It was the first ball game played in New York after 9/ 11. The Mets were down 2-1 in the bottom of the eighth inning. Mike Piazza got up with a man on first base (Desi Relaford, if memory serves) and unloaded a pitch over the wall in center field. If you had been at Shea that evening, as we were, with a full house, you will never forget the feeling through the stands at the moment the ball cleared the fence, as Piazza rounded first and Relaford symmetrically rounded third, and strangers hugged themselves in the aisles.
-- DL
I was sad that they tore Shea down. It was the ugliest stadium in the world, with those blue and orange metal tiles stuck all over it, but it was a proud and uncompromising ugliness. It was distinctive. It had pizzazz. It said, "Yeah, I was built in horrible Midcentury Modern style. Whaddya gonna do about it, bub?"
Posted by: Laura Orem | February 28, 2009 at 07:03 AM
And this spectator burst into tears. But I had basically been crying throughout the game. Everything was still so raw. When Liza took the field for the 7th inning stretch and sang New York, New York, with a row of firefighters behind her, I lost it.
There was a big mountain of a man sitting in front of us. He was alone, and stoic throughout the game. But at the moment David describes above, he rose up, thrust his arms in the air, and cheered. Then he and the woman to his left (who was there with her family) embraced.
Posted by: Stacey | February 28, 2009 at 08:00 AM
Not to nitpick but it was to dead center field, not in the left field bullpen.
Posted by: Mr. Met | March 01, 2009 at 05:22 PM
What can I say? Memory is less reliable than the instant replay, and though I've seen that home run on TV a number of times in the years since, I still remembered wrong. Thank you for the correction.
LO, I love the way Piazza evokes the pizzazz of your recollection of Shea.
Posted by: DL | March 02, 2009 at 01:52 AM