If you were tuned in to the Giants victory over the Carolina Panthers on Fox Sunday afternoon, you no doubt noticed The Old Man's and my star turn near the end of the first half. On a day in which the Giants officially opened their new $1.7 billion home, Hakeem Nicks snagged three touchdown passes and four F-16s flew over the stadium during the national anthem, the capturing of our hirsute images by an astute Fox cameraman was clearly a highlight among highlights.

Now that The Old Man and I are bonafide TV stars, we both wanted to let you know that we are not letting this sudden yet obviously sustainable brush with fame go to our heads. While offers have been pouring in (I have been approached for endorsement by the good folks at Norelco and The Old Man by Cialis) and our phones are ringing off the hook, we've decided to politely decline these potentially lucrative flatteries as not to draw undue attention to ourselves on gameday.

If you happen to see us at the tailgate or on the concourse near section 133 in the coming weeks, feel free to say hello. Contrary to tabloid reports and The Old Man's outward demeanor, we do enjoy meeting and interacting with our fans whenever possible. But please, no photo and/or autograph requests. While your appreciation of our celebrated television work is encouraging, the demands on our time that such requests require prohibit us from attending to our true business at New Giants Stadium, namely the overconsumption of meat products and the berating of unwitting side judges at the tops of our lungs. We thank you for your understanding. 

For charitable inquiries, please submit your requests in writing by emailing weinstein@bluenatic.com and allow 6-8 weeks for a response.

The Old Man and I got our first up-close look at the Giants' swanky new 1.7 billion dollar digs on Saturday morning. Despite being denied the pleasure of a rare offseason tailgate, we were both very much looking forward to sitting down in the seats we just plunked down twenty grand for* and taking in the scene from a vantage-point that will hopefully become as familiar to us as the view from row 6 of section 127 had been at the old building.

After negotiating the parking lot with surprising ease, we entered the unnamed stadium at the Pepsi Gate and, after a brief detour at midfield, made our way to our new home in section 133. The seats we had been assigned were supposedly comparable to those we had inhabited at Giants Stadium, only two rows closer to the field. Row 6 at Giants Stadium had been close enough for visiting players and officials to hear our infrequently creative shouts of derision ("Hey Dexter, read this!") and for me to once nearly catch an errant punt during pregame warm-ups, but row 4? Row 4 is close enough to hear the snap count. Row 4 is close enough to chat-up the side judge, if one were so inclined.

Emerging from the tunnel, I made a beeline for row 4. But when I got to the bottom of the section and checked the number of the first row, it read "5." Rows 1-4 were, inexplicably, nowhere to be found. 

What an absolutely deflating moment. We felt like the Griswold's at the gates of Walley World. Sorry, folks. Park's closed. Moose out front shoulda told ya. After expressing our disbelief, we located a member of the stadium's guest services staff, an amiable, curly-haired fellow who assured us that the seats did, in fact, exist yet for some reason weren't installed. Because the stadium had been built to accommodate various configurations for a multitude of events, he explained, a large number of the seats ringing the field in the lower bowl were removable. Those included rows 1-4 of section 133, the seats the Old Man had just driven an hour and a half to sit in.

Needless to say this didn't sit well with us. So we sought out a higher-level staff member stationed on the concourse behind section 146 to whom we could voice our displeasure and, we hoped, get some real answers from. The staff member was found but the answers, unfortunately, were not. Instead, the staff member (who, to her credit, was very nice despite being quite obviously overwhelmed) took the Old Man's name, number and email address and told us to expect a call sometime this week. As of this writing, no such call has come.

Beyond the disappointment of not being able to view our seats at an event billed as a "seat viewing" (or even being able to confirm that they exist) I have to admit that I was also underwhelmed by the new facility in general. I am aware that we're still 4 months from the first preseason game and that efforts will be made in the interim to spruce-up and beautify the place, but right now it's a whole lot of drab concrete, a whole lot of gray. And with the upstart co-tenant going halfsies on the project and demanding if not deserving equal footing within, I don't see how that's going to change in any significant way. Other than the Coach's Club, which we saw for the first and last time on Saturday, the place has a very industrial feel. Cold and austere. Decidedly corporate.

The gigantic video boards in each corner are cool, I guess, if gigantic video boards are your sort of thing. And the view that best approximates the one we will supposedly have from our non-existent row is pretty awesome, too. The seats themselves are more comfortable and offer more leg room than the seats in the old building, as well, and there appear to be more and larger bathrooms in addition to significantly wider concourses. I'm not trying to be negative, really. I'm sure, in time, the new joint will grow on me, just like New Shea has. It's just hard for me to embrace the place right now, not just because I have nowhere to sit inside of it, but also because the old building is literally standing on its last legs a stone's throw away.

That, besides learning that our seats might not exist, was my main problem with the seat-viewing. From the moment we pulled off of Route 3, my eyes and attention kept veering towards the demolition across the parking lot. Looking at it from certain angles, Giants Stadium--my old treehouse--reminded me of the Roman Colosseum, a modern ruin. I took a total of 19 photos in the hour and change that we were there, and 9 of them were of the demolition. Check them out here, if you can stomach it.

The only similarity between the old building and the new building, from what I can tell, is that our seats didn't exist in either on Saturday. I can still buy a pair from the old building for $499 if I want, though. In the new building, $499 will buy a round of beers. Maybe a pretzel.

The Giants must be under the impression that the fans, like the lower stands, are removable, reconfigurable. In other words, replaceable. Even 46-year season ticket holders like The Old Man. And, sadly, they're probably right. But that doesn't mean we're not owed an explanation and an apology. Considering our investment, in both dollars and years (not to mention emotional energy), that's the least they can do.

Not content to take the moose out front's word for it, we anxiously await their call.

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* We meaning he.

4/28 UPDATE: I guess the squeaky wheel really does get the grease. The Old Man received a call this afternoon from one Kevin Frattura, Vice President of Sales for Giants Stadium, LLC. Mr. Frattura explained to the Old Man that our seats do, in fact, exist, and that they had been removed to accommodate a configuration for soccer. He mentioned that he was calling at the urging of Giants VP of Communication Pat Hanlon, who had been made aware of this post. Thanks, Pat.

Those of you fellow Bluenatics who might have been planning to make a day out of the forthcoming seat-viewing/open house at the still unnamed new Giants Stadium by partaking in a rare offseason tailgate will no doubt be disappointed to learn that your attempts at grilling glory will be thwarted.

I called Giants Stadium LLC yesterday afternoon to ask about tailgating at the event and was told by the nice fellow who took my call that I was the first person to make this inquiry. "That's a good question," the fellow said. He then told me that a superior would need to be consulted before an answer could be provided. So I gave the guy my name and cell number and 20 minutes later he called back to let me in on the disappointing news. Sorry, Giants fans, but no tailgating will be permitted in the lots before, during or after the open houses scheduled for April 24th and 25th. Rats.

It's a good thing I called, I guess. If I really was the first to formally inquire about the Giants tailgating policy for this event, then I can only assume that many fans are operating under the reasonable assumption that tailgating will be allowed and that they'll show up with their grills and coolers and beat-up camping chairs ready to get down, easy like Sunday morning.

The Giants, I'm sad to report, seem ill-prepared for this eventuality. Their decision to prohibit tailgating also leads me to believe that they're lacking the kind of intuition that would help them better understand and serve their fanbase, which co-owner and team president John Mara recently referred to as “the most loyal in all of sports."

That kind of loyalty is a great benefit to Mara and the Giants, because a less loyal, less patient fanbase might take issue with having to wait until two weeks after their new facility hosts its first event (a college lacrosse game between Hofstra and Delaware, of all things) before getting an in-person look at the seats they just shelled out tens of thousands of dollars for the right to purchase. Seats that will cost significantly more than the ones they just vacated.

The Giants shouldn't take that kind of loyalty for granted, either. After all, it was only last week that they finally announced that they'd sold all of the non-club level PSLs in the new building. This obviously took them longer than they'd anticipated, their fans being so loyal. And all they had to do was run through the entirety of their legendary waiting list to sell them. 133,000-plus names, according to some reports.

But even the most loyal of fans want to be treated like the team they've invested their hearts and savings in is attuned to their needs. And while it's true that tailgates don't help win football games and that, it can be reasonably argued, they decrease concessions and therefore hurt the team's bottom line, they have become such a vital component of the gameday experience that in some ways they've surpassed the game itself. Because it's at the tailgate where friends and family members gather to renew and enliven their relationships. It's at the tailgate where we schmooze over grilled meats, cold beers and thrown footballs to re-connect in a way we never could inside a roaring stadium, over a telephone or in our homes at holiday time amidst a million distractions. The tailgate, friends, is our escape. It's a stress-free, drama-free zone. The tailgate offers us a chance to collectively exhale, if only for a few hours.

When the team announced about two weeks ago that they’d be holding this exclusive seat-viewing/open house for their PSL holders on April 24th & 25th, I got excited. Sure, I’ve had my reservations about the new facility, but after seeing video of the demolition of my “old treehouse” and terrific images of my shiny new one, I began to prepare myself, mentally and emotionally, for the transition. And when my old friend Mosty suggested a tailgate, I took it as a stroke of pure inspiration. After all, what better way to embrace our new beginning at the Meadowlands than through the ritual of the tailgate? What better way to honor the legacy of the old building (most of which remains standing) that held so many great memories than by grilling one last rack of succulent ribs in its still formidable shadow?

And what would it take, really, for the Giants to grant us that wish? A few extra security guards? A permit of some sort? Some maintenance people? A bunch of porta-potties? Is that so much to ask?

Those of you who've visited this blog regularly since its inception more than 3 years ago or who know me personally are aware of the lengths I am usually willing to go to defend the Giants organization. I offer no apologies about being a homer and I never pretend to be an objective observer of happenings in the Giants universe. If anything, this blog has existed simply as a means for me to express my fawning adulation for my childhood heroes and their blue-jerseyed brethren. So when the Giants disappoint me on the field, I can accept it. That's part of the unwritten fan contract we all sign before we're wise enough to know better. We agree to accept X amount of heartbreak in return for the promise of an ultimate measure of redemption, though both parties acknowledge that restrictions apply. In that regard, Giants fans of my vintage have been most fortunate.

But when the Giants disappoint me like this it's different, though I fully concede that I'm probably overreacting. In the grand scheme of things, one tailgate doesn't mean all that much. Still, this decision by the Giants brass seems short-sighted at best, dunderheaded at worst. The good thing is they've got 25 days to make it right, to recognize that this is not a time to be saying "no" to their loyal fans. 2010 offers us all a chance for a fresh new beginning, so I implore the Giants to reconsider and greenlight the grilling.

Can I interest you in some bacon-wrapped shrimp, Mr. Mara? The secret of the tailgate is that they taste like victory loyalty.
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4/1 Update - Giants VP of Communications Pat Hanlon responds via Twitter: "Bluenatic, once we're in the bldg and Giants Stadium is down, parking lots are up, etc, you can grill til heart's content...thanks"

 
I got my first up-close look at New Shea last Sunday.

With an assist from the Bluenachick, I arranged for two seats in section 521 of the Promenade for the occasion of the Old Man's sixty-fifth birthday.

We met at the park two hours before first pitch, and after passing through the Jackie Robinson Rotunda, we walked every square inch of the ballpark that we were permitted to walk with our Promenade Level tickets.

We walked the Field Level concourse twice, investigating every nook, cranny and food vendor we could.

The Old Man had been at the first game ever played at Original Shea forty-five years and two days prior, April 17, 1964. And as he bit into his succulent pulled pork sandwich from New Shea's outpost of Blue Smoke and drew from his healthy portion of box frites with creamy bacon sauce (I opted for the "Mama's Special" from Original Shea holdover, Mama's of Corona), I couldn't resist asking him if he remembered what his food options were like that first afternoon at Original Shea. Hot dog, he said. Beer, probably. Peanuts. Hell if he remembered, he was there to see a ballgame.
 
So were we, I said. The first Sunday afternoon game in the history of New Shea.

Eventually we found our way to our seats and gathered our bearings. Or at least we tried to. I located the out-of-town scoreboard, the starting line-ups (now with names!). But we had barely warmed our seats before we were approached by another father and son tandem, who kindly informed us that we were sitting in the wrong ones. Theirs, to be exact. And while this was something that never would have happened to us at Original Shea, we chalked up the minor embarrassment (we were sitting one section over from where we should have been) to our general unfamiliarity with the new park.

Five hours later, the park didn't feel any more familiar. Though the Old Man and I both appreciated the increased leg room, less treacherous staircases and wider seats at New Shea, none of those things made us comfortable. Instead, we felt like we were watching a game in an opponent's park, certainly not our home. With the exception of the inebriated woman seated a few rows behind us who insisted on yelling "I got it!" anytime a batted ball arced skyward, there wasn't anything about the experience that made it feel like Original Shea. I don't think I saw (or heard) Cow-Bell Man even once, come to think of it. But I did see several people sipping wine. New Shea's got quite the selection, from what I understand. It was all a rather disorienting experience.

As the Old Man and I struggled to find our footing in the promenade and as I resigned myself to an understanding that the wine and corporate sponsorship was here to stay, it occurred to me that we only had about sixteen months before we'd be experiencing a similar bewildering feeling at New Giants Stadium, whatever it's eventually called.

Fans, for whatever reason, don't seem to make the same sort of emotional connection to football stadiums that they do with baseball stadiums, and there is little, I'll concede, about Giants Stadium itself that invites nostalgia. The place is, in essence, an endless slab of cold concrete. It's a soulless structure, devoid of all the things that make a ballpark feel like home. The concessions are horrendous, the bathrooms are almost as bad as those at Original Shea, and it can take you two hours to get out of the parking lot after the game if you don't know what you're doing.

And though the sign out front says Giants Stadium and the seats inside are blue and red, the Giants have never been the building's sole tenant. Rock concerts are held there. And papal visits. And soccer matches. Hell, the Jets have played there for more than twenty years now, albeit without distinction.

But despite all of that, Giants Stadium has always been a magical place to me. When I said that it's one of three locations on earth where I believe I'd feel at peace to die, I wasn't exaggerating. Ever since the September Sunday in my seventh year (1982) when the Old Man finally convinced my mother that I was old enough to go, it's held a special place in my heart.

Spend 200-plus Sunday afternoons pretty much anywhere, and it'll be sure to leave a lasting impression on you. But spend 200-plus Sunday afternoons (and the occasional Monday night) in the same seat braving rain, snow and bitterly cold, swirling winds screaming your head off in support of fifty-three occasionally spectacular strangers dressed in blue, and the place is bound to become a part of you.

That said, I'm going to resist the temptation of dwelling endlessly on the death of Giants Stadium this season. Though I admired the yeoman's work done by the folks over at Loge13 last year, I really don't want to become their Big Blue counterpart. I don't want to be "Last Year of Giants Stadium Guy." While I concede that it would provide a nice framework for my writings this upcoming season, and a rudder with which I could conceivably navigate my way through to its final days, that's not my mission here. I've had some of the best and some of the worst days of my life in Giants Stadium, but as much as I love the place, it's not a museum to me. My memories aren't so much tied to the building as they are to the people who inhabit it, the Old Man and my knucklehead homies every bit as much as Harry and Rodney and Eli.

So even though The Fumble happened here. And Flipper Anderson. And even though Jimmy Hoffa may or may not be buried here, I'm not going to allow the 2009 season to become a funeral. Instead, I'm looking at 2009 as an opportunity to celebrate Giants Stadium. Because once the Giants move next door, gamedays in the Meadowlands will never be the same again.

As I mentioned in a previous post, the Old Man and I have been encountering an increasing number of unfamiliar faces in Section 127 in recent years. Part of that is no doubt the result of the aging season-ticket-holding fanbase attending less games, especially in cold weather. Part of it is also due to the economic opportunism of those season-ticket holders who choose to take advantage of the lucrative re-seller's market, easily doubling or tripling their investments through sites like StubHub and Craigslist. But part of it is the sad truth that attending a pro football game is no longer possible for many of the working class folks who inhabited the stands in the days before ticket prices became outrageous.

The Old Man doesn't remember how much his tickets set him back in 1964, but considering how he was a twenty-year-old college student with a part-time job as an errand boy at the time, I doubt they were all that expensive. In 2009, though--his forty-sixth season as a season ticket holder--they'll cost him $85 a pop. Times ten times four, plus parking. From what we've been told, they'll be $120 a pop once the new building opens in 2010. And those will be on the relative low side, as tickets in the new stadium will range from $85 to $700 per game. And this is all on top of the cost of the Personal Seat Licenses (or PSLs).

Ah, yes. PSLs. Those will run Giants fans anywhere from $1,000 (Terrace 1 & 2) to $20,000 (Field 1 and Coach's Club) per seat for the right to purchase those exorbitant tickets in the first place.

The Giants, like the Yankees, are learning the hard way that in this troubled economy there is a limit to what fans are willing to pay to see their home team compete. For years there was believed to be a thirty-year waiting list for Giants season tickets. But with thousands of unsold PSLs in the Mezzanine Club levels still available at $7,500 and $12,500, the waiting list has all but evaporated. People as far down as number 50,000 on the list have been recently offered the opportunity to buy these PSLs, some of whom placed their names on the list only a year or so ago.

Eventually, one would imagine, the Giants will be able to unload these PSLs (and the $400 and $700 game tickets that come with them) to some corporate interest or worse, ticket brokerage agencies. This will ensure the Giants a handsome return on their investment, which is sizeable. It will also ensure, rather unfortunately, that the club level of New Giants Stadium will be full of suits and wealthy visiting fans of opposing teams. Awesome.

Back in the 80s, things were decidedly different. Section 127 was like a community, every week the same faces in the seats around us. The Old Man and I knew many of them by name. Others, we referred to by humorous nicknames. Friendships formed, to the point where some fans exchanged Christmas gifts. And many of those familiar faces were the old timers--holdovers from Yankee Stadium and The Polo Grounds--fans who had come of age during the Golden Age of Giants football (1956-1963), when the club appeared in six championship games in eight years. Loyally, they had stuck with the team through their fallow period, the seventeen year playoff drought from 1964-1980. And one of the most wonderful things about the 1986 championship season was seeing those old timers enjoy a sweet measure of redemption. Thirty years is a long time to wait for a winner.

Now, most of those old timers are gone. If they still hold tickets, we don't see them anymore. If they don't, there's a good chance it's because they got priced out. The few that still remain likely won't be able to make the move to the new building, which means the Giants will be losing what was once the heart of their fanbase. The folks who bridged Conerly and Simms, Huff and Carson, Robustelli and Marshall.

Brick by brick, fan by fan, the Giants history is disappearing. Their first home, the majestic Polo Grounds of Harlem (1925-1955), was demolished in 1964. Their second home, Yankee Stadium (1956-1973) will be torn down later this year. The Yale Bowl still stands and was declared a national historical landmark in 1987, but considering how the Giants compiled a 4-23-1 record in their two seasons there (1973-74), I'm not sure that's the part of the franchise's rich history they'd want preserved. The Giants also played one season (1975, the year of my birth) in Original Shea, before establishing residence at Giants Stadium the following year. Original Shea has already been reduced to a pile of rubble in New Shea's parking lot and Giants Stadium awaits a similar fate. It's progress, I guess, but at what cost?

I'll be out at New Shea again tonight, and I'm hopeful that it'll feel more like home. Maybe it will, maybe it won't. But one thing I'm sure of is that it won't feel like Original Shea. I've got sixteen months to prepare myself for the eventuality that New Giants Stadium will feel the same way. That's a long time, I guess, but after twenty-eight years in Section 127 it's really not a long time at all.

At least I'll have eight more looks at that cold slab of concrete, perhaps more if the Giants earn a home playoff game. And maybe the nine new players the Giants brought into their fold this weekend can help contribute towards a grand send-off for the Stadium. Hopefully, in doing so, some of its magic will rub off on them. Another Super Bowl championship, and maybe I won't begrudge the folks in the club level their wine and cheese. After all, I'll just be there to see a ballgame.