Cozy New Park Could Get Uncomfortable If Mets Struggle

NEW YORK -- Only the bobbing Home Run Apple beyond the outfield walls seems familiar, which is probably just as well. There wasn't much anyone wanted to lug from the festering dump next door -- not the roaming feral cats, not the stench of overflowing toilets, and certainly not the wretched string of September collapses and dashed hopes.

Good riddance to Shea Stadium, now a pile of rubble.

Packs of fans stopped on their way into Citi Field Saturday to snap pictures of the steaming stack of brick and rubbish that once was Shea. And then, as if participating in some sort of cleansing ritual, they turned away from bad memories and twisted karma and entered gates designed to open into a brand new world.

"Maybe that's good, if we start fresh," said New York Mets shortstop Jose Reyes. "Maybe better things will happen to us over here."

Citi Field is more than a beautiful ballpark built in the heart of Queens. It has the requisite broad concourses and fancy food and baseball tributes, including a rotunda dedicated to Jackie Robinson. It doesn't have much connection to the club's colorful past, unless you count the team's obsession with marketing gimmicks and corporate ties. Even the ushers are clothed in an odd assemble of green and maroon, offering no link to the Mets' colors of Dodger blue and Giants orange.

But if the Mets hope to begin anew maybe this is how it has to be, with the slate wiped completely raw.

New York City was treated to a double delight the past couple of days, with the unveiling of both Yankee Stadium and Citi Field in dueling exhibition games. The joints couldn't be more different -- the $1.5 billion Stadium is a palace drenched with Yankee history; Citi Field, a bargain at $800,000 million, is cozier, quirkier, a proper ballpark with a tip of the cap to Ebbets Field, former home of the Brooklyn Dodgers.

A splash of irony landed in Citi Field during the Mets exhibition game against the Boston Red Sox, as the grass grew thick with trash blown around from strong winds. Grounds crew attendants got more of a workout than the Mets, who were trounced, 9-3. Oliver Perez, the Mets starting pitcher, is still an enigmatic mess (he gave up a single and three straight walks to start the game, and left in the first inning after Jed Lowrie's grand slam), the Mets' offense still runs hot and cold, and Mets fans still aren't shy about expressing their disgust.

"Obviously there's some concern," Mets manager Jerry Manuel said of Perez, though he might have been talking about a laundry list of flaws the team still needs to correct.

As pleased as the masses were while sampling the Taste of New York food plaza and comfy seats that appear to hover directly over the field, Mets fans haven't quite released the anger accumulated across the previous two Septembers. Perez was booed heartily, a harsh reminder of how the Mets left things last year. That sound can't be rubbed away with good sight lines and toilets that work

David Wright reckons September 28, 2008, was his worst day ever in baseball, the day the Mets had to win to make the playoffs but didn't, the day the bullpen failed again, the day the current players watched glumly as former greats like Tom Seaver and Dwight Gooden closed the gates to Shea forever. That vision can't be wiped away with pretty park benches dotting the open-aired concourses and a sound system that doesn't cause deafness.

"We love this park, all the amenities and stuff that makes it so cool, but it's up to us, the players, to really make sure the changes count," said Wright, the third baseman who seems to be taking on more of a captain's role this season. "If we don't win, having a great ballpark to play in won't matter."

If the Mets, with the second-highest payroll in the major leagues, turn into choking dogs for a third straight season, Citi Field could be overtaken by enraged crowds with pitchforks. And they won't be looking to stick them in the macaroni with white cheddar and pancetta, one of the many dishes that make the ballpark a hit.

The fence in right field bends and meanders in angles, so much harder to navigate than the Shea outfield. Balls can get lost in these crooks, made even more treacherous by seats that hang close and enable fans to express their opinions without even shouting. An outfielder can go bananas out here if he can't handle the dizzy panorama of concrete, padding, dirt, grass and crazy slants.


This is where the Mets plan to play Gary Sheffield for a good amount of games. Team officials say he'll platoon with Ryan Church, allowing golden boy Daniel Murphy plenty of room to breath and grow in left field. It's a risky move, but so is adding Sheffield to a clubhouse struggling to find strong leadership, because as we learned when Sheffield played across town, if he isn't happy with his playing time, if he feels he's being "disrespected," he can quickly poison a room.

But as it is with the new ballpark, perhaps an injection of a big bat that makes lefty pitchers quake will push the Mets into October. The Mets figure they can transform a 40-year-old designated hitter with a bum shoulder and a connection to baseball's steroid era into a capable fielder who still has some pop in his bat. And say hey, at least Sheffield didn't land in Philadelphia, home of Met torturers.

The Detroit Tigers didn't think Sheffield had much left, releasing him last Tuesday even though they'll have to eat his $14 million salary. If Sheffield isn't a good fit in whatever uniform the Mets happen to be wearing on a given day, they're only on the hook for $400,000, the major league minimum. Sheffield needs one more home run to reach 500, and if he does it at Citi Field, with the Home Run Apple popping out of its new spot in center field, the Mets have one more moment to market. It's a win-win, if you don't think the Mets sold a bit of their soul by taking on Sheffield.

A few hours after landing in New York, Sheffield sat in the gleaming Citi Field basement and talked about how it's "been a dream for me a long time" to play for the Mets, the team where his uncle Dwight once starred before falling like Icarus. Sheffield was relaxed, jovial and bursting with hope and promises.

"I'm going to fulfill my dream," he said. "I know I can win a championship here. I realize I'm at a point in my career (where) I'm not a marquee guy to come in here and demand anything."

He said he was fine with coming off the bench and confident he could handle the tricky right field. "Once I get acclimated I'll be fine. I might have to lose 15 pounds," he added, and laughed, a sound the Mets better hear often if this match is to succeed.

Change is healthy, a ritual of spring. But the Mets' transformation must go far beyond the destruction of Shea Stadium, as glorious as that may be. All the new touches -- pulled pork sandwiches and skirt steak tacos from Blue Smoke barbecue; pipes that don't cause the clubhouses to flood; the absence of cat placenta (trust me, I once stepped in it over at Shea); a veteran slugger who seems intent on doing everything right -- mean nothing if September in Queens ends with the sour sound of failure.