Goodbye Shea Stadium, and Thanks

So, we say goodbye to Shea Stadium. No playoffs this year. A season that started with high hopes ended with a last day loss for the second year in a row. I don’t want to talk about the season yet, I will do that another day. Today, I want to talk about what Shea meant to me.

Growing up, Shea meant a chance to spend time with my dad. You see, growing up, things were tough. Dad worked 6 days a week, and there were many years where he worked a night job as well. So time with Dad was at a premium. Once spring came, hope of being able to go to Shea with him, to tailgate and take in a game grew. Now, Ed was a wee lad, so tailgating meant a sandwich, hot pretzel and soda, but all the same, it was fun, because I got Dad for a few hours.

The games all blend together, but what I remember is the feeling when we would get there and walk in. Dad buying a program, and the two of us keeping score. Walking out of the tunnel and seeing the field in front of me, watching batting practice, watching the guys stretch. As a young kid, seeing that field as we walked in was amazing. To this day, I get that same feeling of anticipation. The early years of my going to games were of course not as much fun, as it was the late 70’s, and the Mets, well, they stunk. But as the 70’s turned to the 80’s, hope began to grow.

Keith joined the team. And Gary. Doc and Straw came up. And a couple of times a year, Dad would get tickets from vendors at work and we would make the trek from Eastern Long Island to Shea on a Sunday. Take in the view, and watch our guys mature from perennial losers to winners. All along, Dad would teach me about the game. How pitchers would change things up. How fielders had to watch the ball off the bats, and account for the wind, or just the angle. I recall a time where some guy near us was blasting Straw for a misplay on a hard liner. Dad explained to me, loud enough for the fan to hear, how a ball off the bat of a lefty hit to right field was hard to track because of the pull and angle and so forth. The little things you can see live, but maybe not on TV.

Dad taught me many things, from how to keep score, to how to watch, to how not to boo your team. Even when things were bad we never booed. We saw the lows and the highs (an NLCS game against the Astros in 1986). And we enjoyed every minute.

Time has gone on. Dad and I don’t get to go to games too often. The last time we went was a few years back, me, my younger brother and Dad. This time, my brother and I took him. It was like old times. A little tailgate before (and this time, a beer was allowed). Then, a program, pretzel, hot dogs and watching our Mets play. The next time we go will not be at Shea, and that will be fine with me, since it will be time with Dad again. In a few years, once my kids are a little older, I will take them. And show them what Dad showed me.

Many will recall specific games or sights from Shea. What I will recall is a few hours a couple of times a year with Dad. Time well spent.

Thank you Shea Stadium. Thank you Mets. And thank you Dad.