For a Mets fanatic like
me that was the equivalent of dying and receiving an extra dozen
virgins on the house.
I wore out my Mets
jacket; my Mets T-shirt was faded withing the first summer of wear. I
had an official Major League Baseball signed by Ed Kranepool, the
Mets' first baseman, that occupied a place of honor in my bedroom
baseball museum. I even had a little baseball board game where you
worked the batters and pitchers and hit a little felt baseball.
Yeah, I was a nut.
So it kind of made sense
that soon after the new year of 1968 started I began planning my
masterpiece: a baseball field that would be remembered among the
greats. It would be spoken of in the same breath as Wrigley Field,
Yankee Stadium and Tiger Stadium. It would put my backyard on the
world map as being a must-see destination. That I would become a
millionaire from its operation was incidental; that I would be the
owner of my own ball field, able to play the All-American pastime
whenever I chose, was the important thing.
First order of business
– securing permissions to build.
January 1968:
Asked Mom and Dad if I could build a ballpark in the backyard. They
instantly gave the go-ahead, on the condition that I first clean the
yard up. I was ecstatic until I took a look outside …
Well, many famous
stadiums had had their starts under such conditions of poverty and
neglect, so I felt myself lucky to begin my project the same way the
Greats had.
I grabbed a shovel and a
broom and began Phase I.
February 1968:
Phase I continues. I fear I have underestimated the enormity
of this task, and the weather has not been an ally, having snowed a
record 27' so far this month. Temporary shoring has been installed
for the safety of the workers, and mandatory hot-chocolate breaks
every hour are a union requirement.
After work every day
(well, actually, after school on weekdays) I retire to my drafting
table and continue to work on blueprints for the park. This has
always been a thrill for me, to create something out of nothing, and
the drafting sessions go on into the late-night hours. This is what I
have so far:
There were several
constraints due to the design and utilization of the backyard, which
I believe I have conquered. The three major remaining problems are:
1. The shed just behind
second base,
2. The complete lack of
an outfield, and
3. The need to curve
around the tomato garden from second to third base
The shed will probably
serve as a ground-rule double; the outfield will have to be anything
between the huge pine tree to the East and the raised concrete garden
to the West, and on either side of the Shed; and the jog between
second and third due to the placement of the tomato garden will just
have to be dealt with at a later date.
Smaller problems exist,
of course, but nothing on the scale of these three. Heidi, my dog,
traditionally moves her bowels in an area roughly situated between
third base and home plate; runs to first base will probably result in
a collision with the hedges; and the perimeter fence, a 4'-high
chain-link affair, is uncomfortably close to the playing area. I'm
sure several solutions will present themselves before Spring.
March 1968: Phase
II has begun. We (Dad, Mickey, David and I) have finally
completed Phase I through the use of a massive bonfire in the
backyard. Proposals for professional hauling were well beyond the
stadium budget, and my suggestion that we “just move the stuff to
the other side of the house” was immediately discarded by my
Sponsors (Mom and Dad).
Phase II consists
of preliminary lay-out of the field, bases, dug-out and spectator
areas. The use of white spray-paint is evidently against EPA
regulations because the single can I had disappeared after the first
day's usage. I've had to resort to using the bag of lime I found in
the Shed.
March 1968: It
has been strongly suggested that Phase II be considered
finished and that I proceed on to Phase III, the actual
construction of the ball park. Periodic snow storms are still
wreaking havoc on my schedule, and the following thaws create a lake
of mud with a topping of powdered lime.
Lacking the cash
reserves to purchase authentic bases we have had to make-do with
pillowcases “borrowed” from the Laundry Department and filled
with rags from our Sponsor's shop in the basement. Home plate is a
piece of 3/4” plywood nailed into the ground with 6” roofing
nails.
I am optimistic and hope
to hold our official opening next month.
April 1968:
Opening Day! It's the first Saturday of April, the park is
complete and it's a perfect day for our inaugural game. Michael,
Kevin and Ritchie are the Yankees; Joey, Larry and me are the Mets.
We hold a little ceremony before the start of the game, dedicating
our new park to the highest ideals of baseball.
Then that yell that
we've been waiting over 3 months to hear:
“PLAY BALL!”
(Thanks, Mickey)
We had a sizable number
of fans in the “bleachers” - actually, on the patio, the back
porch and sprinkled around home plate. They were munching away at
bowls of peanuts and popcorn and sucking down Cokes (we didn't have
any deals with Pepsi at that point). The Yankees, being the Visitors,
were up first. I was pitching, Kevin was first- and third-baseman and
Richie was the outfield.
Michael stepped up to
the box (more lime), took his stance and tried to eyeball me. I fired
the first pitch of the first game ever in Woodland Stadium. Michael
swung and connected, the ball sailing far over the left-center field
fence into the woods for an automatic home run.
What followed was 15
minutes of searching for the ball in the woods, as our budget only
allowed for one baseball, one bat and two gloves, one being a nasty
old catcher's mitt and the other a fielder's mitt with half of the
webbing gone.
The game resumed. Kevin
got up and cracked a line drive over the top of the Shed and into the
woods. Home run. Another 15 minutes searching.
The game had started
that bright, glorious day at 10am on the dot. By noon we were well
into the bottom of the first inning. The score was Yankees 23, Mets
18. The crowd had inexplicably thinned out so that only Crazy Eddie
our scorekeeper and Heidi our Official Mascot remained as onlookers.
A time-out was called at
the bottom of the second inning when Larry tried sliding home after
an inside-the-park triple. Unfortunately, in the excitement of the
moment he had forgotten that our mascot's official “dumping ground”
was right on the third-base line, and his head-first slide resulted
in high-pitched screams and several members of both teams retching. A
time-out was called as Larry ran home screaming to change clothes and
take a quick shower.
He was back within a
half-hour and play was resumed. Richie was stung by a yellow-jacket
as he overran first base on a single and crashed into the hedges.
Both team's outfielders were sporting huge, bleeding gashes on their
shins as a result of running into the concrete raised-bed garden in
left field. As well, Richie had sap on both his hands from an earlier
run-in with our huge pine tree, a condition that led to several dozen
errant throws.
I hadn't been immune
from the peculiarities of the stadium either, having barreled through
the chicken-wire fencing surrounding the tomato garden in a dash for
third. I proudly wore the pasty red remains on my uniform throughout
the rest of the game. Heidi took a fresh dump on the third-base line
and we were careful to hop, skip and jump over the fly-spotted mound.
Sadly enough, the game
was called on account of darkness at 8pm. We had only reached the
bottom of the sixth inning and the score was Yankees 78, Mets 76. The
game had lasted only 10 hours in total, and as we dragged our weary
bodies back to the dugout (my basement) we eagerly looked forward to
tomorrow's double-header.
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