Citi Field Redux

This is not a recent picture I took of Citi Field and what was Shea Stadium. It couldn't be. The sun is out in the photo and that hasn't been the case here in New York for about three weeks.

It was that usual dreariness that found me headed to another Saturday Met game on June 20. Fitting place to be on what was my dad's birthday. As I squinted through the windshield wipers in a driving rain storm and traversed the usual route to Shea, I could hear my father's voice echoing as always.

"It's pouring. They'll never play. What do you wanna drive all the way out there for?"

There are times when Dad was logical. There are a lot more times when I am not. And this was one of them. I had to see Citi Field again and understand whether my disconnect was still valid.

You may recall that my first visit there in April was lackluster. I found the place too quirky, too busy, too too. It had gotten to the point where I told some selected friends as late as Saturday morning that I doubted whether I would re-up for another year as a partial plan holder in the non-sexual Mile High Club that is Section 509 in the Promenade Level. I guess I wanted one more gander just to be sure.

Gander taken. I'm a little less sure. As a matter of fact, I hated the park a lot less.

Don't get me wrong. There's still a major emphasis on the selling and eating of food. And the layout still has way too many nooks and crannies---the Thomas' Muffin of baseball stadia. But, perhaps due to the wetness of the day, there was a lot less milling around, like people in a new mall trying to figure out where Target is. On Saturday afternoon, we got the proverbial weather window and the game got underway as scheduled. And it actually appeared that folks were there to watch a baseball game. Praise the Lord and God bless Casey Stengel.

Some of the misgivings I had two months ago washed away with the afternoon drizzle. You could move around the place quicker. We had parked in our old lot near the World's Fair Marina, which was unattended on Saturday and therefore a savings of 19 bucks. Approaching Citi Field from a different direction, we entered not via the cloying Jackie Robinson Rotunda but a regular old entrance gate near left field. And, to our happy surprise, we found what we missed in April. Exit ramps! Lots of them. I had previously thought that stairwells were the only way down from the Citi heavens. Wrong. I wanted to hug the sloping concrete. A hosanna to Shea.

We ambled around the field level again and saw all the nonsense. A forty-deep line for pulled BBQ pork sandwiches. The dunk tank and kiddie baseball field. But, people were less involved in them because, perhaps, the novelty has worn off already. And I saw more folks on line for more conventional ballpark fare. Hot dogs, grilled sausages, burgers. I joined them and thanked the Mets for finally doing what the Dodgers have done for years: fresh condiment dispensers.

We ran into our old Shea neighbors and current Citi neighbors, Craig and Debbie, and they seemed to be growing into the ballpark as well. Like a bad haircut, it doesn't look so bad when the hair grows in. The same can be said for Citi Field.

Of course, it's still an adjustment scaling Mount Fuji to get to your seats. And, when you stand up quickly at your seat, there is a quick shot of vertigo not experienced since Kim Novak fell out of the church tower. But, I actually discovered that the ultra-high vantage point is probably the best in the park. While I can't see the Met dugout (these days, that's a good thing), the whole field is plainly visible and I understand that it is not the case in some of the more expensive levels. But, there are still some other hiccups up in our rarified air.

---There are neat metal bannisters up the steep stairs. But they are problematic when wet. I saw so many slips and slides that I thought I was watching a Mr. Bean rerun.

---There are very few places for shelter from the elements, which is unlike Shea. If you want to wait out a rain delay (which we endured the first ever at Citi Field for an hour and thirteen minutes on Saturday) by getting a hot dog or a soda, the line for said snack is out in the rainy open.

---When I was first there in April, I was proud to know that my seats, five rows from the top of the stadium, were covered by what little overhang there is at Citi Field. During the eighth inning deluge, the roof didn't work. There are leaks around the beams, which prompted me to yell out, "Who was the construction crew here? The Three Stooges??!!!"

---There is not an usher to be found anywhere on our level. Essentially, you have to find your seat on your own. And wipe it off yourself if it's dirty.

---I don't care what the Wilpons told us. The leg room in rows, at least on the non-elite levels, is not increased. And, since the seat ahead of you is much lower, it's a little unnerving when you have to stand up. You feel like you are on the wing of an airplane with no visible support.

---Obviously, there are people still pissed about the place. Twice, I ran into irate Met fans arguing with a security, perhaps because they couldn't find ushers either. One of the fans was screaming, "You can tell the Wilpons to take this fucking place and shove it up their asses!"

Hmmmm, that didn't sound like a clogged mustard pump to me.

As for me, by the end of the day, I seemed to be in a better place with this worse place called Citi Field. Still, it's not my park and not my lifelong seats. But, after talking with our neighbors, there might be some renewable ticket life in me yet.

God, I can be such a wimp.

Dinner last night: Virginia ham sandwich.