A trip to Shea Stadium 50 years ago was the beginning of a lifelong love of baseball

A few people have reached out over the last few days saying they were surprised that I didn’t write a Father’s Day column last week. The fact is, I wanted to save it for a week, for reasons you’ll soon see. And that decision, as you’ll also see, was probably a lucky one.

I wanted to wait because next Saturday is the 50th anniversary of the first baseball game I attended in person. I was 7 years old. Of course, my dad took me. We did what we did at almost every Mets game we ever attended: We parked the car at my grandmother’s house on 51st Avenue in Corona, she made us some sandwiches to go, and we walked the few blocks to Shea Stadium.

It was June 29, 1974. I can’t tell you where my wallet is right now. I’m not sure what else is on my iPhone. My car keys? Fifty-fifty. But I can recount every minute of that day, every second, stored in my mind – like I’m watching the home movie.

From the moment Shea came into view, I didn’t even bat an eyelid. The enormous size, the strange orange and blue tiles haphazardly placed on the outside. And the blinding green of the grass inside. We took our seats. It was old-timer day at Shea, so we had gotten there early, and my dad started pointing out everything he thought I should know.

“This is the shelter.”

“This is the bullpen.”

“This is the batting cage.”

“The tarpaulin is stored rolled up there.”

“This is the press box.”

This is one of the reasons it was important for me to write about this week. My response was, “What’s a press box?” He explained that it was where the sportswriters wrote their stories about the game we were about to watch. And I swear it’s true: My dad commuted into the city from Long Island every day. He bought the Daily News every morning and the Post (an afternoon paper at the time) every night when he got home. And starting the next Monday and for the next 11 years, he would come home and give me the Mail, and I would soak up every word.

That first Thursday – I swear it’s true – I announced at dinner, “When I grow up, I want to be a sports columnist for the New York Post.”

So when I occasionally mention that I have my dream job… I mean it with dead seriousness. Since I was 7.

The other indelible event of that day: At the very end of the Old Timers’ introduction, Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle, Duke Snider and Willie Mays came in together from center field. It was an electrifying moment. I had never heard a sound as intense as the roar that filled old Shea. But then I turned to my dad and saw something I had never seen before.

He cried.

“I’m not sad,” he said. “On the contrary. These boys made up the biggest part of my childhood.”

Then he explained: Joe D. was his absolute favorite and always would be, and he explained why. He praised Mickey. He praised the Duke.

“But Willie,” he said, “was, in my opinion, the best player of all time. At least the best I’ve ever seen in person.”

The game? Well, Cleon Jones and Wayne Garrett hit home runs and the Mets won 4-0. Jon Matlack threw a one-hitter – the only hit coming from a single by opposing pitcher John Curtis, of all people.

“You have no idea what you almost saw,” my father said, shaking his head as we walked back to my grandmother’s house.

“I’m sure I’ll see one someday,” I said.

(SPOILER ALERT: I’ve been to about 5,000 baseball games in the last 50 years. I ran to the press box during the last inning of Johan Santana’s no-no. I still haven’t seen a whole game. And it’s late early out here.)

Fifty years. And it’s funny. I wanted to include a picture of the ticket stub that I still have, but it’s permanently attached to a scrapbook and there was no way to remove it without tearing it up. The one pictured here looks exactly the same, I assure you. It will have to do. One must respect the most sacred of artifacts at all costs, after all.

Vacs punches

Donald Sutherland made every movie he was in – and there were so many – 15 percent better just by showing up, and he was as much Hawkeye Pierce as Alan Alda. Good luck to one of the greats.

Normally we get to enjoy the Harlem Globetrotters in this area once a year, but now the Globies have taken a leaf out of Billy Joel’s book and set up a sports residency at the American Dream from August 16th to 25th. Games, classes for kids and adults, the chance to learn their history from legends like “Sweet” Lou Dunbar. Seems like a nice end-of-summer gift for all of us.

I’ve read Presumed Innocent (and loved it) and seen the movie (and loved it even more), so I was skeptical about the eight-part version on Apple TV+. But after three episodes, the plot has progressed so far that I no longer know who the killer is, and Jake Gylenhaal, Peter Sarsgaard, Ruth Negga, and Bill Camp are so brilliant that I’m in and hooked.

Two of my friends, Chris Russo and Ed Randall, will be hosting what is sure to be an entertaining discussion and Q&A session this Tuesday at 7:30 p.m. at the SVA Theater, 333 W. 23rd St. Proceeds will go to Fans for the Cure, a nonprofit organization dedicated to prostate cancer awareness and education. Tickets are $35. For more information, email [email protected].

Strike back at Vac

Jonathan Siegel: To honor his legacy, all teams should play “Talking Baseball” and John Fogerty’s ode to Willie Mays, “Centerfield,” at their next game. Maybe the number 24 should be retired from baseball.

Vacuum: I’ll start: Put me in, coach. I’m ready to play. Today. Look at me. I can do it. Midfield.

James Vespa: Life is all about timing, which is beyond our control. If Willie Mays had been born 30 years later, he would be the highest-paid baseball player of all time. However, if he had been born 30 years earlier, he would never have played an inning in the major leagues.

Vacuum: Very moving. And very true.

@jeffreymamo: That’s why Leon Rose gets the best spot. If he doesn’t come back with all hands on deck and healthy, I’ll always wonder as a fan what could have been if the Knicks had stayed healthy.

@MikeVacc: I don’t think this is an isolated opinion.

Walter Nicholson: I’m so glad Jerry West won that one NBA title as a player. A 9-0 loss in the finals would have been a terrible fate for such a great player. I think the basketball gods made up for it as a manager by sending him Shaq and Kobe!

Vacuum: Not to mention Magic, Kareem and James Worthy.