Sports in the City
Saying goodbye: Two New York baseball stadiums fade to black
By Michael Murphy

It was a bittersweet plane ride to New York knowing the time had come to say goodbye to dear old friends.

  Since my dad first took me to Yankee Stadium as a kid, and then Shea as a Little Leaguer, these two ballparks have represented something magnificent not only in my family’s life, but millions of others.

With both teams in town the same weekend (Sept. 12–14), this last trip was meant to include my dad – the first coach I had, the man who taught me how to throw and play the game. Incredibly for this tough and durable Irishman, an injury the night before the big weekend knocked him out and onto the injured list. It would be my youngest brother and me, and whatever may be.

One ticket for the final game played at the Yankee Stadium – Sunday night, Sept. 21 – was on sale for the prefinancial-crisis price of $12,000. Our ducats were not that expensive, but it would take every ounce of New York influence the Murphys could produce to pull it off. 
We got the job done.

Friday produced a constant drizzle from midafternoon on that didn’t seem overwhelming despite its persistence. My brother scored loge tickets through a construction business associate, and when the Mets brass decided to take a wait-and-see approach, we were in. The outcome of that decision was a two-hour happy hour as fans walked under umbrellas from section to section, recalling visits and moments with strangers who became quick friends because of the Mets, because of Shea. 

The game was called off at 9:05 p.m., so we said our goodbyes and went back to the No. 7 train and into New York City. Our ace in the hole, that we would be back for Sunday’s day game with front-row box seats, made this rare rainout an enchanting prelude to the going-away party.

Broken fibula and all, Dad phoned to wish us well Saturday morning as we prepared for the trip to the Bronx. I’ve never been to Green Bay for a football game, but can imagine the same butterflies. It was hot, humid and crowded inside Grand Central Station, where we boarded the shuttle to Times Square. Due to the rainouts the night before, both teams had double-headers to play that day. Fans of all shapes, sizes and colors wearing Yankee and Mets hats streamed through the subway system, a kaleidoscope of New York baseball fans.

To save a few pounds of sweat, we took the No. 5 express to 138th Street and waited in the underground cavern for the transfer to the No. 4 train, which was loaded like an overstuffed can of sardines. The stadium came into view around 159th Street as the fabled facade greeted the masses with pride and confidence. Entering this cathedral of baseball, with its reminders of history everywhere, is one of the truly awe-inspiring athletic experiences. 

The night before at Shea, the pregame video of the 1969 and ’86 Mets teams shown on the huge scoreboard in right field was the best I’ve ever seen – only to be topped the next day by the Yankee walk down Championship Way. The photographs taken behind home plate that day instantly become the ones that appear framed on desks and walls, holding the moment in timeless manner.

That night, the celebration of the 80th annual San Gennaro Feast in Little Italy was in full flight. We ate dinner at an Italian cafe in Greenwich Village. Our local establishments like Bobo’s and Tres Agaves are fun, but a nice dinner after a day game in New York City is a soul-builder.  That night the streets were packed with people enjoying the Indian summer and respite from the rain.

We checked out of our midtown Kimpton hotel – the Park 70, a terrific place to stay and a perfect location – and drove through the midtown tunnel to Queens. A good friend used his mojo to score us two seats on the first base line, right on the rail.  We arrived early and basked in the sights and sounds of Shea.
 
When the game started, we were close enough to hear the conversation between Mets first baseman Carlos Delgado and the Braves Chipper Jones (who named his third son Shea). We barely had to raise our voices to know the umpire understood our comments, positive and negative. The sun was out, the beer was cold, and a truer Field of Dreams it could not have been.

The Mets lost that game, just as the Yanks did the day before, but the outcomes had no effect on our euphoria. 

It was a joy to visit these two great New York ballparks for one last time and say my goodbyes and thanks for the years of exhilarating action. It is doubtless that the new homes in Queens and the Bronx will be spectacular, producing a new set of memories for current and future fans. But the grandeur and fun at Shea and Yankee Stadium will never be replaced.

Michael Murphy is the general manager of the Golden Gate Sport and Social Club.

E-mail: michael@northsidesf.com