Performer: Billy Joel
Songwriter: Billy Joel
Original Release: Storm Front
Year: 1989
Definitive Version: Live at Yankee Stadium, 1990
In 1991, Dave and I had
become such great friends that we decided to take a vacation together—long
before any marketing flack thought of the term mancation. Dave is from Long
Island, so that made, say, an East Coast baseball road trip not only doable but
easy.
Dave sold the trip to the
missus (and work, I think) as a work trip, and in fact, he got at least one
story for The Journal out of it. (So did I.) We also invited John to photograph
everything. This would end up being an important detail later.
Because it was new, and I
wanted to put some miles on it, we took my car and left as early as we could
given my vampire shift. I took the first shift through Michigan and Ohio while
I was the most awake and the most aware of my surroundings. The 12-hour drive
to NYC was fairly uneventful, although I remember stumping Dave and John on 20
questions with Secretariat.
Based on the schedule, the
road trip was going to center mostly around New York, as you might imagine, but
we also were going to swing down to Baltimore and up to Boston. The order would
be: Mets, O’s, Yankees, Red Sox.
Because it was a work trip,
Dave made sure to procure press passes for everyone. John would be able to
wander around the stadium and shoot pics, and Dave and I would be on the field
during b.p. and then up in the press box for the game. It was a total scam.
The first day, however,
wasn’t a “work” game but an actual game game with Dave’s family. The Mets won
fairly easily, whipping the Dodgers 9-4, but two things were notable about that
particular game. First, that would be the last time Dave would see his favorite
team, the Mets, win a ballgame in person for 17 years. Second, it was beastly
hot.
Our seats were in the upper
deck, under the overhang at Shea, which provided shade, thank goodness, but no
air circulation whatsoever. It was so hot that by the fifth inning, all I could
think about was the above-ground pool that Dave’s family had in their Mass Park
home. Only 12 outs to go, and I’d be drenched. Ah, only nine outs to go …
The next day we went back as
supposed working members of the press. Dave even procured a pass for his
brother, John the Younger. It was cool to be down on the field—not just because
it was much cooler temperature-wise. I’d already done that the year before in
Chicago, but it still was a big deal—particularly for Dave, as you might
imagine. I thought it would be like me being on the field at Riverfront
Stadium: so much personal history. (I never got on the field at Riverfront,
alas.)
The day after that was an
off day. John the Elder went into Manhattan to visit his aunt, who lived there,
and Dave, JY and I went to a waterpark out near the tip of Long Island. I had
done water slides before, in Houston, but I’d never done a full-blown waterpark
before, and it was a blast.
On the drive back to the
home base, we stopped for dinner at a fresh fish place that looked like a hole
in the wall, and Dave gave me a taste of the local pop culture—driving past the
Amityville Horror house. It no longer had the evil-eye pie-piece third-story
windows, and what struck me most about it was how close it was to the
neighboring houses on either side. The houses couldn’t have been more than 10
feet apart.
Next stop: Baltimore.
No comments:
Post a Comment