In all these cities, your new ballparks are so close you can hardly bear the wait. In Cincinnati, San Diego, Pittsburgh, Philly, New York, Boston and Miami, you still have a while but have started salivating over the sketches and models, haven't you?

Well, let me give you a few words of advice: Enjoy your current ballparks before they're only a memory, no matter how crappy you think they might be (or in some cases, how crappy they actually are).

With the countdown to our local technological marvel being measured in weeks rather than years, I've taken the opportunity to look more closely at the Kingdome, which has been my baseball home for the past 13 seasons, plus two postseasons and one workout prior to a Japanese tour. Over those years, I've called the Dome a lot of names, none of which were "a work of art." It was one of the last of the wave of multipurpose stadia built in the '60s and '70s, whose main purpose was saving money.

Save money it has: unpainted concrete is the color scheme, accented on the removable ballfield by a royal blue that used to actually be a part of the Mariners' uniform hues. Despite the clarity of a sound system upgraded at the cusp of the '90s, music and announcements still echo interminably. Aluminum outfield benches cause posterior numbness by the third inning, and bear the dents of a thousand uncaught homers. Concourses are dirty and makeshift "specialty" food stands cause crowd bottlenecks. Hell, it's indoors with no natural light, dammit!

But looking closely, there are charms that the new ballyard will never match. There's the silly little "deli" with a full bar on the lower concourse, where I've eaten mediocre barbecue while watching the middle innings of a typical '80s Mariner drubbing at the hands of the Yankees. No foo-foo club-style seating meant that I could obtain great seats in the second deck at 50% of what they'll cost after July 15. And sparsely-occupied cheap bleacher seats were a haven for the heckler, who could use the unique acoustic properties of the dome in his favor.

Most of all, there are memories. Not only of the two postseasons and an All-Star Game, but of individual events lost to any who weren't there: The 16-inning victory over the Yankees on a home run by Greg "Pee-Wee" Briley and the chants of "Pee-Wee!" on the ramps; those 12-2 lambastings and the 300 or so fans remaining after the seventh inning, who once tried to start the Wave; and Randy Johnson's no-hitter, an event of which there is no videotape available because neither team broadcast the game.

There are moments like that and better rattling around in all the other outgoing ballparks, which have hosted World Series, no-hitters and perfect games, as well as those nights when there was a certain honor in simply surviving the night (Candlestick patrons know this feeling well). I ask you to see a game from every position you've ever done in the past, walk the concourses throughout the park, and yes, even buy any ballpark delicacy (so to speak) which might trigger nostalgia.

I've been to all this year's lame-duck yards, save Milwaukee County Stadium, and I understand why they're being replaced. Cand- er, 3-Com has never been the same since it was fully enclosed for the Niners, and nowhere in town is the wind worse. Tiger Stadium has the early-century "cattle drive" concourses, and in some places the Astrodome's walkways are capable of harboring muggers. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't see the old girls out in style.

Spend the rest of the season (or month, in the case of Seattle) cherishing your old ballyard, because although that new field is going to be insanely great, when the old one is torn down, the memories won't move.