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BY JOE CARDONA
JCCIGAR@AOL.COM
Alright, so I’m a sucker for aesthetics — every time I drive by the new Marlins’ stadium I’m too much in awe of its architectural magnificence to hold a grudge against the baseball team’s organization for having hustled Miami-Dade County commissioners and the ousted mayor into a sweetheart deal tantamount to corporate robbery at taxpayers’ expense.
I don’t blame owner Jeffrey Loria and uncouth team president— Loria’s stepson, David Samson — for getting the best deal possible for their club. The onus of looking out for our tax dollars is on our elected officials who, left to their own devices, will continue to generously give away our yearly contributions — all in the name of making influential friends and getting reelected.
Upon describing the splendorous aura of the burgeoning ballpark I know that I will upset a great deal of my dyed-in-the-wool, hardcore friends who still pronounce the name of our city “My-a-muh” and spend an inordinate amount of time, as I do, pining for the return of landmarks, businesses and personalities that are long gone. While in most cases my heart is with these folks, this time I’m afraid that my opinion has evolved over to the dark side of modernity. And yes, that means I’m willing to forgive the cardinal sin of having demolished our most sacred and hallowed of grounds, the Orange Bowl.
We must all concede that the end of the beloved Orange Bowl did not commence when the bulldozers tore into its historic structure. The beginning of the end occurred when a rigid Miami City Commission and a hard-headed owner named Joe Robbie decided that the football mecca, which also hosted the Orange Bowl game (when bowl games still meant something), would no longer be the home of the Dolphins. The departure of Clayton, Duper, Marino and Shula meant the old stadium would have to solely rely on income from University of Miami football home games and sundry other sporting and cultural events like ho-hum soccer games (mostly international, exhibition matches or the unwatchable American Soccer League) and occasional rock concerts and monster truck shows. It was clear then that the Orange Bowl’s days were numbered.
The friendly confines of the old stadium became less hospitable every fall as the rugged summer elements peeled and pulled apart whatever distinguished nook and cranny the old gal had left. We witnessed the Orange Bowl slowly die before our eyes. Interestingly enough, the Dolphins didn’t fare much better than their old residence, for they have wallowed in mediocrity since they moved to the stadium Robbie built with his own money.
Originally named after its creator and owner, Joe Robbie Stadium — now Sun Life Stadium — stands as a nondescript slab of concrete in the middle of no-man’s-land on the Miami-Dade/Broward border. Built as a multipurpose stadium, the edifice has faithfully housed the Fish since 1987, yet it has never been a home.
Next summer, I am going to enjoy visiting the new majestic baseball palace in Little Havana. The stadium, like the Marlins (especially under Jack McKeon) has panache. With the addition of a couple of bats and the return of Josh Johnson, next season promises to be an exciting summer attraction.
Another interesting side note is the fact that the franchise will no longer be called the Florida Marlins — instead, the team is following baseball’s swing towards urban areas and will logically be named the Miami Marlins. It was during the team’s infant stages that original owner H. Wayne Huizenga sneered at the majority results of a poll taken by this newspaper that showed that fans wanted to name the team Miami Marlins after the former minor league squad that saw the likes of Hall of Famer Satchel Paige don its uniform. Huizenga took his bat and ball north and snubbed the fans.
I gaze at Marlins Stadium off the 836 expressway with keen interest and excitement. I anticipate the opening of the new ballpark and, with my young daughter, I look forward to building a new set of fond memories at the stadium.
JCCIGAR@AOL.COM
Alright, so I’m a sucker for aesthetics — every time I drive by the new Marlins’ stadium I’m too much in awe of its architectural magnificence to hold a grudge against the baseball team’s organization for having hustled Miami-Dade County commissioners and the ousted mayor into a sweetheart deal tantamount to corporate robbery at taxpayers’ expense.
I don’t blame owner Jeffrey Loria and uncouth team president— Loria’s stepson, David Samson — for getting the best deal possible for their club. The onus of looking out for our tax dollars is on our elected officials who, left to their own devices, will continue to generously give away our yearly contributions — all in the name of making influential friends and getting reelected.
Upon describing the splendorous aura of the burgeoning ballpark I know that I will upset a great deal of my dyed-in-the-wool, hardcore friends who still pronounce the name of our city “My-a-muh” and spend an inordinate amount of time, as I do, pining for the return of landmarks, businesses and personalities that are long gone. While in most cases my heart is with these folks, this time I’m afraid that my opinion has evolved over to the dark side of modernity. And yes, that means I’m willing to forgive the cardinal sin of having demolished our most sacred and hallowed of grounds, the Orange Bowl.
We must all concede that the end of the beloved Orange Bowl did not commence when the bulldozers tore into its historic structure. The beginning of the end occurred when a rigid Miami City Commission and a hard-headed owner named Joe Robbie decided that the football mecca, which also hosted the Orange Bowl game (when bowl games still meant something), would no longer be the home of the Dolphins. The departure of Clayton, Duper, Marino and Shula meant the old stadium would have to solely rely on income from University of Miami football home games and sundry other sporting and cultural events like ho-hum soccer games (mostly international, exhibition matches or the unwatchable American Soccer League) and occasional rock concerts and monster truck shows. It was clear then that the Orange Bowl’s days were numbered.
The friendly confines of the old stadium became less hospitable every fall as the rugged summer elements peeled and pulled apart whatever distinguished nook and cranny the old gal had left. We witnessed the Orange Bowl slowly die before our eyes. Interestingly enough, the Dolphins didn’t fare much better than their old residence, for they have wallowed in mediocrity since they moved to the stadium Robbie built with his own money.
Originally named after its creator and owner, Joe Robbie Stadium — now Sun Life Stadium — stands as a nondescript slab of concrete in the middle of no-man’s-land on the Miami-Dade/Broward border. Built as a multipurpose stadium, the edifice has faithfully housed the Fish since 1987, yet it has never been a home.
Next summer, I am going to enjoy visiting the new majestic baseball palace in Little Havana. The stadium, like the Marlins (especially under Jack McKeon) has panache. With the addition of a couple of bats and the return of Josh Johnson, next season promises to be an exciting summer attraction.
Another interesting side note is the fact that the franchise will no longer be called the Florida Marlins — instead, the team is following baseball’s swing towards urban areas and will logically be named the Miami Marlins. It was during the team’s infant stages that original owner H. Wayne Huizenga sneered at the majority results of a poll taken by this newspaper that showed that fans wanted to name the team Miami Marlins after the former minor league squad that saw the likes of Hall of Famer Satchel Paige don its uniform. Huizenga took his bat and ball north and snubbed the fans.
I gaze at Marlins Stadium off the 836 expressway with keen interest and excitement. I anticipate the opening of the new ballpark and, with my young daughter, I look forward to building a new set of fond memories at the stadium.
Originally named after its creator and owner, Joe Robbie Stadium — now Sun Life Stadium — stands as a nondescript slab of concrete in the middle of no-man’s-land on the Miami-Dade/Broward border. Built as a multipurpose stadium, the edifice has faithfully housed the Fish since 1987, yet it has never been a home.
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