MY 25TH BIRTHDAY 6/25/1994 Updated Formatting.
MY 25TH BIRTHDAY 6/25/1994
Charles Sullivan
In 1990, while stationed in Germany, I was swept up in World Cup Fever. The quadrennial, month-long soccer tournament is the world's largest International Professional Sports Event. It is estimated that 20% of the population of the whole Earth tunes in live to the final match via TV and radio. Even if it’s on at 2:00 am. In Israel, it was reported that domestic violence dropped 30% during the tournament, as team Israel hadn’t even qualified for the games. It’s that big.
And the next tournament would be in the USA! Just like the Olympic Games, host nations are chosen many years in advance. As part of the selection process, the host must publish the dates and locations of matches years before any teams begin the process of qualifying to compete.
One match is scheduled for Saturday, June 25, 1994, at noon. My 25th birthday. The location: Giants Stadium in East Rutherford, NJ, 20 miles from my home in Woodbridge. I bought two tickets on the first day they were available! I have no idea who may want to go with me. I get the best seats available for the general public. If it were an American football game about the 47-yard line, but on the upper deck of the stadium. The tickets are $95 each. Had to pay my boss to buy the tickets for me… it required an American Express card (cardholders got a 24-hour head start)
As the Winter turns into Spring, the qualifying teams start to fill up the brackets. The teams that ended up at “my game” were Saudi Arabia and Morocco. Not two countries you think of in terms of soccer powerhouses (but neither is the USA).
By May, I am now a regular on Friday nights with the local Rocky Horror Picture Show cast. There is a woman whom I am interested in, her name is Jessie. One of the things I found out while talking to her is that she is a New York Mets fan, as she grew up in Flushing, Queens.
With a little research (early days of the commercial internet), I came across the fact that the Mets are having a 7:05 pm home game on June 25th, and as a bonus, it’s fireworks night celebrating the 25th Anniversary of their 1969 World Series Championship. I bought two tickets to that also. Now it’s a double feature! These are also good seats, on the first base side, a few rows behind the Mets' dugout. These tickets are $40 each. Now, the task is to get Jessie to come with me!
Now the question is how on Earth to do that?!? This is the first woman I am interested in since my wife, Katie, left me in 1991. The first woman whom I decided to pursue since I first met my ex-wife in 1988. I am in a quandary. Time continues to tick by.
The weekend before my birthday, I am straight out with Jessie (maybe motivated by fear of losing money). “What are you doing next Saturday?”
“I’m working, but I’ll be off by 3:00.”
“Is there anything I can do or say to convince you to take the day off?”
“Don’t think so. I am in real need of this job and the money. Why? What do you have in mind?”
“Well…it’s my birthday, 25th birthday actually, and I got a special double feature lined up. World Cup tickets at noon. Mets fireworks night tickets for 7:30. Maybe some special touches along the way.”
“Are they good tickets? The last time I went to a Mets game with a guy, we sat WAAYYY in the upper deck at Shea Stadium.”
“They are good seats, first base side, just a few rows behind the Mets' dugout. Did I mention it’s fireworks night? And the soccer tickets are good too, right at midfield. They cost $95 each.” Maybe I was bragging a little.
“Oh, oh, I’d really like to go to the Mets game, but I can’t do Noon. I gotta work.”
“Well, think about it, please. It’s a very special day for me and I would like to spend it with YOU!!”
For the rest of the week, I’m sweating over her decision. I do make a hard choice, this event will not be split up. It’s one of those all-or-nothing deals. Even though my desire is for Jessie. I started to think of others to spend my special day with. I am determined to enjoy the day and not waste the tickets. Besides, the tickets are already paid for. There is a budget of $300, in addition to the tickets, earmarked for things like parking, gas, tolls, food, snacks, souvenirs, etc. I had even looked into hiring a limo for the day. It would have been $400 plus tolls and tips. That would be great, but not in the realm of possibilities at this point.
Thursday, I go to Modell’s, a sporting goods chain. They were promoting that they were the “official” store for all World Cup Jerseys and gear. My mother bought me a Team USA jersey for my birthday. At first, my thought was‘ $75 was a lot for a shirt’ until I got it home and tried it on. Not only was the design great, light blue with white stars that were streaked in such a way that one thought that they were in motion. Additionally, it was the most breathable garment I ever wore. Our team will literally be the coolest team, temperature-wise, on the field!
Saturday’s weather forecast was for a high of 90. All sun, zero clouds. Then I went to buy some sunblock!
Friday will be the big decision night. Will she call out of work to join me on a special day?
“I really can’t afford to miss work. If I do, they will replace me… permanently! I’m very sorry. I’d still like to go to the Mets and fireworks with you. Share your big day with you.”
Yes, I’m disappointed; she can see it in my face. Then she gives me a big hug. “I’m sorry. I really, really am. Thank you so very much for picking me to be with you on your big day. Let’s do something together, just you and I, real soon. Happy Birthday.” She gives me a kiss on the cheek.
Disappointed, I begin the search for a companion. Now I am down to about 14 hours before the first kick. My mind is not on the show that night. It’s going through the list in my mind. Well aware of the sand pouring through the hourglass. Everyone who comes to mind and/or views that I ask is either busy or not interested.
After the show is over, now at the diner, still, I’m searching. People aren’t interested in the World Cup match. It is a big item in the news, even though soccer isn’t the big draw it is in most of the world. The World’s Biggest Pro Sports Tournament is right here in our neighborhood. The week before was a REAL big match, Italy vs Ireland. It brought out the Vice President, the Governor, and many celebrities to Giants Stadium. It was the lead story on ALL the local news broadcasts for the next two or three days, but few were interested in Saudi Arabia vs Morocco. Even my supervisor at work dubbed it ‘the towel heads vs the fez heads’. Then I see Heather.
Heather is quite new in our circle, and it feels like she is not quite sure if this is her thing or not. Something everyone goes through when they are trying out a new hobby or activity of any sort.
I invite her to join me at the table. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Nothing at all. Finally got a free weekend!”
“It’s my birthday. Actually, it is already my birthday right now and I have these tickets….”
“Ok…sure…why not?” I am happy and excited, and relieved all at the same time. Thank you, Heather!
I have agreed to drive her home so I can pick her up again at about 10:00 am. After the dinner, she convinces me to go with others to a place called ‘Pretty Beach’, which is two lies for the price of one. It’s neither pretty nor a beach. It’s just a concrete boardwalk along the Raritan Bay in the Laurence Harbor section of Old Bridge Township.
While we are there, someone is playing with their car remote, making their headlights blink. Heather thinks this is so funny. “It’s blinking, it’s blinking.” From this one event, she gets stuck with the nickname “Blinky”, like the ghost in the Pac-Man arcade game.
I bring Heather home at about 3:00 am and know where to pick her up later. It’s right off Route 9 in the Parlin section of Old Bridge. I go home and sleep till about 8:30, shower, shave, and eat breakfast. I’m out the door by 9:30. Get into my Dodge Ram 50 pickup truck.
In my fear, Heather would have some excuse that she could not go, but these were relieved when, while pulling up to her place at about 9:50, she was already sitting on her stoop with a big smile!
She greets me with a twinkle in her eyes, a big hug, and a little kiss. “Happy Birthday!” she screams.
On the drive to the Meadowlands Sports Complex, on the New Jersey Turnpike, she tells me how jealous her Dad and brothers were over her day’s itinerary. “You are doing what? On the same day?” That she decided was what pushed her from the ‘ok’ to the ‘let us get excited’ mindset. She had been on her stoop 15 minutes before I got there, eager to get started.
Exiting the turnpike at exit 16W, after paying the toll, the ramp leads us around in such a way that Giant Stadium is looming right before us. The flags flying above the stadium, the parking lot filling up with tailgaters, excitement could be felt, smelled, and tasted; it was so close.
Parking was $15, which I thought was outrageous! Heather wraps herself around my arm as we walk to the 75,000-seat venue. At one point, we come upon a costumed character, ‘Stryker’, the official mascot of this year’s tournament. A person in a dog suit with the Red, White, and Blue uniform, with the Big ’94 on the front and back. We get in line to have our photo taken with him. When it’s our turn, I take a shot of Heather and Stryker.
Walking up the ramp, we notice that there are all kinds of people here, speaking several languages. Many varieties of ‘native dress’. Heather leans close to me and whispers, “What team are we rooting for today? Who is the favorite?”
“I don’t know,” was my honest reply. “I was thinking of waiting to see who the dominant fans are in our section. Then we can decide. We’ll find out when they play the National Anthems.”
We buy water when we reach the top of the ramp, but oddly, the vendors kept the caps of the bottles. “Security,” we are told. “They don’t want the caps thrown onto the field during the game.”
We make our way to our seats. Very, very good seats. One row from the rail, in the middle of the field, in the uppermost deck. Not even a hint of shade to be found anywhere near us. I break out the sunblock!
The stands fill up as the hour approaches. Then we hear the trumpets. As tradition holds, local children hold hands with the players and lead them out onto the field. The fans go wild. The PA system welcomes everyone in several languages. The announcements continue, mostly in English and French (FIFA, the governing body of international soccer, is based in Geneva, the French-speaking part of Switzerland). When the anthems begin, we can tell right away that we are in the Saudi Arabia supporters’ territory. At one point, the Jumbotron shows a turbaned, bearded man in a white robe singing, and half of the stadium erupts in cheers. I ask the man sitting next to me, “Who is that?” He points to one of the Luxury Boxes and says, “That’s our Prince, the future King.”
The match begins, and each team seems to take turns being aggressive; ‘possession time’ seems to be equally split. Seven minutes into the match, Saudi Arabia scored on a penalty shot. Our immediate neighbors are ecstatic.
At one point, Heather needs to get out of the sun for a bit. We retreat to the concession area and sit on the cool concrete, drinking Gatorade. That’s when the stadium erupts. I rush back into the tunnel to find that the Saudis scored. Missed it, damn!
I go back to Heather. I am worried that I may have to take her home with heat exhaustion. Then the idea comes, “Which country are you rooting for? What’s your nationality?”
“I’m Italian.”
“What size shirt do you wear?”
“Medium.”
I should have gotten her a USA shirt so we could match, or given her my ‘official’ jersey.
“I’ll be right back.”
Fuad Anwar of Saudi Arabia and Rachid Daoudi of Morocco during the FIFA World Cup, group F match between Saudi Arabia and Morocco, at Giants Stadium, East Rutherford, New Jersey, United States on June 25, 1994 ( Photo by Eric Renard / Onze / Icon Sport )
I leave her again. Go to the t-shirt stand and buy a medium ‘Italy’ team t-shirt and go back to her. I give her an empty water bottle and the t-shirt, then point.
“Go into the ladies' room. Use this bottle to soak your head and hair from the sink, as wet as you can. Then sit on the toilet for a few minutes. After a few minutes, use the shirt you have on to dry your face, then put on this new shirt. You have 10 minutes before halftime. I’ll get us more water and Gatorade. Do you feel like eating?”
She did not. I help her up, and she goes into the ladies' room. Half time begins, and the concourse is filled within moments. Heather comes out a bit later, looking better, even if her hair is a mess. I put her wet T-shirt into the plastic bag that the new T-shirt came in. She is feeling better.
“The AC is on full blast in there,” she says. “Sitting in the AC with a wet head and no shirt on cooled me off quite a bit.”
We drink more Gatorade and water, and end up getting hot dogs (She also only had some toast and coffee for breakfast). Returned to our seats just as the second half started. We enjoyed the rest of the match. Our section mates are happy. They end up winning 2-1.
Slowly, we exit the stadium, down the spiral ramps with the masses. Many are still chanting and singing. Eventually, we find the truck, but it’s only 2:30. So there is plenty of time.
The truck did not have AC (it only had an AM radio, ya think it’s going to have AC?). So we have both windows rolled down as we crawl through the parking lot. I had printed out the directions to our next stop, my “Aunt” Betty’s. I knew how to get there from my house, but not from the Meadowlands. Our next task: figure out how to get out of the parking lot and onto the George Washington Bridge. We follow the signs and end up back on the New Jersey Turnpike. We take this North to the next and final Exit 18. At that point, the highway magically changes names and becomes Interstate 95, bringing us onto the desired bridge.
Crossing the Hudson River, Heather looks out the window to the south and the skyscrapers of Manhattan. “Can’t remember the last time I came this way into New York.” Entering Manhattan, we stay on the highway, then cross the Harlem River via the Alexander Hamilton Bridge, and we enter the Bronx.
We turn south, I forget the name of the highway, following the river and even passing Yankee Stadium on our way toward the Triboro Bridge, where we cross the East River and into Queens, pulling onto the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway and exiting onto Queens Blvd (aka State Road 25). Queens Blvd brings us through several neighborhoods on our way to Elmhurst.
My Aunt Betty, who is not a relative at all, has been part of my family before I was. When my parents first picked me up from the adoption agency, instead of going home, they brought me to Aunt Betty’s. Betty’s mother came from France as a child with parts of the Statue of Liberty in the 1880s. She lived in a BIG old house. When the house was built in the early 1900s, this part of Queens was very rural. The house was built wired for electricity, but also with gas lamps. Electricity had not made it out this far into the countryside.
I had told her about going to the Mets game and my desire to stop by. She was ready for me, with several of my baby and childhood photos taken out and set up around her kitchen, which probably had not changed in the whole 25 years of my life.
I introduced her to Heather, and Betty proceeded to embarrass me by showing my old photos and telling stories of my youth. She had no children or grandchildren of her own, so she used me!
We were there for about an hour, then said our goodbyes. A few blocks from Betty’s was a Wendy’s, not an ordinary Wendy’s. This was the restaurant used in the Eddie Murphy film “Coming to America” as the ‘MacDowles’. Along this one wall are photos of what the place looked like as a location with lighting and cameras rigged up. Even photos of the cast, Eddie Murphy, Arsenio Hall, James Earl Jones, John Amos, Samuel L. Jackson, Louie Anderson……
So we eat and head towards Roosevelt Avenue. What makes this road so extraordinary is that it lies under an elevated subway, an ‘El’. The number 7 train rumbles overhead every few minutes, bringing people back and forth from Flushing to Times Square in Manhattan. It’s also funny when in one moment you are in the sunlight, then the train comes and the sun appears to be blinking. This ‘Blinky’ also thinks is funny.
2022 Google Street View Image
As we approach our destination, it seems that poverty grows. We pull up to Shea Stadium and leave the shade of the buildings on either side of the street and the El. It’s still blazing sun in the parking lot. I remember it costing only half of what it cost to park at the Meadowlands!
It’s still more than an hour before game time, so we wander the parking lot for a few minutes looking for tailgaters but finding none. We go into the stadium and buy hats to try to keep the sun off. We find our seats, thanks to a friendly usher, who even wipes down our seats with his oversized, fuzzy mittens. It’s not like this in the upper decks! As we look at the 20 feet to the field, there are some kids getting balls autographed by some players. We tried to go up and get a photo with a player, but they were called into the dugout just as we were walking up.
We order food and drinks, and even split a beer. Today’s game is against the Pittsburgh Pirates, and honestly had not been following either team much that year, being a Yankee fan.
Driving and parking at Yankee Stadium is a nightmare! I did it once, never again. If I want to see the Yankees, I take the subway or the Metro-North train. BTW, the Yankees were not playing at home on my birthday. I had already checked.
The game was not exciting at all. Lots of three–up–three-down. There was a rule, the stadium quit serving beer after the 7th inning began. At the start of the 6th, I go up to the beer line, the game is going by too quickly! While in line, a Pirate hits a solo home run. It turns out to be the only scoring of the whole GAME! I get the beer just before the stand closes and am back at the seat before the 7th inning stretch.
The game continues, albeit quickly, the final score Pirates 1, Mets 0. The total time is about 90 minutes! Then an announcement comes over the PA system, the game was played so quickly that they can’t start the fireworks for another hour. It’s not dark enough yet! There are equal amounts of laughter and groans!
Heather and I chose to wait, but we got up to visit the bathroom and stretch our legs a bit, peeking at the souvenir stands. Five minutes after the fireworks announcement brings us back to our seats. A video plays, showing some highlights of the 1969 season. Then some fireworks, 10 more minutes of video, then more fireworks. Finally, highlights of the World Series itself, and then the finale of the fireworks. During which I lean over to Heather and whisper to her, “I want to give you a kiss right now, cause if anyone ever asks me, I can honestly say ‘I kissed you and saw fireworks.” (a cheesy line I picked up in a movie that was otherwise forgettable) She giggles and replies by turning to me and putting her arms around my neck, and giving me the biggest kiss imaginable. Then she pulls back an inch, “Happy Birthday,” and then puts her tongue in my mouth! We kiss a bit more and then watch the end of the fireworks. By the time the stadium lights come back on, I notice that it’s half empty. Leaving Shea Stadium is not an issue at all. It’s easy to exit when you don’t have to negotiate any stairs or ramps, being on the equivalent of the ground floor! The parking lot is also half empty, but parking right next to a lamp with a sign on it is a big help.
The truck follows the signs for the Long Island Expressway, taking us west. We get off on the last exit before the Queens Midtown Tunnel and get onto the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway south again. This follows along the East River with the UN and other skyscrapers of Manhattan across the water from us. Crossing the Gowanus Canal on the Kosciuszko Bridge, we enter Brooklyn. This is when I notice that Heather has fallen asleep.
I drive onto the Verranzano-Narrows Bridge and onto Staten Island. Continuing on I-278, we go over the Goethals Bridge and back into New Jersey. Then it’s back onto the New Jersey Turnpike South. I’m still excited about the kiss, the first I’ve gotten in years! Heather starts to wake up from her half-hour or so nap. “Where are we?”
“We’re back in Jersey. How was your cat nap?” I say.
“It’s been a long and exciting two days for me. Sorry, I nodded off like that.”
“That’s just fine. I can’t blame you. Let me tell you, I was thinking, you are a very, very good kisser, and I was wondering… if you may be interested in going someplace quiet and dark and doing some more kissing?”
She laughs, “Ok, that sounds great!”
Holy Crap! She said “YES”. Now, what do I do? My mind begins combing the territory between our present location and her house. “Well, I work not far from here. We could pull into the back and park there for a bit. No one will see us.”
“Hmmm, let’s go!”
I work in a light industrial/warehouse district. There wouldn’t be anyone around. There are no 24-hour facilities for a few blocks. We are just off the main roads. So it’s perfect. We pull into the loading dock area. In one dock is a 40-foot trailer that is filled with new 55-gallon steel drums. Next to that is one trailer that we use for empty drums to get recycled. We pull between them. Visually hidden on three sides. There is another building on the far side of the yard, about 150 feet away, that is also quiet and dark as it approaches midnight. So we park for about 30 minutes, kissing and talking. We both know it’s been a full day, and we leave for Heather’s house.
(I end up using ‘behind the warehouse’ as my ‘lovers lane’ for the next two years until I get an apartment just after my birthday in 1996.)
Pulling up to Heather’s house, she thanked me for the big day with words and one last kiss. She is in her house just before 1 AM. I stop for gas on the way home, and just as I am lying in my bed, I turn to the clock, and it's 1:35.
The next weekend is the Fourth of July weekend. I had pledged to my mother that I would take her camping near Gettysburg, PA, and we had gotten tickets for the annual Battle re-enactment.
My next Rocky show appearance was on July 8th. I had a print made of the Heather and Stryker photo and had it framed, as my way of saying thank you. I gave it to her in the parking lot before the show. Her friends were eager for her to unwrap it, which she does, and then gives me a big smile and a bigger hug.
She told of our adventure the week before, and I developed a reputation as a guy who likes to go places and do things, and not ‘like most guys’, and just want to hang around and complain, “there is nothing to do”. Apparently, she also told some that I was a good kisser, too.
Slowly, Heather drifted away from the show but would show up on occasion. She always greeted me with the biggest hug. The last time I’d seen her, I walked into my best friend/landlord/upstairs neighbor’s place with my then-girlfriend, Christine. Heather jumped up and gave me another big hug, telling everybody how much she missed me. Christine, who was a stereotypical hot-headed Italian, was suspicious.
“So you two know each other, I see,” she scowls.
“Yes,” I respond, still holding on to Heather. “She was gracious and accompanied me on my 25th birthday.”
“And what happened on your 25th birthday?” Christine is even less happy now.
“Fireworks,” Heather says. “There were definitely fireworks!”
Post Script:
The FIFA World Cup is coming back to the USA in 2026, and would you believe it: There will be a match on my birthday at the Met Life Stadium ( which will be temporarily re-branded as ‘New York / New Jersey Stadium’), which is the successor to Giants Stadium in the Meadowlands. I will have to get tickets: 32 years to the day. If only I could find Heather!
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