There was once a park named Shea
Where the New York Mets would play
But then they choked twice
And thought it’d be nice
To pack up and move away
Or, if you prefer the fine art of haiku:
Forty four long years
The space where big Shea once stood
Is now for parking
The NY Times has a nice piece here, if you’d like to see a picture or read a less funny and more prose-y take on it.
There once was a guy named Ben
Who wrote limericks and poetic-zen
He loved his Shea
Where the Mets did play
About Citifield he has yet to pen!
Shea once held a prominent spot,
On the map, it was more than a dot.
Then came CitiField
Many fans it’d yield,
That Shea is now its parking lot.
OR…
Three brothers, growing up in Hurley
The oldest had hair that was curly
For the Mets they did root,
But it was all moot
Because their season keeps ending too early!
OR…
There is a new stadium called ‘Citi’
A magnificent building, so pretty!
But the team was the same
Their story of ill fame…
Because in September they always play shitty.