|photo credit: Doug Wallick via photopin cc|
When I was 23 my family put our dog Sable to sleep. She was nearly 14 years old, deaf, and could barely walk anymore. I was living away from home at the time, but I cried when I got the news. A last vestige of my childhood was gone. She was a nearly perfect dog, the best. But it was time.
Most of that childhood was lived in Minneapolis, largely in the shadow of a Teflon bubble, and tomorrow it too will disappear. With plans in place to build a new billion-dollar stadium, the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome’s iconic roof will be deflated and demolition will begin.
The dome was under construction the year my family moved into the neighborhood (1980), and it quickly became a significant part of the Minneapolis skyline of my childhood. But it was one of the worst stadiums in the country. The sightlines in the upper deck were horrid, especially for baseball, which makes sense since it was a football stadium with baseball wedged into it. It always smelled funny. The urinals were troughs (although that was a selling point to little boys). If the crowd wasn’t into the game it felt like a deserted hospital. The turf was like Brillo pads on concrete, and the whole place was plain ugly. It was a dump, but it was our dump.
. . .
But no more. Tomorrow it goes under. It is sad, but it is time. The H.H.H. Metrodome was a good friend, always there for me, always stable, always a little bit gross. But its days are behind it now. It’s time to put the old dog down. It will be fondly missed. But no tears this time.