Kiss My Grass - The Beginning Of The End Of Shea Stadium

By Deb McIver
Posted Wednesday, December 12, 2007

I heard the news today, oh, boy….. the news that the Shea Stadium subway platform has now been dismantled.

And for me, that marks the beginning of the end for Shea, home of our New York Mets since 1964.

I can’t count how many times over the years I’ve traveled to Shea via the 7 train, and have arrived and departed it via the subway ramp at the Willets Point/Shea Stadium stop. The ramp was, to me, the defining point of a gloriously childlike moment of wonder, signaling my arrival at, and my departure from, hallowed Mets ground.

I always loved stepping out onto the ramp upon arrival, and seeing the almost breathtaking expanse of the interior of Shea laid out before me, hugely surreal, seemingly almost able to be touched. Blazing as if in technicolor, the yellow (later orange) field box seats lovingly encapsulating the field; the cacophany of color of the loge, mezzanine and upper levels looming over the field level, as if caressing and protecting these coveted seats. And at night, under the lights, the entire vision magnified, even more surreal, as if enclosed in a halo of brightness. Then walking around to the Gates, and if I was lucky enough to have the good seats, mostly entering through Gate C or D, the entrance to the location of the much desired and envied field and loge box seats.

If you got one of those, you were hot stuff, at least, for that day.

And then stepping out from the boondoggle of the concrete interior of the Stadium, to be greeted with the sight of the strikingly green and lovely, lush grass of the field, and getting up close and personal to my seat of the day. Like going from purgatory to heaven, all in one fell swoop!

The feeling I got, and still get, from going to a game at Shea isn’t one I’ll ever forget, or ever replace, I suspect, with anything else.

It’s obvious, and has been for some time, that the ol’ girl that is Shea Stadium ain’t, as they say, what she used to be. When built in 1964, Shea, named after William A. Shea, the man who brought national league baseball back to New York, was a state of the art facility, built on the Flushing Meadows Grounds, opening in conjunction with the 1964 World’s Fair.

I didn’t realize this, but in doing research for this column, it turns out that all of the original seats in the Stadium were wooden, and were replaced with plastic seats before the start of the 1980 season.

Shea hosted the major league All-Star Game in 1964, and was the site of Jim Bunning’s perfect game against the Mets that year.

The Beatles held their 1965 concert at Shea. This was no minor event; this was the first ever concert in the United States by the first ever huge rock band in the world.

And the proud mama was Shea Stadium.

Tommie Agee hit his big home run into her left field upper deck, a feat which still stands as unduplicated.

She hosted the 1969, 1973, 1986 and 2000 World Series, and saw two Mets World Championships celebrated on her beautiful green field, within her intimate confines.

When Pope John Paul II came to America in October of 1979, Shea was one of his New York hosts. On the morning of his visit, the rains came, hard and fast, monsoon-like rains, making a huge mess of the place, with ankle-deep mud puddles and thrashing winds. But as the Pope entered the stadium, the rain stopped.

Miracle? Who knows. And if it was, indeed, a Miracle, it was as much a testament to the miracle of the hallowed Shea.

And let’s not forget that after the horrific terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, she also served as a relief center, most of her gate areas being filled with food, clothing, supplies, blankets, and other necessities for the rescue effort.

And ten days later, when the Mets returned to her confines to play the Braves, in the first sports event held in New York after the attacks, over 40,000 proud fans attended the game, and Mike Piazza hit one tremendous and symbolic home run to propel the Mets past the Braves that evening.

I know the Mets need a new stadium. I know I will love CitiField. I know it's time.

But I also know this – this year will be a kind of sad one for me, reliving my Shea Stadium memories, watching the countdown to her hosting her last Mets game, and then watching her dismantling piece by piece prior to the 2009 baseball season. Thank goodness she's not being imploded or blown to pieces; I really don't think I could take that. I really don't.

And as the workmen take her apart, I'll be thinking of the now-silent voices of Lindsey Nelson and Bob Murphy, of Casey Stengel and Gil Hodges, of Danny Frisella, or Donn Clendenon, of Tommie Agee, of Nino Espinosa.

I'll be thinking of the Miracle Mets, and of the golden days of Gooden and Strawberry, and the hard-nosed play of Dykstra and Backman, of the arrival of Mike Piazza, of the 1999 infield that shared the grasses of Shea, and of all the years and games and miracles and not-so-miracles that happened at our beloved Shea.

And of all the years and games and miracles and not-so-miracles that happened at our beloved Shea, and the memories created during the 45 years that the Mets have played there.

And I’m not embarrassed to admit I’ll probably be shedding a tear. Or a few of them.

And I’ll bet I’m not the only one.