Friday, September 19, 2008

Bidding farewell to the place where Tom Seaver won No. 300 and the rest of the Friday Five


There won’t be tears shed in these parts on Sunday when the Yankees close out their ballpark, but it’s not an entirely bad place. You can't blame the building for the people who play there.

In fact, I’ve had four special moments at Yankee Stadium II. I tried to come up with five to kick start this week’s Deezo Friday Five, but we are talking about the Yankees here. I could only come up with four.

I’ve posted on each of these moments before. Some of my favorites, in fact. So I direct you to them, and look forward to the finale of a much better ballpark, which hopefully won’t arrive until sometime very late next month.





2) I might be joining my daugher as a squished penny collector.

The people who design these things published books to commemorate the demise of Bronx dump and the passing of glorious Shea. Plus, they are creating two player squished pennies — actually nickels — for the event.

I expected Derek F. Jeter, because it’s always Derek F. Jeter, and maybe someone cool like David Wright.

But you can imagine how excited to see the Mets representative was Tom Seaver! Yes! A new Seaver collectible! And the other player is Don Mattingly, who I think is trying to clense the Yankee taint by serving as the Dodgers’ hitting coach.

3) My son started his first job as a lifeguard. I have mixed emotions about this.

When I was a summer seasonal at Marjorie Post Park in Massapequa in the early 1980s, the lifeguards were our sworn enemies.

While we were busting our butts maintaining the grounds and cleaning the bathhouses and pool deck, the lifeguards were sitting on theirs, twirling their whistles and shouting "Walk!" and "Stay off the rope!" to terrified 6-year-olds.

Plus, they had a lounge area with overstuffed sofas while we ate lunch on old picnic tables in the smelly garage.

One day, the lifeguards complained about mice in their lounge. The big boss — a former seasonal with no love for the lifeguards — suggested we use the firehose to clean the lounge from the walls to the floor.

Many surfer dude posters were lost that day. Never did find the mice, though.

4) I grumbled loudly about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame enshrining all those 1960s people I’d never heard of. But I’m learning some wonderful things.

When I saw the Hall of Fame’s video of Etta James, I saw the platinum hair and extreme make-up and didn’t give a thought to the music.

But I’ve been making an iPod playlist with a song from each honoree, and picked up an Etta greatest hits CD from my library.


Now I’m entranced! I’ve learned her life story is, well, on the messy side. But that voice! And now that I recognize her hit, "At Last," I’m noticing it turning up in ER episodes and movie trailers. "Tell Mama," "Something’s Got a Hold of Me" and "I’d Rather Go Blind" are amazing, too.

I’ve since made extensive use of my library card to find Etta’s blues and live discs, and even came across a jazzy Christmas album.

None of this excuses the lack of Rush and Twisted Sister in Cleveland, but it’s nice to expand my musical horizon.

5) I was pretty happy with this Favre kid in Week 1 and not as happy in Week 2. Let’s see what he can do on a Monday night, a spot where the J-E-T-S usually shine.
Topps has its computer artists busy revamping Brett’s card to show him riding his mower through Times Square. I like that all the people walking nearby hardly notice. They’ve seen stranger things.

2 comments:

Confluence City said...

The good, I read and enjoy you.

The bad, I then feel the need to say, Hey, I wrote about this too!

Sort of.

http://confluencecity.blogspot.com/2008/09/yankee-haiku-ballpark-village-rant.html

Anonymous said...

Skankee Stadium memories: No. 5)

You ... out! Dave gets bounced from the pressbox in 1991 by a surly Skank flack, none too pleased to find a chipper cub reporter from the Flint Journal sitting in the spot where New York Post legend Dick Young once giddily wrote that Nancy Seaver was jealous of Ruth Ryan.