You’re traveling through another dimension. A dimension not of sight and sound, but of stadium seats and peanut shells. You’ve entered… the Twilight Zone.
Now, imagine this: It’s late at night. You’re in bed, mid-Twilight Zone marathon, half-asleep, with a gummy kicking in. You’ve got a random news article open about a baseball stadium turned into luxury apartments in Indianapolis. As you drift off, the gummies and Rod Serling’s narration join forces to transport you to a parallel universe—one where Shea Stadium never bit the dust but instead got a second life as swanky lofts.
In this alternate universe, Shea Stadium and the Polo Grounds are alive and well—not as sports relics, but as dream homes for diehard fans. Your bedroom at Shea? It’s right in the outfield, maybe where Tommie Agee made his famous catch. Your kitchen at the Polo Grounds? Dead center field, where only the most absurd home runs once landed. Your neighbors? Just a mix of history buffs, baseball romantics, and that one guy who insists on reenacting Bobby Thomson’s “Shot Heard 'Round the World” every Saturday at 10 a.m.
Instead of parking lots or abandoned lots, you’ve got luxury living with stadium seating for sunsets, dugout lounges, and a bullpen-turned-jacuzzi. At Shea, the hallways are painted Mets orange and blue. At the Polo Grounds, you’re stepping into a time capsule where baseball’s most storied ghosts might join you for coffee.
Of course, this dream of mine was inspired by a real story out of Indianapolis. Let me introduce you to Bush Stadium, a former baseball cathedral that’s been reincarnated as loft apartments—and it’s even better than my Shea/Polo Grounds fantasy.
Built in 1931 and originally named Perry Stadium, this 14,500-seat ballpark was the pride of Indianapolis, constructed for a cool $350,000 by the same architects who designed the iconic Fenway Park. The ivy-covered walls of Perry Stadium didn’t just host baseball games—they inspired the famous ivy at Wrigley Field. The park opened to a modest crowd of 5,942 fans, though its grand ambitions remained intact.
Over the years, Perry Stadium became Victory Field in 1942, reflecting the patriotic fervor of World War II, before eventually being renamed Bush Stadium in 1967, honoring Owen J. Bush, a former MLB player and beloved local figure. Beyond hosting the Indianapolis Indians and minor league playoff games, Bush Stadium witnessed Negro League greats, including Hank Aaron, who played there during the 1952 Indianapolis Clowns’ championship run. It even doubled as a Hollywood set for the movie Eight Men Out, bringing the infamous Black Sox scandal to life.
By the early 1990s, Bush Stadium faced the harsh reality of aging infrastructure. Major League Baseball declared it unfit for Minor League Baseball under new facility standards, requiring $12-14 million in renovations. The solution? Build a shiny new stadium downtown. By 1996, the Indians had relocated to the new Victory Field, leaving Bush Stadium in limbo.
What followed was a series of bizarre reincarnations. In 1997, it briefly became a dirt track for midget car racing. After that experiment fizzled, the stadium became a glorified storage facility.
In the early 2010s, developers finally saw the potential in Bush Stadium’s bones. With $13 million in renovations—including $5 million from the city—the stadium was transformed into Stadium Lofts, a 138-unit apartment complex that opened in 2013. They didn’t just slap on some drywall and call it a day. The renovation kept iconic features like the owner’s suite, ticket booth, and even the original field lights. Black metal balconies now line what used to be the stands, and large windows bring in natural light, creating an industrial-chic vibe with echoes of baseball history.
For residents, the view from their living room isn’t just another high-rise—it’s the infield where countless games were played. The transformation also revitalized the surrounding Riverside neighborhood, proving that even a derelict stadium can score big for its community. there, so the connections were deep, and people couldn’t wait to come to the project.”
And so, I woke up, disoriented and still half-convinced I was living in an episode of The Twilight Zone. The gummy haze lingered, and I sat there grappling with two thoughts: 1) Why didn’t I stop at half a gummy? And 2) How could I have missed out on this multimillion-dollar idea? Turning old baseball stadiums into luxury lofts? It’s brilliant! Why didn’t I think of it sooner? Probably because my grandest ideas tend to occur between episodes of Rod Serling waxing poetic and me drooling like Homer Simpson on my pillow.
But let’s be honest: Even in my wildest dreams, my idea for Shea Stadium living probably wouldn’t have made it past the planning stage. Sure, the nostalgia runs deep—turning the spot where Tommie Agee made that catch into your living room sounds great—but let’s face it, someone would complain to the HOA about me yelling "AND IT GETS BY BUCKNER" as our daily reenactments of the 1986 World Series spill into the parking lot-turned-community pool. And at the Polo Grounds? Every home run ball landing in your kitchen might make for a charming novelty… until you’re dealing with Flo from Progressive every week.
So, I rubbed the sleep (and gummy fog) from my eyes and snapped back to reality, I couldn’t help but smile. Bush Stadium had pulled off what I could only dream of for Shea and the Polo Grounds: a second act. It wasn’t just a stadium anymore; it was a home. A place where baseball’s ghosts could live on—not as relics, but as part of everyday life.
It’s the kind of story that makes you believe anything is possible. Maybe Citi Field will get it's turn someday—or maybe I’ll just learn to stop reading quirky baseball articles during late-night Twilight Zone marathons. Either way, Bush Stadium proves the game’s not over until you’ve gone into extra innings.
And thank goodness this wasn’t the Twilight Zone episode Time Enough at Last. Knowing my luck, Yep, I’d absolutely be the Henry Bemis of baseball stadiums—surrounded by all the history I’ve ever loved but utterly alone and with a pair of broken glasses.
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