Anyone who knows me knows I absolutely hate the New York Mets and rarely resist an opportunity to poke fun at them.
I also hated Shea Stadium, and that had nothing to do with the Mets. I hate the Red Sox far more than the Mets, but I love Fenway Park. I just found Shea to be an ugly eyesore and, unless you were fortunate enough to acquire field-level tickets, a really poor place to watch a ballgame.
So why is it that instead of cackling about these pictures and injecting my usual anti-Mets venom — they should have filled the stadium with Mets fans first, then knocked it down — I actually find them to be kind of sad?
I had no attachment whatsoever to Shea, but there’s something very stark and haunting about the shell of a former ballpark. Instead of laughing at the remains of Shea, like I thought I would, I found these pictures to be haunting and sad.
I don’t even want to venture a guess as to how bad it will affect me when they start tearing down the old Yankee Stadium, as my attachment to that building has been chronicled in these pages quite frequently.
I never thought I’d say this, but, as I tip my Yankees hat, R.I.P, Shea Stadium.