You get off the subway and walk out into the ramp to the big circular construction with the turnstiles. Down the stairs and through one of the exits
There’s the stadium. It’s big.
It’s a beautiful day. 80 maybe 85 sunny.
You pass the first vendor, trying to sell you scorecards for two bucks. Depending on the year it might be me.
Past the ticket window that juts out. You’ve got yours already.
You can’t wait to get inside so you decide to enter through Gate E even though that’s not “your” gate. The usher doesn’t care. In you go. The teenager hands you today’s giveaway. It’s a schedule or a towel or a poster or something. You’ll clutch it all day before it gets lost somewhere in your room back home.
Up the ramp. It’s long but it’s gentle. Halfway now, around the hinge. One more. Field Level!
You show your ticket to the man at the chain link fence that keeps the rubes from enjoying downstairs. As if they can’t just hop over from the unguarded Loge.
There’s a souvenir stand on your right shoulder. That can wait. Look at this view from RF. If you stand here on the wrong night Terry Pendleton will break your heart before your own eyes from this very location but not today.
You head down the wide corridor toward home. Is it wide or do you just remember it this way? Past first base. Past the Frusen Gladje on your left shoulder. The vendors are gathered in their orange waiting to start their shifts.
By home plate you head outside. Down the main cut across on the third base side. The greedy usher can’t wait to help you for a tip. No thanks. I know where I’m going.
Half way out, make a right, half way down the aisle. Your our past the dugouts but not all the way to the corner. The gigantic scoreboard stares you in the face, with a giant beer cup ad blocking what used to be a message board.
You take the seat in the front inside of your box. You can lean on the railing and you won’t be jostled.
It’s gonna be a hot one at Shea today. Let’s go Mets
A little one-take writing on my phone while sitting on the beach. Inspired by reading one of my Bourdain books. Sorry if any typos or weirdness. I’m letting it rip and didn’t proofread it. Back to Tony…