Farewell To the "Classic(?)" Stadiums

Overshadowed by the grandeur and history of Yankees Stadium, Shea Stadium, home of the Metropolitans, is also long gone in just a few weeks.

Lindsay Schnell, blogger for SI.com and current Oregon resident, laments for the loss of our "beloved sports venues," including the dump we all know as Shea Stadium. And as this New York Times story reminds us, Shea was celebrated as a bringer of the future.

It was only celebrated because it was a member of this new brand of architecture that fit the 1960s mold: brutalism. And brutalism gains its name from the pure functionality of the building's form. Nothing was put on a building unless it helped it in some way.

And all the cookie-cutter, multi-purpose stadiums from the 1960s, the Sheas, Candlesticks, Oakland Coliseums and Qualcomm Stadiums of the world, were built in this fashion. Their beauty was in the lack thereof. There's no need for brick when you can use cheaper concrete. No need for that classical arch when you can just have a huge hole in the wall. There's no need to have a true facade because all of the action happens inside the walls of a sports venue, not outside of it.

But I say good riddance to the cookie-cutters of the 1960s. Miss Schnell (who I met once cover the Cal football team), asks at the end of her blog post if we are seeing all the old venues replaced with ones with no sentimental value.

No, we're not seeing all the old venues replaced, but we're seeing the ones with no sentimental valued being replaced.

To say a building like Shea or the Q have sentimental value is hypocrisy. The brutalist period didn't mean for us to have personal attachment to the buildings. They were built for us to use and use only--not to admire.

The difference between the celebration of Yankees Stadium and the good riddance nonchalance we all have towards Shea is because of the building itself. Sure, it helps that the Yankees have had a better history in the old Yankees Stadium than the Mets in Shea, it also helps that Shea was a monstrosity and that Yankees Stadium is reminiscent of ancient Greece or ancient Rome.

And Schnell brings up The Pit on the campus of the University of Oregon, and to compare it to Shea and the brutalist of the 1960s does McArthur Court no justice.

Most of the collegiate sports venues that have been built throughout the year have been built as monuments--either to honor others or to honor sport itself. California Memorial Stadium, Pauley Pavilion, Rosenblatt Stadium, The Big House, Notre Dame Stadium, The Horseshoe, Cameron Stadium, the Rose Bowl, these are classic buildings, that will never be replaced (even if they literally are). There is character present in those buildings not just because of the history in them, but also because that the buildings themselves are beautiful.

It's the same character found in professional venues like Yankees Stadium, Fenway Park, Wrigley Field and Old Comiskey; that's found in Solider Field, Lambeau Field and Balboa Stadium; that's found at the Old Wembley and at Highbury and at Anfield.

They are places of beauty, that happen to be venues for sport. These buildings call you. They are like a second home (or they are home). Those seats are like that arm chair in your living room. That field, pitch or court is like your backyard. Those buildings are part of you as much as you are a part of that building.

And there are a few new parks that share this unique character: AT&T Park in San Francisco, PNC Park in Pittsburgh to name a few.

But to compare Shea and the brutalist movement to the great architecture of all those that came before it. That is more a travesty than to see these hallowed places go.

What I'll Remember About Yankee Stadium

I've never been to that hallowed piece of ground in the Bronx that they call the House that Ruth Built.

I never got a chance to go see monument park or here the loud speakers blast "New York, New York" after a Yankees win.

I've never been to Yankees Stadium, but there is one moment that I'll remember for the rest of my life.

I was 12. People told me that the 1998 Yankees were a team of destiny. There's no way that my San Diego Padres, which have never won a World Series, was going to beat the greatest team in the history of baseball.

But there I was, watching Game 1 as a wide-eyed kid in a city that had gone bonkers for its baseball team (I had braces at the time and that entire season, the colors of the rubber bands on my teeth with Padres blue and orange).

And before my eyes I saw Kevin Brown pitch with efficiency. I saw Greg Vaughn hit two home runs. I saw Mr. Padre himself, Tony Gwynn, blast one over the right field wall and into the upper deck. I saw what many thought was unbelievable--the Padres had a 5-2 lead over this so-called team of destiny.

But the magic for the Padres was killed short thereafter. Tied 5-5, with the bases loaded, the count 2-2, Mark Langston on the mound, with Tino Martinez at the plate in the bottom of the 7th, with two outs, Langston threw what Padres pitching coach Dave Stewart has since said was a "pretty good pitch."

The pitch was covered the plate, it came by Martinez right at the knees, but Rich Garcia called it a ball. The count now was 3-2 and the next pitch Martinez blasts it for a grand slam. The Yankees never looked back in the series, sweeping my Padres.

I'll never forget that moment. I'll never forget screaming at the television, feeling let down by the system and this American League umpire screwing San Diego. I'll never forget how I felt after that game. It was as if we all knew that the Padres' one and only chance of stealing this series went by as fast as Martinez's ball left the park. We all knew San Diego wasn't going to win the World Series after one game. Because it was the Yankees and only shit like that happens to a team like that--a "team of destiny."

I know I wasn't the only one who felt like that or still feels like that.

So, I say good riddance Yankee Stadium. I never met you, but I never wanted to know you--especially after that game.

By the way, here's a YouTube clip of that very moment: