Mezzanine Tickets

I’ve been a Mets fan all of my life.  Admittedly at points more vehemently than others, like when I took to wearing a bright orange Mets cap from about 99 to 2002.  Lately the NBA has it’s talons into me pretty deeply and tonight being the first game of both the NBA season and the World Series, it’s a little like Christmas morning. 

Back in the 80’s when we would go out to Shea for games, we would opt for the cheapest tickets possible since I was in single digits and accompanied by teenagers without jobs.  For those of you who have never went or plain forgot about Shea, it had 4 sections.  Field Level, followed by Lodge, followed by Mezzanine and lastly the Upper Deck. On this one summer night in question a family friend had received free Mezzanine tickets from work but had no interest in baseball so he handed them over to me and care taking uncle.  Our enthusiasm was through the roof.  MEZZANINE tickets! Even better BOX MEZZANINE TICKETS FOR FREE!  Without question these were going to be the best seats we ever had.  Like I said we were used to the Upper Deck but the cheapest of the cheap were in the last rows of the Upper Deck where nose bleeds were present and the open back of the stadium caused the wind to whip you in back during night games. 

Before we head off to the N to the 7 grandma slips me a $20 for concessions to make the game even more memorable.  Like any 9 or 10 year old growing up in the city I trusted no one and stuck that bad boy right into my sock, pick pockets be damned!  We got off at Willets Point and while we were still in the station there was shady guy pointing and laughing as we walked passed him.  Both of us look back and saw the guy pointing at a $20 on the ground.  My uncle ushered us away from the guy all the while upping his guard. 

As we walk around the stadium to get to the proper gate we get approached by a middle aged man probably in his 50’s who starts the conversation with, “Do you boys want some free tickets?”  Shady.  “Thanks but we are good.” My uncle responds.  The man is more insistent, which was kind of strange but I’m sure a 16 year old and a 9 year old seem like easy marks.  “My son and his wife couldn’t make it down from Connecticut, and I’d like to see the little guy(meaning me) enjoy the game.  I’m here with my mom,” the man said pointing to white haired woman standing 15 feet away.  “Here just take them, you don’t have to go in with us or anything.”  We reluctantly agree figuring what’s the worst thing that happens?  The tickets are fake and we have our real unbelievably great Mezzanine tickets.  We speed away from the man tickets in hand and take a look at them.  Field Level, Box.  Clearly this is some type of scam that we can’t wrap our heads around and don’t have much time to figure it out since we are walking to the gate. 

The gate attendant looks at the Field Level tickets and sends us right through.  They have to be duplicates or something.  We get to the usher who looks at the tickets and starts leading us down some steps.  Then some more steps.  Then some more steps.  Then to where there are no steps.  Field level box 2 seats 3 &4. 

Let me do some more explaining.  You have the playing area where the players are, and for all intents and purposes the players live in the dugouts.  The owners’ box is box 1 and that’s directly next to the dugout.  In the order of succession, box 2 is directly next to the owners’ box and seats 3 & 4 are the second row. 

Within 10 minutes the middle aged man and his mother come by and sit in seats 1 and 2.  This was not a scam.  This was the second greatest bit of luck in the history of Shea Stadium.  I was speechless.  I don’t think I even mustered a thank you, or if I did it wasn’t cognizant of it.  My saucer eyes couldn’t fathom what they were seeing and what they were seeing was Dave Magadan like 15 feet away.  Close enough that if you screamed hey Magadan, he would turn around and say, “what?” that’s if you screamed. (I did).

After the 6^th or 7^th inning the man and his mom left so we quickly bounced to move up to the first row.  You could look over the steel piping, look down and see dirt.  Very different from the view in the Upper Deck where if you looked down you saw spilled beer, peanuts, and despair.   I have a very clear recollection of hanging out over the box and looking into the dugout only to be immediately yelled at by security and from there on out I didn’t move a muscle for the remainder of the game. 

There’s another little wrinkle to this story that I’ll never be able to confirm or deny.  My high school was on the Queens College campus and as a senior you were able to take college classes for free.  I signed up for Political Science 101.  The professor, whose name I’ve long forgotten,  would talk about himself from time to time throughout the semester.  He lived in Connecticut.  He was in his 60’s.  He was a Mets fan.  He had worked for the Dinkins campaign and was pretty high up in the administration.  All of these pieces clicked into place but like that 9 year old I was too overwhelmed at the possibility of what can be true to even ask him and ruin what could be.

Let’s Go Mets!