Op-Ed
Shea-ing Goodbye, One Last Time
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Saturdays Excepted
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Ow!
What the hell?
Ow! Seriously — what’s going on here?
Ow! Jeez! Are you pulling out my seats? Ripping out my home run wall too? And my bathrooms? You’re gutting my bathrooms?
Really? So soon? The last game was a week ago YESTERDAY! The end of the season hasn’t even sunk in yet, and you’re pulling me apart? Just like that? Ripping me limb from limb?
Sigh. Alas, such is life for the “other” stadium in New York, I suppose.
I’m not long for this world, but everyone’ll miss me when I’m gone. I’m positive of that.
Sure — I might be dirty and old. I might lack the history of that other building (if you make me call it a “cathedral,” I might puke) over in the Bronx. And I know that that other stadium’s got a first-person article like this one in Sports Illustrated, and I’m over here in the — wait, what school’s paper is this? — oh yeah, The Cornell Daily Sun. But, I’ve got (or, I guess, had) something that that building never did — character.
While people from out of town might have called me a “dump” or a “cesspool” or a “toilet,” Mets fans knew me as “home” or at the very least “our dump.”
My music was too loud sometimes. And the scoreboard had intermittent issues. My foodservice was routinely terrible, and my bathrooms were crowded and icky. And the team wasn’t very good for large swaths of years.
But that was all part of my charm. That was part of the experience. And you’ll all miss me. I know you will.
You’ll miss me because getting into my replacement next door will be more expensive and more difficult.
You’ll miss me because my games over there will be more a corporate, and less fan-oriented experience (no matter what they say).
You’ll miss me because of the memories contained within my walls. Although I admit I didn’t house 26 championship teams and several no-hitters and perfect games, I didn’t need to. I’m proud of my history.
I housed the 1969 Miracle Mets.
Tug McGraw coined the phrase “You gotta believe!” within MY walls in 1973.
A ball off of Mookie Wilson’s bat tricked through Bill Buckner’s legs in 1986 near MY first base.
Todd Pratt hit a series-clinching home run over MY centerfield wall in 1999.
A little over a week later, Robin Ventura hit a one-of-a-kind grand-slam-single to send the National League Championship Series back to Atlanta.
The next year, Benny Agbayani hit a game winning home run in the 13th inning of a playoff game after the team beat Giants closer Robb Nen in the eighth inning of the same game.
The Mets went on that year to beat the Cardinals to win the National League Championship Series — on MY field.
And you Yankee fans out there know what happened next — so you can’t say you don’t have fond memories of games held within my walls.
In September 2001, I was honored to host the first sporting event in New York after the September 11th attacks. It was an emotional night for me and for everyone in this city. Some might say it was the most important game I’ve housed. And Mike Piazza made sure to make the outcome of the game memorable.
2006 was a fun year that ended a little disappointingly, and the last couple years have been kinda rough.
But I know in a couple years everyone will look back on me fondly.
Because I’ve hosted the Beatles, Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, and the Pope.
Because I’ve also been home to the Jets and the Yankees.
Because I was home to the Mets and Yankees ON THE SAME DAY in 1998 (yeesh — that was a rough day for me).
Because I was fun.
It’s nice knowing that they’re not just going to throw me in the garbage can.
I’m told they’re taking parts of me next door. I think it’s going to be the skyline atop my scoreboard and the home run apple (which, incidentally, will no longer be used in-game. They’ll get a new apple for that).
People are also buying parts of me. Frankly, I’m kinda curious who’s going to pony up the dough for my foul poles and the entire Mets dugout.
Apparently they’re going to be using my lights, toilets and sinks in parks around the city. I’ve never actually been outside of Queens — so it should be a fun adventure.
So, while I might have always been thought of as the “other” ballpark in New York, and while they’re ripping me apart without much fanfare (I think an implosion would be much cooler than a gradual dismantling), don’t worry about me. I’ve had a good run.
Thanks for the memories.
Eric Finkelstein ’06 is a former Sun managing editor and a third year student in the Law School. He can be reached at efinkelstein@cornellsun.com. Saturdays Excepted appears alternate Mondays.