could easily be hit by a baseball if David Wright got hold of a fastball. The area up ahead used to be a traffic circle with a beautiful floral garden in the middle. Now, there's just concrete, exhaust fumes, and stupid people weaving between cars.

Oddly enough, I noticed this map of the stadium and the loge level for the first time last Saturday. How long has it been there? 45 years? 45 minutes? I wanted to check to see if it can be removed with burglar tools because I certainly would like this souvenir hanging in my home after the last homestand in September.

Here is the hallowed entrance to my section. What you can't see just to the right is the very conveniently placed men's room---a mere footsteps down the ramp from my seats just above. At Shea, I can easily go and empty the tank without missing a pitch. At Dodger Stadium, I have a much longer walk and generally miss at least one batter (Scully is piped in so you don't miss the action). I secretly wonder if my father had his future enlarged prostate in mind when he picked out the Shea seats on January 12, 1968.

My seats show the wear and tear of the years. They are now blue plastic, but I can remember when they were made of an orange/brown stained wood. When they switched colors and materials, they never bothered to repaint the frame which is now just plain chipped and rusty. When my dad first signed on in 1968, the cost per game was $2.50. I looked at my stub from last week's game. $67! Doesn't the extra $64.50 merit a little Rustoleum?

An in-game view from my seats. Probably the best sightline I have ever enjoyed at a baseball game. And it's all mine. The only way I get a viewpoint like this in the new Citi Field is if my last name is Wilpon.

However, most recently, this is my view more and more and more. People milling around. Walking aimlessly. Headed nowhere. Or just standing whereever they are and watching the game, regardless of who they are blocking. The usher in the middle has all the effectiveness of Donald Rumsfeld playing a game of Stratego. But, when you arrive, he is sure to stand alongside you as he wipes down the seat. And stand and stand and stand unless a dollar bill magically appears in your hand. They want tips for doing nothing at Shea. They take no tips for doing everything at Dodger Stadium. Down in front!

My view of Diamond Vision with Citi Field looming in the background. The screen and Met outfielder George Foster showed up in the same season. The screen lasted much longer. Back in my college days, you had a vista that encompassed the finest that Queens had to afford. Auto chop shops, junk yards, and projects. Oh, yeah, and the wonderful tower that beckoned you to Serval Zippers, whatever that company was. Of course, we had our own spin on the name. Serval Zippers would be adjoined to the name of any slutty college girl we knew at the time.

My view of the scoreboard, which is now just a ghetto of advertising. You'd have to be Stevie Wonder not to know that BUDWEISER is the beer sold at Shea Stadium. I liked it a lot better when that whole Budweiser sign was an electronic message board. There were always some great typos on that thing. Once, Met owner Mrs. Joan Payson was being presented with a "plague." By the way, about 20 years ago, the Mets very brazenly added a spot to give you the numbers of the umpires for the left field and right field lines. Of course, you only use them for the postseason playoffs. Only true Met fans know that, since they added those spots, the Mets have not won a World Series.

This is the guy who sits across from me in Section 5. His name is Richie and he's the quintessential NY sports fan/asshole. He hates everybody on the home team. He hates the game. He despises all people equally from Gary Carter to Darryl Strawberry to Bobby Valentine to Mike Piazza to Carlos Beltran. He shows up every Saturday and is incredibly miserable. He has the most ridiculous notion of baseball strategy. He doen't understand the game. A thoroughly maddening individual to listen to. And he's been showing up every Saturday for at least 25 years! By himself! No surprise.

Longtime team mascot Mr. Met is now used exclusively to shoot t-shirts into the crowd with an air gun. He also runs around the stands delivering free pizzas and seat upgrades to those parked in the upper deck. Last Saturday, they brought four real slobs down to the choice field level seats for the daily upgrade. Good for them, but what about the folks that now have to sit next to these Philistines? If you can afford only the upper deck, that's precisely where you need to stay.

Is there a better way to close this Shea Stadium photo essay than showing you a snapshot of my lap? With the scorebook open mid-game. A bi-coastal scorebook that follows me from Shea to Dodger Stadium to Shea and back again. I couldn't think of going to a game on either coast without the book at my side. And here's another quirk: I use blue ink for Met games and black ink for Dodger games.

Isn't this a great country?

Dinner last night: Sausage parmagiana at Peppone's.