As soon as I learned that 2008 would be the last season in which the New York Mets would play in Shea Stadium, I wanted to write the ultimate tribute to the building, a culmination of my 20-year history with the ballpark-turned-second-home. Even though I was sure that no writer would ever be capable of doing Shea justice, I wanted a crack at giving back to the site of my first encounter with America's pastime, the setting in which my interest in the Mets became a full-blown obsession, and the place that made, "I was there when ..." one of most commonly used phrases. I felt like I owed it to the stadium that allowed me to feel the grass of a major league field for the first time, meet some of my heroes, past and present, and have the father-son moments that would make the writers of Field of Dreams misty eyed.
I got tickets to the game, 10th row behind home plate, and I thought that afterward I would be writing about the last regular-season game at Shea Stadium, a mere swan song before the playoffs, when the Mets would surely bid farewell with a bang. Unfortunately, the match-up against the Florida Marlins on Sept. 28 took the Mets out of contention, without even a one-game wild card playoff necessary. It not only meant that the Mets would end their time at Shea with a loss, but it also meant no World Series, no playoffs, and no tomorrow. I dreaded moving out of Shea with another late-season collapse as the lasting memory of the building, and I cringed at the idea of that image souring 45 years of incomparable memories for the Mets faithful. Even worse, I feared that the post-game ceremonies intended to honor the team and the stadium would be meaningless. I mean, who wants to celebrate the tandem that just delivered a heartbreaker? Suddenly, the ode to Shea I intended to construct seemed impossible.
Fortunately, the Mets have a storied history and I have a soft spot for it. Fortunately, Tommie Agee made two miracle catches in the 1969 World Series and Endy Chavez outdid him in 2006. Fortunately, Tug McGraw was mobbed after clinching the pennant just as Robin Ventura was rounding first base after hitting the only one-run grand slam in baseball history. Fortunately, Mike Piazza brought an entire city back to life after Sept. 11, and perhaps unfortunately for many of you readers, the ball went through Buckner's legs. Clips of all of these nostalgia-inducing moments were shown on the big screen, and despite my best attempts to display disapproval with the untimely ending to the season, I couldn't help but smile as widely as I did when those moments first occurred. Furthermore, over 40 players of Shea Stadium lore were reintroduced to the crowd, from one of baseball's all-time greats, Willie Mays, to the less successful, but equally loved, fan favorites like George Theodore and Todd Zeile. Even Yogi Berra, whose grand total of four games as Mets' catcher and four seasons as manager are often overlooked as a result of his allegiance to the other New York team, got to be a Met one last time as he celebrated the park exactly one week after he helped close Yankee Stadium. And as each Met great donned the blue and orange once again, they inspired memories beyond those played on the Diamond Vision. Then, after the players lined up along the first- and third-base lines they received a final opportunity to touch home plate at Shea, simultaneously touching the hearts of any Mets fan who cherished everything the ballpark had given them. Only good memories were evoked as each player crossed the plate; all of John Franco's blown saves were forgotten and Al Leiter's current employment by the Yankees seemed irrelevant. Moreover, one of the most touching moments came when Dwight Gooden, whose struggles with drugs in the '80s and '90s hindered perhaps the greatest talent ever to grace the organization, emerged from the left-field bullpen to one of the biggest rounds of applause. Even though it was his first time back to Shea since 2000, when he was on a Yankee team that beat the Mets in the World Series, over 55,000 fans forgave him wholeheartedly because, like the other players, as he touched home plate, he actually came home to the people who love him and will always remember him.
The ceremony concluded with one last pitch thrown in the stadium, caught by Piazza and fittingly thrown by Tom Seaver, aptly nicknamed "The Franchise." The scene had occurred countless times in my head as I discussed my all-time Mets lineup with my friends and fellow fans, but this time it was real, and it instantly joined the unforgettable images replayed earlier. Then with cameras flashing and a capacity crowd still cheering, the Mets' two proudest sons walked through the center field gate, directly in front of the entrance of CitiField, the Mets' new stadium, and closed the door behind them. The metaphor clearly wasn't lost on me, but even if the Hall of Famers pitch a tent in CitiField and spend the rest of their lives there, they could never close the door on Shea Stadium. It remains open in our memories that transcend baseball. Shea Stadium will forever be the place not only where I argued face-to-face with Jimmy Rollins for seven innings, saw Billy Joel, Paul McCartney, Steven Tyler, and some the greatest musicians ever rock a soldout stadium, or sat with snow in my shoes after braving an October Buffalo blizzard to see a Mets playoff game. It is the place where I grew up, where friends became best friends, and where Mets fans went to believe, whether or not Tug told them they hadda. Many were forced to say goodbye, but Shea goodbye? Never.
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