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Showing posts from February, 2009

Shea Stadium: Twist And Shout

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As the Mets look to open their new season in a new park, I look back on the old one.

Shea Stadium was home to many memories for many people including my very first game, a 4-0 loss to the Astros behind a complete game from Nolan Ryan. I went to the game with my father, my best friend and his father. Our memories of the game are hazy, but the disappointment of the loss lingers and in many ways brings us together as Mets fans. The game was played on Tuesday, Aug. 31, 1982 and I was eight-years-old.

Some 26 years later I would see my last game at Shea. Fittingly, it was a 9-5 loss against the Cubs. David Wright homered for the 33rd time that season and Kerry Wood recorded his 33rd save.

While I feel like I sat in every section of the park, my first game's seat was at field level behind first base and my last game's seat was a bench in the picnic area.

The tearing down of the old to make way for the new is nothing unusual for baseball. This year the famous House That Ruth Built

Greater Than

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To be the vacant beach sand between your toes and the salty wind caressing your taught cheeks and wind-blown sea-shell hair as the sun beats down on each pebble of sand lost in your bikini line in syncopation with your blood gushing through circulation in the never ending wonder of peachy paradise as wave after wave licks your brave shins like the gentle nuzzle of a loyal dog content as you are to dare the surf with nothing wasted on your frame and eternity wrapping its horizon around your waist as you feel tight in your own skin in the precise moment of absolute wonder and awe assured the chorus of splashing salt will sing your praise in every note hit right in your unconscious laughter free from all that confines you to bravely face life as you are and always will be, a beautiful memory.


Other poems: ConfidenceHauntedHawaiian Surf Princess