Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: citifield (page 1 of 3)

Steal Your Base


“Yes, sir.”

“Backman flies out to left.”

“Oh, no, sir.”

“Hernandez flies out to center.”

“Please don’t tell your Game 6 story, sir.”

“I had 30,000 on the Mets, and I was smoking a lot of crack. This was when I was a cop.”

“No, sir. This is the plot to Bad Lieutenant, sort of.”

“I was going to murder Mookie.”

“None of this happened, sir.”

“Make it look like an accident. Maybe a tiger would eat him, I don’t know. Luckily, he won the game for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why are you here?”

“The poster, sir.”


“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s not do a poster, Jenkins. Rude to the blind. Let’s do a smell for this show.”

“A what, sir?”

“A signature smell. One-time only. That’s how we’ll advertise the show.”

“Sir, posters aren’t for advertising any more. We just sell them for $60 a pop.”

“Then we’ll make it a very fancy smell. Money mixed with not being afraid of the cops.”

“Maybe for next year, sir. I think we should stick with the sense of sight for this one.”

“Sight. Pish-tosh. Overrated sense.”

“Be that as it may, sir.”

“Why don’t we go somewhere cold and cut the cables on a ski lift, Jenkins?”

“After the poster, sir.”



“I imagine it would sound like this: TWANG! AAAAAAaaaaaah! PLOOMPF!”

“Yes, sir.”

“The ‘PLOOMPF’ was them hitting the snow, Jenkins.”

“I figured that out from context clues, sir.”

“Don’t you get all high and mighty with me, Jenkins. Figuring things out like a smarty-pants.”

“No, sir.”

“In fact: give me your pants.”

“Poster, sir.”


“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, just put some bullshit on a piece of paper.”

“Same as always,. Yes, sir.”

“Wait, Jenkins. Let’s do something different.”

“I told you that we can’t do a poster made out of smells, sir.”

“No, not that. Let’s have the poster be…I don’t know the word for it.”

“Vaguely attractive?”

“That’s it.”

“So, not the same as always.”

“And put the bears in it.”

“Mostly the same as always. Yes, sir.”

“Not kidding about that ski lift plan.”

“I didn’t think you were, sir.”

Garcia On Garcia

jerry citifield

Goddammit, Garcia. We had this talk last summer.

“No one’s noticed, man. I’m being discreet.”

No. This is the opposite of discreet. This is creet. You are being unbelievably creet right now.

“How so?”

You’re wearing a shirt with your own face on it.

“Right. I’m hiding in plain sight.”

No, you’re just in plain sight. At least go backstage or in the Earthroamer or something. Stop wandering around the lot.

“I’m going backstage in a little bit. Concentrate on your own problems.”

You’re not sitting in.

“Donna is!”


“I’m alive in the hearts of most of the folks here.”

Good for you. Stay off that stage.

Let There Be Songs To Fill The Aaron Paul

aaron paul citifield 3

“That guy right there? That’s Bob Weir. He once ate an entire roast hog in one sitting.”


“And he was sitting Indian-style.”


“And that’s Bill Kreutzmann.”

“The best-selling author?”

“The author.”


“And that’s Mickey next to him.”

“In the sailor hat?”


“Why is he wearing that?”



“Is that Branford Marsalis?”


“Woooooow. Man, John Mayer has a kick-ass backup band.”

“Okay, you can’t stand next to me any more.”


“You heard me.”

Escapades On The D Train

bobby cosplay subway

I’m okay with this. In fact: this guy wins the show IF he is wearing the correct footwear, and there is only one answer to that question.


Someone find this guy and report back to me. I am prepared to be his friend, but it’s all about the shoes.

Stella Lou

lou reed dress girl citifield

“You look Jewish.”

Excuse me?

“Oh, are you insulted by that? Do you think that looking Jewish is a bad thing? Because you do look rather Jewish.”

Please don’t be a dick, Lou Reed Dress.

“Do you have any Obetrol?”

I don’t think they make that any more.

“You look at me when I talk to you or I’ll punch you in your heeb nose.”

You are truly living up to your reputation, Lou Reed Dress.

“Did Iggy Pop Dress say anything about me?”

You’re the worst.

Invasion Of The Bobby Snatchers

Dead and Co. Live at Bonnaroo

Mrs. Donna Je–


Sweet Jane (Approximately)

deadandco citifield girls lou reed dress

Immediately after this photo was taken, the woman in the middle’s dress got in a fight with Lester Bangs and then erased Robert Quine’s guitar solos from the master tapes.

Everyone’s A Critic

art bobby painting kid citifield

This kid right here? This is a good kid. Not only is he rocking the aviators, which is a baller move for a ten-year-old, but he’s doing the “looking at art” face, and if ever a painting deserved that face it was this one. Is Bobby creating DNA?

Also: who buys paintings at a Dead show? You have to carry it around all day, and that is a fate worse than hell. I don’t usually compare myself to Holocaust survivors, but if I had to lug artwork around a Dead show, then I would absolutely compare myself to a Holocaust survivor. And rightly so.

Tell Me Your Secrets, Mister Mustache

marlin man deadandco.jpg

Speaking of baseball: this guy is the Marlins Man of Dead & Company’s summer tour, and I am his biggest fan, and will almost certainly be coming up with some bullshit about him.

The Day They Knocked Down The Pally

deadanco citifield

This is Citi Field, or at least a picture of it I stole off Reddit; the actual ballpark is very large and cannot be sent over the innertubes. The place is three or four years old and is gorgeous and modern and high-tech and does not smell like urine.

This is the rotunda:

citifield rotunda

Look how rotund that rotunda is. There’s sunlight and tasteful design and Jackie Robinson, and it also does not smell like urine. You know what did smell like urine? This dump:


That’s Shea Stadium, where the Mets (and the Giants and the Jets and, for the 1975 season, the Yankees) played. At some point, the builders meant to hire someone to, you know, design it but ran out of time and said, “Fuck it: perfect circle made out of concrete.” That’s all Shea was: no beauty or personality, just a drab and utilitarian pit in the worst neighborhood on earth.

Citi Field was built in the parking lot, so it is also in the worst neighborhood on earth, but at least it’s got WiFi and a gluten-free option. The promotional materials for the Mets claim their home is in Flushing, but the area is more precisely called Corona Park, and there is not one business in the neighborhood that takes credit cards. The whole place is a cash-only zone, and not because of crime: nothing in Corona Park has any sort of license. It’s just chop-shops and garage mechanics and hot-sheet motels. It’s actually wonderful refutation of that “stadiums revitalize neighborhoods” bullshit that owners roll out when they want someone to buy them a new ballpark.

Shea wasn’t notably ugly compared to other stadiums of the era: they were all circular because they were all multi-purpose, football and baseball, which meant the place was terrible for both. The upper-deck might as well have been in New Jersey, and the seats faced straight forward, which meant unless you were right behind home plate, you had a crick in your neck by the fifth inning. The picture above is from the 60’s or 70’s; by the early 80’s, the Mets were the only team using the joint, so they put in orange and blue seats.

They looked like this:


That is not TotD, but it might as well be: the otD family went to Shea three or four times a year, and don’t let it sound like I have no good memories from the place. I saw Darryl Strawberry win a game with a pinch-hit home run, and I also ate ice cream from a miniature Mets batting helmet, which is the best way to eat ice cream. Like the young man in the picture, I also brought my glove (a Keith Hernandez first baseman’s model) to the game, and though I never caught a foul ball, I did whack my brother in the head a few times, which is pretty good.

No, the main problem with Shea Stadium was the smell, which was urine. I came to believe, summer after summer, that the concrete had been poured using piss instead of water. The aroma was baked into the bones of the building; you would get there early, for batting practice, when the stadium was as clean as a place made out of cement can ever be. Still: urine, and what makes even less sense is that Shea did not have enough bathrooms. No matter where your seats were, you had to walk to the other side of the field and down two levels to take a whiz.

There was also this bullshit:

citifield stage deadandco jet

That is not Shea, but Citi Field was built in the parking lot and so shares the problem of being around 500 feet from the main runway at LaGuardia. That plane is actually that low, and there’s another plane two minutes behind it, and another one after that. If there was a delay at the airport, a helicopter was dispatched to hover over second base for a while to make noise. Shea Stadium was the ballpark version of Harrison Bergeron: every two minutes there’d be this BWAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH overhead and you would forget your own name.

Speaking of names, Shea did have a good one. The primal sound of it–shaySTAYdeeyum–is happy and rhythmic, but Citi Field is a lovely noise as well, and though it is a corporate naming-rights deal, it could have been so much worse. (Younger or forgetful Enthusiasts should google “Enron Field.”) William Shea was a well-connected lawyer and team owner who helped bring the National League back to New York after the Giants decamped for the Coast. Sadly, he died during construction; in accordance with his will, his ashes were mixed into the foundation.

Some parks need to stay, and there should be games in them for as long as the Republic stands–Fenway and Wrigley and Chavez Ravine–but no one will miss Busch or Veterans or even the Astrodome; no one should miss Shea either, at least not the actual building. The new digs are spacious and clean and wired for sound. They’re better.

Plus, George Foster has never played at Citi Field, which is a huge win for the new place.

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