By Astro Pete
Editor’s note – This article originally appeared on AstrosConnection.com.
It isn’t the Statue of Zeus at Olympia, nor the Colossus of Rhodes. It isn’t in the same class as the Hanging Gardens of Babylon or the Pyramids of Giza. However, it’s greatness is just as monumental as each of the Seven Wonders of the World. It, of course, is the Harris County Domed Stadium, or more commonly known as, the Astrodome. Originally envisioned by Judge Roy Hofheinz, it is still as breathtaking today as it was in it’s inception thirty-five years ago. The general public may not see our ballpark in the exactly the same light, but we feel differently. We know the truth. Fact is, the Astrodome is a marvelous building and a wonderful place to watch the game we recognize as our National Pastime. We know the scent of the Dome. We can smell it even when we are away. The scent is warm to the senses and sensitive to the soul. If fills your lungs as open air would on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in Spring. It is the scent of the Astrodome, the smell of baseball.
Over the years, we’ve become accustomed to the traditions of the park. We each have our secret routes to and from the Dome, our favorite seats where we are most comfortable watching the game, and our favorite players, songs, and cheers. Some of us even know the different vendors and employees by name.
There’s Flakes, who directs traffic in the parking lot. Aside from having one of the coolest names in the world, we know him because he never seems to be able to complete a sentence. Nonetheless, his somewhat slurred and mumbled voice somehow conveys that he’s just glad to be there, and he’s glad you are too. Also, who could forget Arnie, “The Peanut Dude?” He paces the aisles of the field boxes, asking, “who wants peanuts?” Nobody ever sees him without a sparkle in his eye and a smile on his face. And if you hear a bag of peanuts whizzing by your ear and landing directly into the lap of the gentleman sitting behind you, there’s no need to worry, Arnie is four aisles over laughing because he just threw another direct strike (behind the back) to another satisfied customer. Of all the ballparks I’ve been to, the Astrodome is far and away, the classiest and most friendly one I’ve ever seen, and probably ever will.
We all have many memories of the Astrodome, some of which we find more fond than others. We’ve all cried, we’ve all laughed, we’ve all cheered. Some of our memories are personal, and will never be forgotten. To this day, I remember my brother discovering that I had chicken pox at the Astrodome. I wanted to stay for the rest of the game, but my family thought better of it, and decided it was time for Peter to go home. I threw a fit (as usual). I lost, as did the Astros that afternoon to the Expos in extra-innings. I also remember, years later, ducking out of a game after eight innings of a blowout, only to find out later that I had missed a bench clearing brawl, which consisted of Yogi Berra “bodyslamming” someone, as it was described to me later. And just several years ago, I remember getting into a verbal argument with Dave Magadan from the stands after he had made disparaging remarks directed towards the “replacement players.” While some of our memories are personal, others were shared with 50,000 of our closest friends. Some of us (myself not included) personally witnessed some of the greatest moments in Astros history. Like Mike Scott’s no-hitter on September 25, 1986, or the wild season of 1980. Some of us also remember possibly the saddest moment in Astros history: Kevin Bass striking out with two on and two out in the bottom of the sixteenth. Nonetheless, we must take these sort of memories, both happy and sad ones, and cherish each and everyone one of them in our hearts forever.
Throughout the many years, the Astros have been laughed at and criticized, and praised and admired. We represent a small percentage of baseball fans who have stuck with the Astros the whole way, never giving up on them regardless of the circumstances. We saw the team that won back-to-back divisional championships in ’97 and ’98 be created in ’91. Despite the low times, we guided and supported the team each step of the way, hoping that we’d be rewarded in the future for our efforts. We were. We saw Astros baseball on the verge of packing up their bags and leaving town after the strike of ’94. We owe Jeff Bagwell, Craig Biggio, and Shane Reynolds a great deal of thanks for capturing our hearts and refusing to let us let them go. We’ve developed a keen relationship with our players. They seem to love us, maybe even as much as we love them. Someone said it was something in the Houston air which the players grew so fond of. However, I’m led to believe that there is some connection in our hearts that binds the players to the fans. In fact, I’m quite postitive that’s exactly what it is.
We are the lucky ones. For thirty-five years the city of Houston has been the home of one of the grandest buildings of them all. We fans have treated it almost as well as it has treated us. It is the place where our first dreams were dreamt and our first ambitions were formed. As children we dreamed of playing on the field, sitting in the dugout, and walking to the clubhouse. We dreamed of bringing the crowd to it’s feet with a game-winning homerun. We dreamed of being the hero, the center of attention in this wonderful, massive building. With age, we’ve realized that our dreams were just that: dreams. But if you’re like me and seen game winning homeruns from Astros greats like Bagwell, Glenn Davis, and Jose Cruz, your dreams have, indeed, become reality. No matter where you are sitting or how far away from the diamond you are, you can stand in the box with your hero, travel with him as he circles the basepaths, and step on home plate with him before being swarmed by his teammates, your teammates. We’ve lived our dreams through these supernatural athletes we think of as our own. For just a few moments, we have all become little kids again. For thirty five years the Astrodome has given us wonderful memories to hold on to and to cherish till death do us part.
In 2000, we are going to a new, if not better place. The Ballpark at Union Station will offer many luxuries that no other facility in the world can provide. However, I think we’d all be lying if we claim that we will not be shedding a tear or two when the Astrodome is officially retired from professional baseball. We’d all be lying if we said we were glad to see the Dome go. Who knows, maybe in thirty-five years we’ll be saying the same things about our future home. However, there is one certainty we can all be assured of: no matter how great and wonderful the Ballpark at Union Station will be, it will never surpass the impact the Astrodome has had on Major League Baseball, the city of Houston, and most importantly, we few but lucky fans.